Rental cars get broken into all the time at the beach parking lots, and this one at Ke ‘e Beach at the Na Pali trail head is liable to be no exception. We make the interior of the car look as unappealing as possible –it’s not too difficult since we have been traveling in it for a few days- by artfully placing litter throughout it. The coup de grace is the pair of underwear draped casually over the seat. The car remains undisturbed during our hike into the coastal back country.
The Na Pali coast on the Hawaiian island of Kauii is a significant piece of undisturbed tropical island coastline. The incredible steepness of the mountains rising from the inky blue sea has prevented development of this part of Kauii, and it is now federally protected, draped only by a cliff-hanging trail. There are a few designated back country campsites along the 12-mile trail which ends at the remote Kalalau Valley.
The trail is well-trodden, and much of it has sunken a foot or so into the ground, so you’re walking in a sort of ditch. This is a safety feature when accompanied by young children, but it guarantees a liberal coating of fine Hawaiian mud on our legs (we’re in the tropics of course) which then seems to migrate all over the body from there.
The majority of the trail is spectacularly high above the sea, easily 1000 ft., and there are places which give one pause, when the ease with which one could slip off is contemplated. Our three young boys are sure-footed –after all, the youngest is already three – but their dad needs watching out for.
Where the side trail descends all the way down to the ocean, signs warn of tsunamis and instruct us on the need to get the heck back up on the trail if we see one coming. Unconvinced of our ability to save ourselves from the unannounced arrival of such a mountain of water, we proceed happily, “leap-of-faith” style. At other places along the trail signs announce the possibility of flash flooding of the creeks which flow steeply down the clefts of rock from far above.
But this has been one outstanding Tuesday. To be away from the day-to-day mundane, with one’s own little family is always a treat, but this is especially nice. Sure enough, the trail descends steeply and opens to a valley or canyon on a bench 200 ft above the ocean. A stream flows through the small tenting area. We have it to ourselves and it really is paradise. The remainder of the afternoon is spent splashing in the deep spots in the stream and climbing on the smooth boulders surrounding the campsite. Yes, the ocean below is accessible but, believe me, it’s not suitable for swimming at this time of year. The crash of the monstrous surf on the black rock is spectacular.
Dinner time and the boys are wondering what is on the menu. Let’s see, how about a no-cook meal of canned beans, some rice leftover from this morning, apples and cookies . . . There are no objections, which is good since there are no other options in the larder. It’s a lovely evening as we picnic on the largest boulder around.
I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m bushed and soon I’m stretched out in our 3-man tent surrounded VERY closely by the four other members of my family all in various stages of sleepiness. I try to read a little but have trouble holding my eyes open and am soon lulled to sleep by the wild and hypnotic sound of the surf crashing below.
Two hours later Marybeth and I are wide awake and sitting in the middle of the tent amid a cacophony of intense rain drumming loudly on the tent fly. The occasional bolts of lightning ripping across the sky really get our attention. After a while I realize that I must go out and monitor the state of the stream. The Kmart poncho feels as thin as cellophane on my back as I creep around the campsite under the deluge. The creek is up, that’s for sure, but I’m relieved when the rain stops and the clouds move past, revealing a stunningly star-studded sky.
Marybeth and I sit up until the dawn starts to lighten the sky, monitoring the level of the stream, watching the stars, listening to the crash of the surf, the gurgles of the creek and the occasional sleep talk of someone in the tent. The boys, of course, have slept through it all.
A couple of days later and we emerge from the other worldliness that is the Na Pali coast. Our bodies and clothes are mud-saturated (years later there is still Na Pali mud stains on that favorite t-shirt) and our faces wear happy smiles. The toothy grins of the boys reflect the beauty of where we’ve been as well as the anticipation of the rich possibilities ahead; the incredible blessing of experiencing more of what’s out there in God’s big blue-green earth.
By John Robinson [email protected]