Ahhh, to be thigh-deep in mud again. After years of school in urban California, I was finally back in my own native habitat – hiking in a Hawaiian forest. Being in the mainland for so long was quite an adjustment for me, as I left my most precious friends – the `io that soars above Honokanenui valley, the sand at Waipi`o beach, my humble surf spot at Hakalau beach park. 
I also left behind the “nature girl” nickname and had to change my identity as I lived in a world where I strangely never had even a speck of dirt on me or any cuts and scratches from rock hopping or walking through bushes. Even the northern California redwood forests that I would often visit seemed rather clean compared to what I was used to on the rainy side of the Big Island.
But I was getting plenty dirty and scratched up now. Three friends and I were hiking in Pepe`opae bog, from the summit of Moloka`i, following a ridge of Pelekunu valley, and finally down a narrow fin into the beach at Pelekunu on the north shore. Normally we would have kayaked in, but this was winter when the surf is high and there are dangerous winds, so we decided to hike. On the map, the distance between our starting and ending points was only three miles, so I guessed we would be in Pelekunu by nighttime. We weren’t sure there was a trail, though, and most of the locals we told about the trip seemed pretty unhappy with our choice of hikes.
The fellow who gave us a ride to Waikolu valley lookout advised us to take a left at a junction in the trail to the lookout over Pelekunu valley. Following his advice, we found some blue tagging leading from the end of the board walk and we followed the tagging for over an hour until a view cleared and we gasped to see…we were back overlooking Waikolu valley. We had slugged through muck almost all the way back to our starting point, over to the wrong valley! After some frustration and pointing at our ancient map, we tried to retrace our steps, only to find that there were blue tagged trails leading everywhere. We were completely lost and we had the first argument I ever had living in Hawai`i where we could not agree which way was mauka and where was makai. The forest was one of the most pristine I had ever been in, with every exposed surface covered in deep moss and ferns, and with few distinguishing characteristics, so we went around in circles for an hour until we finally found our way back to the boardwalk.
This time we went right at the junction, and found the Pelekunu lookout shortly after. It is one of the most beautiful sights in Hawai`i, yet so often covered in clouds. Even in the late afternoon, however, we saw clearly into the deep valley, the sheer cliff of Lanipuni at the opposite ridge, and the outstretched branching streams cutting through the ridges. Even the “wall of tears”, which is the waterfall-scarred back ampitheater of Wailau valley, was lit up in the diminishing sunlight.
We followed a fence line that served as our muddy trail until dark. Then, we found a clearing in the thick forest and camped as we overlooked the valley slowly filling with mist under the moon.
The last of our water was gone at breakfast, but we only had a mile to hike so I did not worry about running out of water. I figured we would be down at the shore at Pelekunu by lunch, after descending Manuahi ridgeline, which at most places is so narrow that there is less than 10 feet between the cliffs, which fall 2,000 feet on each side. Falling off was never a problem, though, because the ridge was overgrown with uluhe ferns, with tendrils that would trip and wrap around us like an ever-unfolding cage. Sometimes, it was faster to lie down and roll on our bellies along the ridge to flatten the ferns than try to trudge through them, so down we slithered at a snails pace. The view from the ridge looked right into Pelekunu valley with its three spring waterfalls that seep down from the middle of the cliff, and to our left was the mysterious hanging valley of Waiaho`okalo. Gentle rain came from the sea and a rainbow alighted right before us on the ridge. With only cliffs dropping away to each side, the two ends of the rainbow reached down through the empty air into almost a complete circle as it straddled the ridge in front of us, unlike anything I had ever seen before.
I was overcome by the beauty of the hike and walked in a daze, but some of my friends were realizing that they were very thirsty as noon passed. Suddenly, my boyfriend, irritated by the hindering uluhe, fell into something wet. The puddle was actually a blessing, because although it was little more than a stagnant pig wallow, we could filter it and we rushed to fill our bottles again. It was an especially lucky find because we would not make it down to Pelekunu that night either, and had another dry camp along the narrow ridge.
As we sat in a spot overlooking the highest sea cliffs in the world, Pelekunu, and the coastline towards the long finger of Kalaupapa, I knew I was infinitely blessed to be sitting there, overlooking the view. But my friends’ conversations strayed from remarking about the vast sea view to discussing frequent flyer miles and television shows. I was amazed and offended that anyone could be making small talk at such a sacred place, and felt like acting like an old preacher and yelling “Blasphemy!” and pounding my fist. Nature brings me to a deeper state of mind that I rarely reach in my day-to-day life, which seems like a mundane dim dream when I am far out in the wild. There, I feel as if I am connected to the essence of my life, with no future or past, but only the bliss that emanates from me as I sit there, enclosed by cliffs. For the sunrise I climbed back to that spot to be alone and silent.
Finally, the next morning we made it down to the sea, where I lay in the sun, feeling tiny under the towering walls of the valley that seem immensely powerful. I melted into rocky shore and sea spray, so thankful to be complete again, reunited with Hawai`i.
— Emma Yuen
Volume 18, Number 8 February 2008
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