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When I realized I'd be spending the night on the 1½-square-foot perch I'd mistakenly hiked to on Hawaii's Kalalau Trail, I knew I shouldn't have gotten myself into this predicament. I'm an experienced hiker; I've hiked to the peak of Half Dome in Yosemite Valley 13 times, to Mt. Everest Base Camp, and to Southern California's three highest peaks. I'm embarrassed this is my story—but God met me in my wanderings just the same.
The Kalalau Trail on Hawaii's Kauai island is long, arduous, and in some places, dangerous. The trail moves along the coastline for 11 miles to Kalalau Beach, and unless you have a boat there to pick you up, it's 11 miles back. The trail has stream crossings, lava ridges, lush valleys, and 100-foot drop-offs to rocky beaches below. Usually people don't get lost on the trail as much as they fall off the trail.
Last July I decided to tackle the Kalalau, which was a couple hours from our home. I wanted to get an early start the day of the hike, so I spent the night near the trail in Hanalei. I told my husband, Ron, that he would hear from me no later than 8 p.m. the following evening.
I arose at 4 a.m, drove to the trailhead, and hiked the 11 miles to Kalalau Beach as planned. The trek was everything I'd heard—difficult but spectacular. After lunch at the beach, I started hiking back to the trailhead. Two miles into my return, I found myself a little off trail.
Prone to WanderGetting off trail isn't a big deal; you retrace your steps, regroup, and start again. I could see where I'd left the trail; it was only 25 yards away. But it seemed silly to waste the three minutes it would take to retrace my steps, so I decided to catch the trail where I was sure it would loop around in front of me.
I moved slightly up, looking to catch the trail as it came back toward the water. When it was obvious this wasn't going to happen, I moved up valley, hoping to get back to the area where I left the trail. I was now very off trail, half hiking, half scrambling up a rockslide of boulders. After doing this for more than an hour, I came to a vertical wall that used to be a waterfall.
It was now after 4 p.m. Only then did I realize how steep the rockslide had been; going down it would be difficult and time-consuming. I needed to get back to the landslide that lay between miles six and seven before nightfall, as it would be too dangerous to navigate in the dark. There, I'd be able to get some sleep and head out at first light. I hoped to make it back to my car so I could call Ron and let him know I was OK.
The wall in front of me was made of lava, dirt, and sparse foliage; there was a large V at the top that made me think a trail passed through there. If I moved higher, I thought I'd see where I needed to go next. But moving higher meant moving straight up—climbing.
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