Tendered is the Hike (Aiea Ridge Trail)

Tendered is the Hike

Originally posted by LastKoho on February 7, 2001

Sunday morning, a little tired after a late night, I drift to the kitchen where I make a cup of coffee and sit down and open the newspaper. My wife, in the living room, is alternately watching the TV and glancing at a booklet of Longs coupons. And then she looks over at me and says, "Well?"

I say, "Well, what?"

Conversation killed.

I sip from my cup and turn a page of the paper. A minute later, caffeine kicking-in, antennae emerging, I raise my head and look near the door and see two stuffed backpacks on the floor, propped against the wall, ready to go.

I point. "What's that all about?"

My wife says, "What's what all about?"

The negotiations commence. Implicitly, I have some leverage. Since my wife—through the act of pre-packing—has already indicated a desire to hit a trail, the particular trail hit should be mine to choose. As such, it only takes a small amount of haggling to settle on a specific hike, Aiea Ridge. But another issue arises: Do we hike to the end of the path?

Details surface: We will be getting a somewhat late start, probably not arriving at the trailhead sooner than 10:00 A.M. Given this, can we safely and comfortably reach the summit and get back to the car before the sun goes down? Don't know. Therefore, the following deal is struck: "Both parties agree to not hike summit-way after 2:00 P.M. Both parties agree to only hike trailhead-way after 2:00 P.M." With sunset slated for about half past six, this should allow us to beat steady hiker Darkness to the car.

Still, in the back of my mind, I speculate that if I am anywhere near the summit at around two or two-thirty it will be difficult not to succumb to the "ego building" and "bragging rights" of coming too far to turn back now. But perhaps time won't be an issue. So I pull myself together, skipping breakfast, and get out the door, merging onto H1 before turning up Aiea Heights Drive.

A few minutes before ten, car parked, we set off along the wide and civilly graded Aiea Loop trail, which comprises the first mile or so of the hike. We pass gum, guava, bamboo, paperbark, and swamp mahogany trees—and then turn left and step up a slight grade and arrive at the intersection of Lace Fern and Steep Drop-Off, the confluence of loop, valley, and ridge trails.

We stop and take a swig of water, lift our socks, zip up our gaiters. Then, moving again, we swing right, past ti and lantana and fern. Suddenly, the scenery changes. The dark forest we've just left sported lots of tall eucalyptus and a high, majestic canopy. But now, in contrast, there are lots of ohia and koa, a low, intimate canopy, and a narrow path with benign greenery.

I half-turn to my wife. "Wow. Fast change. Like a whole 'nother trail."

My wife says, "It is another trail."

We walk amid uluhe, ie'ie, and pukiawe. We hear more than the birds and the wind—we hear cars streaming along the mighty H3 that snakes its way through Halawa Valley far below. It's get-away-from-it-all scenery with a cityscape voice-over.

We pass a furry fiddlehead and step around a tree, turning left behind a hump. We stop, hear nothing but birds. And then we see four apapanes flying over Kalauao Valley. We follow in the same general direction, the trail becoming a little more overgrown as we begin the ascent to Puu Kaiwipoo.

Two-plus hours on the trail and we reach the top of Kaiwipoo, a sizeable helipad. We drink water and, looking both ewa and diamond head, count the ridges fanning out from the Koolau spine. I turn toward the summit. Clouds slide here and there, and a dark utility tower stands guard in the distance. Five minutes, and we continue on, squishing through mud among fairly thick vegetation.

We top-out at another helipad, even bigger than the previous plateau. From here we can see a healthy slice of windward Oahu. It's only 1:25, but I am suddenly exhausted. I half wish it were two o'clock turnaround time. My wife, perhaps seized by the "conquer and tame" feeling, replies, "Oh, let's just keep going."

We climb a little rise, walk past an open grassy area, and reach the summit overlook at 1:35 P.M. We are instantly energized, snapping pictures of the land below and the sea beyond as wisps of cloud rush urgently up and over the lip of the pali. Clusters of toy houses lie far below in Ahuimanu. Beyond is the green of the Valley of the Temples Memorial Park and the monolithic blue-green roofs of the Temple Valley Shopping Plaza.

We sit behind the crest where ohia and lapalapa trees shelter us from the gusts. We share a lunch of boiled eggs, cream crackers, raisins, a power bar, and oranges. I lie down, hear the leaves of the lapalapa flutter and watch a dragonfly try to negotiate the swirling wind.

Thirty minutes pass before we pack up. Walking at an easy pace, we spot a small mud-colored frog leaping awkwardly across the path. We stop to watch wind-swept loulu and examine the bright green, forked wawae'iole growing trailside. The wind calms and the trail softens as I march through the cozy forest. Finally, at the trailhead, we sit and take off our boots. A light breeze, quiet—night falls like a feather. We stand, get in the car, and roll toward home.