Clearing the Wailau Trail in East Molokai

Clearing the Wailau Trail in East Molokai

Posted to OHE  on 25 July 2011 by Nate Yuen

We cleared the historic Wailau Trail that starts near Pūkoʻo on the southeast side of Molokaʻi, climbs to the Kamakou summit ridge, and drops down into Wailau Valley on the remote northern coast of the island.

I was so anxious to start clearing the Wailau Trail—the purpose of our trip—that I was wide awake well before sunrise. I arrived early at the lookout point and watched mesmerizing pre-dawn colors spread over Kahinapōhaku Fishpond and Hoʻoniki Island.

Late last year, Cyrus Siu asked if we could help the people of Molokaʻi reopen the eight-mile Wailau Trail—an ancient Hawaiian trail that leads up and over the Kamakou Mountains into Wailau Valley. Wailau is the largest of the four windward valleys on the island’s remote northern coast. Cyrus explained that the Sierra Club once cleared the southern portion of the trail to the Kamakou summit, but that no clearing had taken place for many years and the trail had become nearly impassable in spots.

I knew Cyrus from his time as a volunteer with The Nature Conservancy on Oʻahu before he moved to Molokaʻi, and I was immediately receptive to his request.

Patrick Rorie wrote about several of his grueling backpacking trips into Wailau Valley between 1999 and 2007, one of his favorite destinations. Patrick noted that the most overgrown portion of the trail is not at the 2,800-foot summit, but in Wailau Valley itself. The two to three miles from the base of the mountains to the beach on the northern coast are the worst. Half-inch-thick clidemia stalks grow tightly packed and drain your energy, especially when carrying a heavy backpack.

In 2007, it took Patrick three days of trail clearing to complete the eight-mile trek to the beach, where he arranged for a boat pickup—the last time he backpacked into Wailau.

Given the overgrown condition of the trail and the difficulty of accessing the valley, Cyrus and I realized this would be a multi-year effort requiring many hours of labor. We agreed that the goal of our first trip would be to clear the trail to the summit only.

Cyrus helped me contact the landowners at the trailhead to secure permission to cross their land. They were pleased that we would be reopening a culturally significant trail and provided us with a liability release form to sign.

Once a date was set, recruitment efforts began in earnest. I was pleased when eighteen hikers from the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club (HTMC) trail maintenance crew rose to the challenge of reopening the Wailau Trail.

Participants:
Crouched (left to right): Kay, Kris, Karen, Ellyn, Jeanne, Connie.
Standing (left to right): Larry, Wayne, Helene, John, Mike, Thea, Gordon, Grant, Cyrus, Nate, Miyo, August.

The Wailau Trail is legendary in Molokaʻi history. ʻIliʻili-ʻōpae Heiau sits at the foot of the ridge where the trail begins. Measuring an impressive 286 feet by 87 feet, it is the largest heiau on Molokaʻi. It was a luakini heiau where powerful kahuna practiced their craft and where human sacrifices occurred.

Tradition holds that stones were carried one by one over the Wailau Trail in a human chain spanning the 2,800-foot mountain from coast to coast. Tens of thousands of smooth beach rocks from the north shore were passed hand to hand. Workers were fed ʻōpae (shrimp) for their labor, giving the heiau its name.

Molokaʻi kahuna were among the most powerful and feared in Hawaiʻi nei. One of the oldest schools of sorcery came from the Molokaʻi Lo family of kahuna chiefs, whose practices included kuni (divination by burning), hoʻounauna (sending sickness or misfortune), and ʻanaʻana (praying someone to death).

Since none of us had hiked the Wailau Trail before, Cyrus led us to the base of the ridge, where multiple paths climbed through haole koa, formosan koa, java plum, and other invasive plants. Pat Rooney—who had backpacked to Wailau with Patrick Rorie in 2007—was with us, but after slipping on a rock the previous day and developing a high fever, Pat wisely chose to rest at camp. We were on our own to navigate the trail.

After passing through groves of ironwood trees and gaining several hundred feet of elevation, we were rewarded with sweeping views of Pūkoʻo Harbor on Molokaʻi’s southern coast, with Maui visible across the channel.

Higher up, vast groves of strawberry guava dominated the forest. Tens of thousands of trees, saplings, and seedlings were cut with loppers, hand saws, and machetes as we worked our way uphill.

Eucalyptus trees took over further up the ridge. Broken limbs and fallen trunks littered the trail, and Mike Algiers sawed through eight-inch-thick branches to clear the way.

Christmas berry formed dense, impenetrable tangles near the ridge top. John cut back many branches to reopen the trail corridor.

Navigation was often challenging. Dead ends and faint paths were common. In 1997, a first-time Wailau backpacker became lost for two days before stumbling onto the main trail and being rescued. In 1993, another hiker activated an emergency beacon but could not be rescued because blistered feet were not considered serious enough—though rangers did carry out his 60-pound pack. He was never seen again.

When the trail disappeared, we retraced our steps, fanned out, and searched for old ribbons or alternate routes. Once rediscovered, we widened the swath and re-ribboned the trail.

Although introduced plants dominated the ridge, I noticed native species as well, including miniature ʻalaʻalawainui (Peperomia spp.) growing with mosses on tree bark, as well as kupukupu ferns and bryophytes in the understory.

Loppers proved effective against strawberry guava, christmas berry, clidemia, and other woody invasives. As we climbed higher, rain clouds thickened and ʻuluhe ferns became increasingly dense.

Around noon, we reached a grassy meadow and took a well-earned lunch break.

After lunch, we encountered long sections clogged with ʻuluhe. We gouged a path through one blockage after another, inching our way toward the summit. Rain fell steadily as we climbed through ʻōhiʻa overgrown with clidemia. Progress slowed to about a quarter mile per hour, and the work was exhausting.

With vegetation soaked from the rain, we crawled on all fours, cutting half-inch clidemia trunks at their base. When our 3:30 p.m. turnaround time arrived, GPS readings showed we were still three-tenths of a mile and 200 feet below the 2,800-foot summit.

I felt both disappointed that we hadn’t reached the summit and relieved that we could stop. I was exhausted.

After marking our stopping point, we headed back down. We split into smaller groups, which nearly led to trouble when one group followed a side ridge instead of the main trail. Fortunately, we spotted them and guided them back. Pig trails and old routes crisscross the ridge, making navigation tricky.

As we neared the base, the massive stone platform of ʻIliʻili-ʻōpae Heiau loomed larger with every step. We admired the structure and the rerouted trail but didn’t linger, knowing a hot dinner and showers awaited us back at camp.

Back at the Waialua Pavilion, some showered while others prepared dinner. Kris and Larry made fresh salsa and guacamole for outstanding chicken tacos. After eating, we lingered together, enjoying the evening before retiring to our tents. Five nights passed quickly, and we were already sad knowing this was our last night under the stars.

Before falling asleep, I reflected on the day’s hard work and planned ahead. With the south side cleared to within 0.3 miles of the summit, next year we’ll reach the top and descend into Wailau Valley to clear further. The following year, we’ll approach by boat from the north coast, camp on Wailau Beach, and clear from the valley floor.

I can’t wait to execute the plan.