In 2003, I was visiting my late friend, Melissa, who lived on Kauai. She was working, so I signed up for a guided hike to Hanakāpīʻai Falls—an eight-mile round trip.
We started at Hāʻena State Park on what looked like an ordinary tropical trail. The air was warm and humid, trees arched overhead, and birds called from the forest. I caught glimpses of the Pacific through the vegetation.
The guide said, “It’s been raining heavily for a few days, so be careful—it can be slippery in places.”
Within minutes, the trail turned steep and rocky. Gnarled roots twisted across the path, ready to catch the foot of any unsuspecting hiker. Several people in our group decided the climb was too dangerous and turned around, but I continued on with the guide and a family of four.
Shortly thereafter, the path became intimidating. There were no handrails or guardrails, and in some areas the incline was so steep I dropped to my knees. I wanted to turn back but was afraid to retrace the route alone. I convinced myself the worst was behind me when we reached a wide, flat stretch surrounded by fragrant guava and dense tropical vegetation.
As we continued, the vegetation thinned and the trail curved around the shoulder of the mountain—the forest fell away and the coastline appeared. Breathtaking views opened up: emerald cliffs rising from long stretches of brilliant blue ocean that stretched to the horizon. Then the trail narrowed, and the trees disappeared.
I gasped, pointing to the cliff. “Is it safe?”
The guide shrugged.
The two-foot-wide trail cut across the side of the mountain above the shoreline. Looking down past my trembling sneakers slipping in the mud, I saw a hundred-foot vertical drop to turquoise water crashing against jagged black volcanic rocks. My hands trembled as I hugged the cliffside, moving like an upright crab. Just as my heart calmed, we crossed a “stream,” which turned out to be white-water rafting without a raft.
Three hours later, we made it to the most beautiful beach I’d ever seen—but we were only halfway to our destination, the waterfall. We turned back.
“Is the way back easier?” I asked, stuffing a sandwich into my mouth.
He smiled. “Going back is the best part—we get to do the whole trail in reverse!”
Author Bio:
Momoko Uno is a New York-based genre-fluid writer and a doctor of integrative medicine.
I haven't hiked that trail in too long. I'm waiting for some dry weather.