Before leaving for our Waipio Valley hike this morning, I asked Star if she had any “instructions” for Chris and me. As the last time we went there, she had given us the crude map - markered onto a post-it - that ended up guiding us to meet Linda, Goddess of the secret jungle Tree house. She had no particular mission for us today but to have fun; that was a given. But also, we knew we’d complete an assignment soon to be revealed. We always seem to.We packed up the cooler with water, extra clothes; music, and lunch for the road. Meanwhile, Ginger sulked underneath the front tires of the Rodeo, hoping that she might be able to stop the wheels from turning without her. She knew she was staying home, as she had contracted pneumonia a week earlier from inhaling saltwater at Puako Beach, and was on house arrest until her course of antibiotics was finished. No swimming for three weeks! I know how much that would kill me, and Ginger – bless her waterlogged little heart – is a golden retriever! So needless to say, she was sorely disappointed to be left behind. She always wants to be in on the adventure. Besides her illness though, Chris said the White Road trail was far too shaky and narrow for Ginger to traverse safely. Once he had had to pull her back up onto the trail with a rope after she had lost her footing.
We had talked about this hike with several friends the previous Friday night, but none of them answered their phones on this Sunday morning. Chris and I realized it was just going to be us. So away we went, stopping on the way out of the Palisades to grab breakfast snacks at Matsuyama’s Market & Kay’s Kitchen. Approaching Waimea about 45 minutes later, Chris dropped me off at the Starbucks to get my morning caffeine, in the form of an iced vanilla coffee with cream, while he crossed the parking lot to the hardware store, picking up two machetes and a blade sharpener. After having gone to the White Road trail a month or so ago, he remembered that the trail had been changed almost unrecognizably by the earthquake, was badly overgrown, and could use some reshaping. There it was: We had our job lined up for the day.
A couple of blocks after the coffee shop, and approximately two miles from the trailhead, Chris engaged his new GPS system. We would be tracking our every move from that point forward, then could actually save the track lines from the day’s movement, and walk the very same path later on. We realized shortly after beginning our hike that such information would become very handy should we ever choose to do this hike again. Reason being, we realized after a mile or less of trekking, that we would have to pretty much blaze own trail.We parked the car at the White Road gate, put our towels and food in our packs, and hopped over the barrier donning signs: Posted: Keep out! Private property! (This is how most hikes with Chris begin). The terrain was easy at first, as I remembered it from almost two years prior when I had hiked it for the first time. Then, we had gone only a few miles to the mouth of the canyon. Today, our goal was to make it to the flumes. These comprise the drainage system that brings rain from the top of the Kohala Mountains to the bottom, where it is then used for agricultural purposes and drinking water. The canals themselves are carved out of the hillside, cement on the bottom, and covered in a grassy moss. We wouldn’t get to the flumes, Chris informed me, for quite some time. And, he said, the land we’d covered so far – even at its messiest – was “nothing” compared to what was in store.
By the time the canyon opened up before us, and we stopped to rest and drink water, I realized that I had worn my flip-flops when I should’ve put on my tennies. I don’t know what I had been thinking, but decided that instead of dwell on it, I’d simply take my shoes off for a while. The ground was soft and muddy for the most part. Shortly after this break and deep breath, the so-called trail became tangled and confusing. Chris led the way, swinging his machete like a samurai, while I followed, swinging mine to take out what he had left undone. We slogged on, hugging the rim of the canyon on the left, watching it drop off into green oblivion on the right. We got into a rhythm with our machete swings, each of us huffing and heaving like natives plowing an original path. The beauty that surrounded us on all sides was stunning. We were working hard, and found ourselves on a progressively technical hike through what was becoming a complete non-trail. Chris – knowing the original trail well – eventually realized that we had gotten off of it completely, and were now higher up than we should be. I suggested we simply continue pasting ourselves along the wall of the cliff; but Chris knew in his heart of hearts and mind of minds that the actual trail was below us – on a parallel fathom. His idea was to turn toward the plummeting abyss between Waipio and Waimanu Valleys, and chop down the ginger plants and stinging nettle, one at a time, making sure that underneath each downed tree there was solid ground. I was unsure, but trusted Chris. So he continued to lead, and I followed, hastily removing my gloves once in a while to grab the camera and record the phenomenal scenes of the day. 
We macheted our way through the thickets until our makeshift “trail” finally joined the real one Chris was familiar with. We continued butchering through this wild forest until - what seemed like ages later – we hit a cement wall. Chris jumped over it. I asked if this was it. Had we reached the flumes? Without turning around, Chris quietly said, “You’ll see”. When I caught up and peeked over the wall, I saw an incredible sight: A cool, inviting waterway, nestled in against the lush back end of the Waipio Valley. Leading up from the flat (man-made) river, was the flume we had been looking for. It was approximately 100 feet high, and dropped at a 45-degree angle! In order to slide down it, we had to guide ourselves up the natural waterslide with a rope that had been put in place by pioneering adventurers; then sit down, face the drop, and let ourselves slide. It felt like we were straight out of the Goonies!
Chris went first, and I took pictures of his descent. Then I went, and he took pictures of mine. I had on only bathing suit bottoms, so the grass-moss burned my butt and thighs like a carpet might, all the way down. But I didn’t care. The discomfort – of the moss-burn, on top of foot soreness, and nettle barbs prickled into every inch of my skin – was far secondary to the thrill of the flume ride! What beauty. What excitement! What a treasure to find. I screamed like a little girl as I flew down the flume at a million miles an hour, after Chris yelled at me five times to “Come on Liz! Just go already!!”
We had worked so hard to get to this spot, and once there, we reveled in our accomplishment. We were high on the coolest stuff in life. We ate sandwiches and potato chips, dangling our legs and feet over the water, and laughed about our crusts and American cheese falling into the whirlpool below us. As we finished, thick blankets of fog rolled over our heads and settled into the valley. We had made it to the flumes just in time for it to still feel really refreshing after a hot, hard hike in the sun. But by the time we left the flumes after sliding and eating, it was getting a bit chilly. Neither of us had brought our extra clothes any further than the car, trying to keep down the weight in our backpacks. So Chris wore his wet shirt as we continued on; and I wore a blue and white striped towel around my shoulders, which – oddly enough – matched the gardening gloves I had worn to protect my hands from the harshness of the work. I felt like some strange and silly superhero, with my towel cape, gloves, bladed weapon, bare feet, backpack and wet, sticking-up hair!
Rather than turning back after lunch, and hiking the approximate two hours back to the car, we decided to continue on to the distant, silhouetted promise of the Bamboo Forest. This place sounded like an enchanted one, and we wanted to keep the challenge of painstaking longevity alive. We also had much more trail-blazing to do. So we ventured on for another hour along the rim of the valley. This stretch of the hike may as well have been the road to any fairy tale destination. The hills around us were densely cushioned with springy moss, ferns, grasses, leaves and flowers. Greens of every shade carpeted the ground, and every step fell on thickness and whispers. The humid air around us held the pungent sweetness of ginger to our nostrils as we traveled. The trail was soft, muddy and gentle on my feet. While I sought out the muddiest spots to step, to soothe my sore toes, Chris focused hard on avoiding getting his slippers at all wet or muddy. Usually, when a mud puddle arose before us, I took the lead while Chris painstakingly etched his way around it. The fog was thick, and hung between the valley walls, a silent field of clouds, soaking up all extraneous noise but the vibrant humming of crickets.
Once at the end of the bamboo forest, we decided we’d better head back. Both of us were already tired, but knew we must get going and get back as quickly as we could. I got the most excited about using my machete with the gusts of my second wind. I swung and chopped with everything I had left in me. Many times, I took the lead and pretended again that I was a super-girl with an axe, taking out bad guys to clear the way for future hikers.
As the pink, foggy evening approached, and softly haunted our weary footsteps, we came upon an opening to the right side of the trail that revealed a break in the flume system. We were on level ground, and since Chris could walk across the wooden planks that sat atop the cement bridge filled with water and I couldn’t (as the slats lay too far apart for my legs to span), I waded in the water underneath them, which felt cold and soothing on my sorry soles.
Chris stuck to the trail, machete in full swing, and met me on the other side of the tunnel. When we met again, I encouraged Chris to join me on the next “leg” of the tunnel. I could see the opening at its other end – just a small square-ish opening letting light through, beckoning an Alice-in-Wonderland sort of inspection of it. I convinced Chris that – even if the tunnel didn’t bypass the trail by taking us directly through the mountain, it would still be worth checking out, for the sake of curiosity if nothing else.Chris agreed, so we set off into the pitch darkness of this tunnel, whose cylindrical walls hugged us closely on all sides. The top of the cave was high enough for me to make through without so much as hunching over slightly. Chris, on the other hand, had to duck – which hurt his already aching back. We couldn’t see an inch in front of our faces, but kept systematically sloshing through the foot or so of water that enveloped our feet as we trudged toward the light at the end of this passageway. Perception was so bizarre in there. It seemed like the further forward we went, the further away the opening got. I walked in front of Chris, and he said it looked like there was an “aura” of light around my head. We tried taking photos to capture this unique space, but the flash ruined the effect, and I already began thinking of how impossible it would be to explain how awesome and weird this walk really was.
When we finally reached the opening, and it widened to its full potential, Chris scooted slowly to the edge of what looked like a sheer drop-off. I followed, anxiously awaiting the reveal of what was on the other side of that guiding light. It turned out to be a raging waterfall, shooting over the end of the world, into another swirling river. We obviously hadn’t bypassed the trail, and would have to turn around and walk all the way back to get back on our walking path. But neither of us was sorry we had checked it out!
So on and on we went, as the night fell and gave birth to a surprisingly bright (and therefore helpful) half moon. We were both tiring fast, and wanted nothing more than to reach the Isuzu on the other side of the gate at White Road. We put our pedals to the metal and made it back approximately two hours after the dawn of the darkness. We both collapsed into the car, Chris into a reclined passenger seat, me into the driver’s. But not before excitedly gaping at the GPS to see how far we had gone. The gage said TWENTY ONE point SEVEN FIVE MILES!! Subtract the approximate two miles of driving distance between the McDonald’s in town and the trail head, and we had hiked almost twenty miles in one treacherous, exhilarating, fun and exhausting seven hour day.
We both had nettle sting welts all over our legs, arms, chests, armpits, necks and faces. Our back and shoulder muscles were already tense and sore from chopping down the bush. And we had scratches and mud chunks embedded in our toenails. Best of all, my feet were still bare, and had been so for at least 15 miles of the trip. Not to mention, I had enough energy left to drive us home. And couldn’t stop smiling the entire way. Hawaii’s heart had shown us yet another very special day.
