Saturday, October 3, 2009

Subverting the Trope "Big Dumb Heroes"

A few prefaces to this particular adventure: During High School I was in a cross country team with some really good friends. One of these friends was named Mike. He and I were a few of the ‘slightly crazy’ group of kids that I hung out with. He introduced us to street racing in Dallas, where the ultimate rush of running from the cops was tantamount to bliss. So with this in mind, I’ve been staying Mike’s house here in Kauai. We usually are reigned in by more sane friends of ours when we look like we’ve decided that fun is better than safety or good judgment. Unfettered, we decided to go for a hike.

Hanakapi’ai is supposed to be a 4 miles in, 4 miles out relatively difficult hike. Knowing this, we started at about 3:00pm on Tuesday, but in trying to find a parking spot found several neat caves that we wanted to check out before embarking on the main hike. Waves and wind had hollowed out large caves in semi-circle fashion. Some of them went several hundred feet down below sea level and had nice little stagnant pools of salt water at the bottom. After a few pictures, and 30 minutes of poking around in some holes in the ancient igneous rock faces, we head out on the main trail.

Kauai is beautiful. Pictures can’t do it justice, come out and do it yourself. With a lot of energy and a lust for adventure, Mike and I half-jogged through the trails greeting other hikers as they funneled out of the trails. Several amazing views of the ocean and some neat beaches from over 1000 feet up (which we climbed in the first half mile) were breath taking. We came upon a beach that had a protected pool behind a big sandbar and I jumped in while mike took a smoke break. We started heading toward titular falls, and checked down our responsible side. “It’s getting late yeah?” Mike remarked. “Aught we to turn about?” I quipped back, thinking that a good recourse to hiking at night. “Nah, there’s supposed to be something cool at the end of this trail, lets keep going.” Mike said with finality. I didn’t argue, as ‘something cool’ stuck out to me like a side quest in a Zelda game. We crossed the river several times, hopping about on the river rocks with ninja-like balance (mine after much training, Mike’s inherent in his asian-ness) and made good time upstream. In the distance we saw a massive cascading waterfall from the top of an impossibly high cliff. I was getting excited, further locking my responsible side away in the dark corner I usually keep it in. We saw a straggling couple and asked what time it was. 5:00. Plenty of time to make it to the falls.

Another half an hour or so and we’d arrived at (and I am not exaggerating or just using superlatives) the most beautiful spot I have ever seen or been to in real life. Water fell (uh, duh) from what must have been close to 1000 to 1500 feet off of a sheer cliff to settle into a bowl of pristine, clear, fresh rain water. It was cold, and it was refreshing. We took a lot of pictures, jumped in, and felt the falls on our head and swam around a bit.

Energized, we went to the task of getting out of the valley before dark. After deciding that going down a much less traveled trail to cut through on the right side of the stream, we found familiar markings on the trail and realized we were making great time. We stuck to our blazingly fast trail only to find ourselves blazing our own trail. The trail had terminated into nothingness. We had to keep our pace up, and finding a trail would be the best use of our quickly being scratched and bruised bodies.

We found no trail. Quickly darkness began enveloping us as we made our way toward the beach one painful foot at a time. For every time Mike fell several feet into an unseen ditch, I’d find the thorniest bush or tree and throw myself longingly at it. We soon were relying more on the moon for light than the waning sun. “Mike, I’m glad that its you and me in this situation, most people would be freaking out.” I calmly remarked. “I need a cigarette.” Mike said, for about the third time since we started churning through the dense tropical underbrush. “Lets just keep heading towards the beach, that’s where we’ll see the main trail.” I reassuringly let out. We trudged forward. Many times one of us would exclaim “It’s the trail!” only to follow it for a few meters and find we were had, once again. Never letting the adventure devolve into frustration, we kept our chins up. We could see the beach! After many cuts and bruises we’d made it back in sight of where the real trail should be. I celebrated by falling into the river and dowsing my camera and iPhone. Mike celebrated by slipping on the same stone as I and dropped his lighter. We’d thought of camping out for the night at the beach before, but fatigue had run its course on our minds, and we decided to press on. Being that the Moon was shining from the Southeast, we were completely in the dark as we went north and east up the cliff side, leaving us with no recourse but to use a Mike’s cell phone as a flash light. This is not as easy as it sounds, as after the leader gets over a particularly difficult area, he has to stop and shine the spot so the follower can get over it. When trying to make good time, this is not very conducive.

After what was another hour of night walking on a slippery high-incline trail, I’d started cramping and Mike had started dying energy wise. He wanted to stop for a bit, and I couldn’t or risk cramping up entirely. We were the perfect team. I convince Mike to keep going and we trudge up, around and back down the mountain ridge. Two hours and fifteen minutes after sundown we finally make it out of the hellish hiking trail. We walk the 10 minutes up the road to where Mike parked and settle in for the long road home, to find that more than the lighter went into the river when Mike slipped. The keys went as well. A perfect end to a perfect night.