The steep hike goes up then up, then down then down. It goes across giant boulders blocking your steps. You climb and then you slip on the red volcanic dirt now turned into mud from recent rains. You slip, you slide, you glide, you jump, you cuss like a guy who just stepped in dog poop, only much worse.
On our recent trip to Kauai, my sons wanted to get in a couple hikes. They are used to hiking and 30 years younger than me. So being in Hawaii on vacation, naturally I hiked with them, or rather in the rear following them the best I could.
We started in the late morning checking in with rangers since had reservations for the day. We climbed up steep winding muddy, rocky, high dirt steps from the beginning. I was cool. I wasn’t sweaty. I was smiling. I was confident I could do it until about ten minutes into the hike. I was hot. I was sweaty. I was frowning. I was panicking. I was praying I could do the two miles above the Pacific Ocean with lush jungle like foliage and Gorgeous views constantly meeting our view below.
I tried to keep up with my sons. One of their girlfriends went on ahead and met us when we reached the remote and dramatic beach with its huge waves breaking right in front of us, boulders blocking the trail to your final view. The gf told us she was walking back and that this hike was too long. She would meet us back at the house.
Getting to the beach took us on a strenuous adventure. When you hiked two miles in two hours, climbed over boulders as big as your trash cans back home, and swore you couldn’t walk another step, you were there, finally, at the edge where land met violent surf. It took your breath away, pounding surf in front of you, thick jungle behind you and a river flowing down the mountain below you into the ever powerful ocean. My sons made sure I was comfy, sitting on a boulder as comfy as a cement sidewalk while they hiked four more miles up to the falls. I ate my lunch and drank a couple gallons of beer. Just kidding. I drank a water bottle of water. My clothes were wet with sweat as well as my hair which hung in spaghetti style strings all over my head.
This beach was below us until the evil hike took us there where we wanted to go, or so we thought.
I was thankful to have reached a place to rest. I tried not to think about the hike back down to the parking lot.
Could I even make it back the way we had come? No, I couldn’t make it. Yes, you can. No, my body feels like a bunch of rags that have been used to wipe up the floor, all wet and soggy and limp, and dirty.
The wind hit the bushes, trees and grass in a flash as a red rescue helicopter flew in overhead from the ocean side up to the rocks above me where a lady lay sprawled out over the rocks, a man there comforting her. The helicopter kept circling over the tight spot about fifty feet up from where I was resting and soaking my feet. Everyone who had hiked there was staring at the couple as the helicopter let down a man on a cable in special gear with a bag. He began wrapping the lady’s ankle with white tape and talking to her. I could see his helmet nodding. The red helicopter stayed aloft blowing the tree branches and leaves in a frenzy. He eventually got her into a harness and held onto her and this cable and was whisked away by the brave rescue workers.
I was shocked at this rescue that had happened right before me. How could I complain about being tired from a two hour hike when this lady had gone through much more? I began counting my blessings that I wasn’t that poor woman who had been so badly injured that a helicopter had been sent out to this remote area. I was lucky.
To be continued…
Those 70ish Girls 