From my campsite in Waianapanapa, I walked the four miles of the old King's Highway to Hana. The foot trail follows the first path constructed around the island, hundreds of years ago, right along the lava cliffs' edges. I walked through lovely Hala forests, past the Ohala Heiau, old burial grounds, blowholes, and scary, sketchy bits of trail, all under the bright sun above truly pounding surf.
While most of the trail is on sharp lava (don't let Pele bite you!), some of the original surf-smoothed rocks are still in place. There were a couple of native Hawaiian fishermen climbing around barefoot on the lava, which would have torn my little city feet to shreds, but even I could walk the trail barefoot on these big smooth stones. I met no one else on the trail that day. It was a wonderful transportation back in time -- just surf, stones, and lava.
The trail ends abruptly at a big boulder beach -- where to go now?! I winded my way on a little road, past a burned-out BMW and other trashed areas, taking what felt like the right forks in the road, passing little homesteads with gardens and chickens, junkie cars and ATVs, until I got to the main road into Hana -- the same road Liz, Steve, Kenny and I stayed on a couple years ago. Phew!
Walking into Hana, I was greeted by one of those amazing, unexpected treats of travel, a big Party! This time, it was the Hana Canoe Club's annual weekend regatta -- dozens of brightly colored hawaiian ocean-going canoes, paddlers from all over the islands, families, vendors, music -- general festivities and celebration of native hawaiian culture. Treat! The diversity of the paddlers and the the community was beautiful, the energy was at once relaxed and powerful.
My hike back was fueled by the visions of those paddlers and of native Hawaiian culture continuing to thrive.
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