“This is the best hike ever!”

“It’s fine to go the whole way to the beach in one day!”

“It’ll change your life.”

The first two quotes are not entirely accurate (the last one was definitely said!) but this is definitely the jist of what the experienced members of the Facebook group were telling me. It is fantastic that the Kalalau trail has a Facebook group; worried and/or unprepared folk like myself can join, ask the questions that probably hundreds have done before, and the loyal devotees of the Kalalau will respond with kindness and experience. After narrowly securing my camping permits 2 weeks before the hike (as was protocol at my time of booking), I realised that you cannot ‘escape’ out of the end of the trail – you have to leave the way you came – and you also need to book the shuttle immediately after getting the camping permit, or that too, will sell out! Yes, I know, I should have done more research. I definitely do not begrudge anyone for encouraging me to take on the hike – in fact, I might have been sad forever if I had not attempted this hike that the INTERNET made me so intent on doing. Their encouragement led me to take on the challenge with hope and excitement rather than dread.

Why I saw this hike as such a challenge…

• It is considered one of the world’s most dangerous hikes due to it’s steep drop-offs into the ocean.
• It is 11+ miles from the trail head to Kalalau beach (the destination)
• 5000 feet elevation…
• Extreme heat, humidity and sun exposure
• You must take overnight camping equipment in your pack as well as a water filter.
• I was doing it on my own – admittedly one of my favourite ways to hike.

I stayed in a swanky Airbnb apartment the night before the hike, because there are no hostels in Princeville (the nearest town). Mike (who I met through the Facebook group) and his wife picked me up before dawn and we chatted on the way to the trail. They asked if I had lots of carby food such as bread with me, to which I regrettably said “no”. She kindly gave me a bag of crisps which I held onto for the first mile or so, and rewarded myself to after the first climb. OH how many more climbs were to come, with no more crisps to ‘sweeten’ the deal.

My feet blistered after the first 2 miles or so. I didn’t stop long at the first beach, even though it was beautiful. I kept going and was feeling pretty good when I reached the half way camp, Hanakoa, by 11am. I ate lunch and met a French Canadian couple there, as well as Lianna and her younger brother Mack. He never spoke, but she was experienced with the track from her childhood, so I was glad to ‘leap-frog’ with them in the woods, where the track became less certain.

After lunch I felt sluggish – almost woozy. But I knew that it was time for ‘crawlers ledge’. I was happy to see other hikers at the bottom of the slope! …Until I noticed it was the French Canadians, turning back.

After making my way down the slightly sketchy switchbacks, I found them sat down, and the girl was teary. They didn’t know what to do because she was too terrified to go along the track around the corner of the cliff. I asked what was wrong, and they explained how you cannot see around the cliff, and she couldn’t do it. ‘Well now I don’t want to do it’, I said with a big lower lip as I sat down beside her. This made me really scared. I had to brave it because I didn’t want to turn back, no way. Carefully, slowly and filled with terror, I felt my way across the side of the cliff, placing each blistered foot carefully and finding handholds with each step. If you were to slip off here, it would mean certain death. And my pack was so heavy that my agility felt completely vanquished.

I got past this bit and sat down as soon as it felt like there was enough space to sit and gather myself. It wasn’t as bad as the girl had maybe feared, because at least the rock was solid. Around the corner, although the sea was not directly below, the land still sloped steeply into the sea with nothing to stop you, only this time the ground was loose red dirt. I braced myself and carefully navigated his part too. I felt relieved that it was done, and already dreaded having to do it again on the way back.

When I briefly saw Lianna and her brother, she told me that she thought she remembered a worse bit coming up. She was right – there was an absolutely terrifying slope of loose red dirt, and the trail could hardly be considered such. The flat-ish loose dirt was barely the width of my two feet if I were to stand with them clamped together. There was nothing solid to hold onto; the rocks I reached for would crumble as I touched them. My eyes searched frantically for roots of sparse plants, not to hold with much force, but for a tiny bit of certainty. My stick was like a third leg, and so so vital for making me feel safer. I used this in the hand on the slope-side. It sounds dramatic, and my feelings were all amplified by the heat, my fatigue, and solitude. But I had never felt so close to dying, and it was quite harrowing for me. I dreaded having to do it again.

Sweaty, burning in the sun, throwing my hat on whenever I wasn’t in the woods. I filled my Osprey hydration pack with at least 1.5L of water every time I felt like it might be emptying, when I got to streams. Each time I would have to filter every drop, meanwhile watching for mosquitoes while I sat, squeezing the pack. Ants would crawl over everything you put down on the ground. On and on I plodded, the views getting more and more amazing but my happiness at the sight of them was not what it would normally be. I still made sure to take photos of anything I found beautiful, but I was so over this. 

The view towards the beach was the most spectacular of them all. One more long descent to the beach, over the red hill. Every step was absolute agony! I cursed myself for wearing aqua-hiking shoes that were practically new (but I did really appreciate how easy it was to go through rivers, and not have squelching feet). I watched a calm and collected day hiker come the other way and I absolutely had to ask how he did not have a large pack. He said that he was camping at the midway point for two nights, and went to the beach and back in that one day.

Absolutely no one was camping in the wooded, no-view, ‘designated camping area’. I like the others, wanted to camp on the beach, as that was the whole attraction of camping here. I walked onto the beach and it was not the heavenly place I had in my dreams. It was a beautiful, stunning place, no question; but I felt so in-pain, so far from comfort, and tainted with dread about the hike back out.

I walked a lot more with my heavy pack still on, back and forth in the beach camping area, just to try and find a nice spot for myself at the this late point in the day. The place was surprisingly busy with people who had arrived by boat and kayak. I felt like the only one who had hiked (the whole thing in one go), and was therefore a zombie. I walked towards a relatively spacious area in the trees next to the beach, but before I could do anything, two bleach-blonde American ladies banished me from camping in their area, as they were having a sweet sixteen party. I couldn’t believe their rude attitude, and I started walking away with my hands up while they went on. ‘I get the picture. Yep. I get it.’

While wondering around like a weary traveler, I still struck up conversations with the people who had already established their camps, some extremely elaborate. I spoke to some friendly Aussie men on their yearly lads trip – they like a lot of others there, had kayaked in and were spending multiple days at the beach. 

The sun light catching people’s tents, hammocks and campfires was really beautiful, and almost quite soothing. But life-changing? Nah..

There was a nice couple: a Belgian man and American woman, who said I could camp close to them and they also offered me crackers. He helped me pitch my tent, even though I had to change it afterwards. I took off my sweaty trousers and top, looking forward to a refreshing shower in the famous waterfall. I was horrified to see that a few of my mosquito bites had become extremely infected over the course of the hike. They had gone from normal bites to big, yellow pus-filled bubbles that looked ready to burst. The worst one actually did burst when a fly thought he’d come and bite it open. So gross.

The couple were kind enough to let me use some of their ‘antibiotic’ cream, but now this medical issue was just another thing making me itch to get out of this paradise. (That said, my bites didn’t itch at all during my time on the Kalalau, it’s as if your body knows you’ve already got enough going on.)

I couldn’t come to Kalalau beach and not watch the sun set. The sky was so clear that there were no exciting hues of pink and fire, but maybe I would stay for another sunset the next day. A day of relaxing at the beach sounded nice. I was able to muster a smile for my Kalalau selfie…

 One bite looking particularly radiant in the morning light…

Beer in hand, friends close-by: this sunset on my last night in Kauai was my favourite.