KAUA'I: Idyllic Days Chasing Fun 'n Sun on Paradise Isle

On the occasion of our tenth – by some reckonings, our twentieth! – wedding anniversary, we have a special reason to splurge and celebrate for a few (painfully short) days on the "Garden Isle" of Kaua'i, the fabled, northernmost and fourth largest of the Hawaiian Islands at five hundred and fifty square miles.

We treat ourselves to five days of drive-by sight-seeing and casual exploration, hiking local nature areas and visiting sites of historic, geologic and cultural interest.

Mile for square mile, Kaua'i is one of the Earth's most topologically and ecologically diverse places. Its central highlands, high atop Mount Waialeale, reign as the wettest place on the planet.

The island is an outdoor lover's uber-paradise. It's said that seventy percent of Kaua'i's terrain is inaccessible by foot. We'll be lucky enough to cover a mere few acres of the big rock.

Kaua'i is just as I imagined it: verdant hills and jagged mountains, lush, eroded valleys and sprawling meadows, rugged uplands, spectacular lithified coastlines and South Pacific-like beaches, inclusive of over a hundred miles of shoreline, thunderous waterfalls, surfin' dudes, hipsters and hippies, and a low-key, laid-back local vibe.

The first thing the rental car woman says to us is how we would find the people of Kaua'i to be the friendliest and most easy-going of all the islanders. She's not kidding. Everyone is genuinely super-nice. (As contrasted with more than a few sourpusses on Maui during a previous trip.)

We arrived during unsettled weather – liquid sunshine – but it makes for dramatic scenes and occasional rainbows. Freshened skies eventually clear to marshmallow cloud, azure horizons one moment, then tempestuous but hospitable weather suddenly setting in.

Most rain in Kaua'i falls over the high ranges, but today, one second, it's raining, the next second, the sun's out. One day the ocean is roiling, with waves crushing the shore so loud you can't talk, the next day it's gentler, allowing for some easy, fascinating snorkeling episodes.

The rains have swollen the watersheds of magnificent Mount Wai'ale'ale, Kaua'i's highest massif at 5,148 feet, and where the annual rainfall averages well over four hundred and fifty inches.

This creates huge gushing waterfalls in every canyon, ravine, gorge, fissure leading down to all sides of the mountain to the ocean. Basal pools gather in turbulent, muddy swirls. The downpours also make hiking treacherous, slickening up already rugged trails.

You do not want to test the elements too much, though we do manage to sneak in a couple of memorable hikes and not so surprisingly we manage to stay one step ahead of the storms and generally enjoy exquisite days. (But oh-so-painfully short.)

Once we got settled in our hotel, in Kapa'a town, on the island's east shore, I suggest a short drive on Highway 580 to visit Opaeka'a Falls – quite a different 580 from our local eight-lane mega-highway California Interstate 580 leading out of Oakland.

In about four miles we come to a pull-out where five gigantic, humming buses are idling while their occupants mill about at a look-out, snapping photos and oohing and aahing at the sight, which, frankly, I am not all that impressed with.

The falls are too far in the distance to truly appreciate them, set off and apart, inaccessible as though merely a postcard backdrop. Which is all it pretty much is for these inactive tourists.

Through the binoculars, they appear at low flow. I want to take a crack at the tough trail that heads down, get up close and personal, under rainbow spray at a blue green pool, away from the obnoxious, noisy, polluting buses. Then and only then would Opaeka'a Falls be more impressive.

But by now we're getting annoyed with the tourists. I snap a photo or two and suggest we head on up the road, see where it takes us.

In several minutes we come to a pull-off, with a perfect trail heading into the impenetrable and off-limits wilderness. The Kuilau Ridge Trail is a thing of beauty.

After nearly ten hours of traveling, a tremendous wave of relief washes over us to be out in the sweet-smelling open air, walking a lush, overgrown trail, enchanted by the exotic high-pitched calls of a myriad of birds whose names I don't know and who remain completely out of sight for the most part. (Lots of bird listening, not so much bird watching!)

The sweet decaying smells of over-ripened vegetation, the lovely birdsong, hand-in-hand with Gambolin' Gal, gentle breeze blowing, dramatic stormy / sunny views stretching into a jungly expanse of hills . . . it is truly an intoxicating walk.

The trail climbs for a mile or so to a plateau, a lea like I've never seen, a flat expanse of bright, glistening green grass surrounded by majestic upland tropical scenery, with magical Wai'ale'ale poking its summit northward through a shredded gauze of clouds.

Flinging my Tevas aside, and stripping down to my underwear, I prance around on the field, unbridled, reborn in that moment, so pulsating with life, amid such peaceful solitude in the wilds of Kaua'i, no one in sight, but two mountain bikers who come riding through just as I slip my shorts back on.

Where is everybody, I wonder . . . oh, yeah, back on the bus! I rejoice and give thanks that, although I too may be an out-of-shape tourist (!), at least I am blessed with the gambolin' gumption to seize the day, take on some sort of adventure regardless of "advanced" age or foot and back pain or some such excuse to be soft and lazy and tame.

I feel blessed, actually, to be forever spurred on by an unquenchable thirst to seek out hidden nooks and secretive sacred spots in nature, no matter the physical infirmities and difficulties or topographical obstacles.

Ridge? Get over it.

Roaring stream? Ford it.

Deep pool? Do the butterfly across it.

Rugged landscape? Deal with it.

Muddy, steep trail? Do the funky glissade.

Yeah, I gotta admit that my largely frivolous exploits surely have their inspired roots in the motto of renegade explorer Percy Fawcett – "Nec Aspera Terrent."

Difficulties Be Damned!

The day is passing; regretfully, we put our shoes back on and head down the trail to our tin can of a car. That night, although quite exhausted from our long first day, we go out to dinner at a place called The Blossoming Lotus, Kapa'a's very own raw / vegan provender.

The atmosphere is wonderful, in a historic old Chinese building, with local jazz and rhythm 'n blues musicians getting down on a small stage, with a fun mix of clientele.

We dine on mung bean soup (too sour), some tasty appetizers, an overly ambitious seaweed salad that could have served six, and a main curry course that's rather prosaic, to be charitable. Throw in a couple of glasses of wine and some dessert and boom – there's your $71 bill. Without the tip yet.

We sit next to Ted, a seventeen-year resident / escapee from New York City who gives us the low-down on the music scene: "See that guy I was just talking to? He's a very famous jam musician."

Next, the inside scoop on the real estate scene: "Just a few short years ago, if you'da bought the place I live in now, a modest condo that cost $80,000, you'd be worth over half a mill today." And then, lest he leave us clueless, his best places to snorkel and sightsee.

Unfortunately, Ted also gives us an unsolicited earful of his transformation from a leftist socialist to conservative libertarian. I say, "so far left you turned right, huh," and he nods vigorously, chuckling, then launches off on a modulated but vociferous pro-gun rant.

Being in no mood to demolish the poor dude's personal macho-hero philosophy – earlier, he had bragged about confronting and threatening to shoot some local punk blaring his heavy bass-boom car stereo in front of his house – we excuse ourselves and bid Ted adieu as quickly as possible.

The next morning, we rise early, our bodies adjusted to the three-hour time gain, and head into town to get breakfast, which consists of tea, coffee, and bagels. I'm eager to get moving, hit the road. First stop: Wailua Falls, a "Fantasy Island" falls indeed!

The vertical torrent lies deep upriver from the slow-moving lower stretches where the kayakers ply their crafts. It's a jaw-dropping, stunning sight, for such zero effort (but for the drive) to appreciate it. And are there a lot of people at the little pull-out where the road dead ends?

Surprisingly, hardly anyone is around! Signs are posted warning you to stay out, do not cross the fences to climb down to the falls; people have been swept away. In the olden days, young studs challenged one another, testing their courage and manhood by plunging head-first some eighty feet to the massive pool below.

From my vantage point, it looks like a suicide jump. Many must have met their match and perished on the rocks or against the jagged cliff faces. The authors of a guidebook claim to have measured the drop themselves, pegging it at one hundred and seventy-three feet.

The pool, they say, is thirty feet deep with big fish. In another season, it would be turquoise blue and calm, inviting enough to scramble down the unmaintained "dangerous" trail.

For now, we simply gawk. Long-tailed birds swoop and swoon, occasionally seeking perch on a cliff. I snap a hundred pictures, one or two which may capture its animistic vibrancy. All in all, an amazing spectacle of mesmerizing grandeur to witness, a tour de force of Mother Nature accessible by wheelchair even.

Off we head up Route 56, the Kuhio Highway, toward Princeville, Hanalei, and exotic points beyond. The north shore of Kaua'i is a treasure-trove of secret beaches – luxurious white sandy stretches of tropical shoreline. And those awesome cave systems: the "wet" grottos of Waikapalae and Waikanaloa, and the "dry" Maniniholo.

And the can't-miss famed coast of Nā Pali, known as the "Cliffs." Along with the fantastic reefs teeming with sea life, and the jagged coastal mountains that knife-edge to pounding surf thousands of feet below.

We plan to hike the fabled Kalalau Trail where it begins at the end of the road, now Route 560, at Ke'e Beach. The trail winds up and down an eleven-mile stretch through a supremely rugged landscape with nonpareil views of the Nā Pali coastline.

We hike two miles to Hanakāpī'ai Beach (rough going due to muddy conditions and the usual roots, rock and reggae), ascending several hundred feet to a look-out spot where I nearly am blown over the edge by a forceful and unrelenting gust of wind.

On the trail, we enjoy hiking in a tropical paradise, through dense overhanging, gargantuan plants, enchanted by Tahiti-like scenery, Tikal-like Mayan pyramid geo-formations; and so many gushing freshets spilling down the hillsides; and mud, mud, red lovely mud to squish our feet in.

At Hanakāpī'ai Beach we take a break, admiring the river spilling into the rough surf. I approached the edge, get my feet wet, and observe and inspect said rough surf, making sure to comply with the sign posted above warning of eighty-three recent deaths: unsuspecting victims posing for a photograph or swimming casually before being swept away by a rogue wave like a flea in a vacuum cleaner.

I am determined to not be the eighty-fourth victim, uh-uh, no way. So, I convince Gambolin' Gal to put her shoes back on for "two more measly miles" of jungle ravine hiking. Fact is, we're too close to not visit the falls, the royal falls of Hanakāpī'ai.

This spectacle of nature is tucked deep in a lush, green river canyon in a gigantic bowl amphitheater-like terminus; it is not to be missed, while certain to sate the pangs for something magical and mysterious and larger-than-life . . . aching back and feet be damned.

Two miles might not seem like much, but these are about ten thousand steps on a rutty, muddy, slippery, rooty, rocky trail that takes us high above the water, through dripping wet bamboo and guava forests.

We lunch near an old brick taro oven, lying hidden in dignified ruin. Continuing on, we walk through more guava trees, whose fragrant-cum-rotting fruits litter the forest floor, emitting an aroma at once sweet and sour. I make trail mush by squishing them under my shoes with oddly satisfying stomps.

Eventually, we come back down to the water and cross the stream a dozen times in the course of a quarter mile. Pools, lovely tropical pools, with course-cut channels in black volcanic bedrock, welcome us.

Finally, after a few more minutes of hiking we are treated to a few from afar of the main falls – a jet stream of water twenty- or thirty-feet wide spilling two hundred and fifty feet or more straight down from a gouge in the Fern-hairy cliff face.

On closer approach, wafts of cool mist spray about, and the sun is nowhere to be seen or felt. A chill breeze emanates from the crashing swoosh of water. We bask in the raw power in absolute silence for several minutes, then decide to retreat to the pools and sun on the way back.

We luxuriate for the remaining half hour of sun in the refreshing pools before mustering up the fortitude to face the difficult and now muddier three and a half hard-ass miles back to the comfort and safety of the tin can. But, oh, without a doubt, Hanakāpī'ai Falls has earned its rightful place in my Top Five Falls of All Time!

The next morning, we check in early at JavaKai for our tea and coffee fix, then visit lovely Ho'opi'i Falls, a little "nowhere" place, amid residential development, involving a short, easy but slippery slope of a trail through a lush green meadow with galloping horses, rainbows, and expansive views of enticing jungle terrain.

The stream and falls are, in the scale of Kaua'i grandeur, prosaic; still, they flow and roar and form beautiful rapids, channels and pools in a moist, shaded tropical setting. Nothing to write home about, but nothing to depreciate either.

Continuing on down the road, we pass through old sugar mill plantations, historic towns, nature reserve areas, but never stopping long enough to really appreciate any one place.

Our main destination is Kōke'e State Park and its crown jewel Waimea Canyon, the famous "Grand Canyon of the Pacific" pegged as such by Samuel Clemens while on assignment one hundred and forty years ago with the Sacramento Union.

The contrast of wet, lush, tropical, humid versus dry, scrubby, red rock, eroded canyon is startling. It's easy to forget you're in Kaua'i and think you're instead in a nook of Arizona. We pull off at several viewpoints along the road and enjoy strolling leisurely.

The vistas of the severely eroded canyons are tremendous. We literally have to squint our eyes at what must be thundering waterfalls crashing off cliff faces far in the distance, with the thin dark ribbon of the Waimea River wending toward the sea 3,000 feet below.

Ah, to be down there . . . I can only imagine.

A very steep, North Forkian kind of trail goes down about two and a half miles but alas we have other plans, other destinations: a sweet drive to the end of the highway at Kalalau Lookout awaits.

There, you're looking down to the ocean some 4,000 feet below, with layered knife-edge ridges rising up from the coast at the wild remote beach where the eleven-mile Kalalau Trail ends at Nohili Point.

Another day we rise early, get our morning fix, and this time head south for a day of falls hunting and snorkeling on the south shore at Po'ipu. But first, Kīpū Falls – subtly overpowering. We park the car down Kīpū Road next to the old mossy bridge, alongside the very lazy Kīpū River.

In a short two-tenths of a mile, though, this lazy river loses enough elevation that the water becomes a furious tropical torrent in no time, raging through cut volcanic bedrock, carving chutes and channels, then plunging loudly over a broad one-hundred-foot-wide lip to a massive, murky and roiling pool below.

Quite impressive. But for now, completely off-limits, despite the ladder and rope swing on the far edge.

At Po'ipu, we finally have a good sun day. We don our snorkeling gear and hit the beaches. Colorful fish swarm in calf-deep water. All you have to do is plop down and stare . . . at schools of tropical Fish, Urchins, Coral formations, and the ugly, curmudgeonly Rockfish.

I'd forgotten how fascinating the underwater world is, what an utterly different reality. I feel a part of it now, just one of the creatures floating around. But where are the Stingrays, the Sea Turtles, and all the rest?

Ah, this little snorkeling outing is but a tease compared to real adventure that eludes me at the moment . . . but still, how can you complain, kicked back with nowhere to go, nursing a cold one on a tropical beach?

Back on the North Shore for another day of fun and exploration, we set off to find several alluring beaches with evocative namesakes like Kauapea ("Secret"), Pali Ke Kua ("Hideaway"), and Pu'upōā Beach and Tunnels. First, we hike a short but steep trail (hiking by now has become semi-dangerous due to slippery conditions) down to a place called Queen's Bath.

At certain times of the year, the ocean is calm and forms Olympic-sized pools in the lithified channels cut by eons of erosion. This is not that time of year – first clue is a newspaper clipping posted to a tree on the trail telling the sad tale of a Missouri man who drowned two weeks earlier when a rogue wave swept him away.

We approach the shore cautiously – Gambolin' Gal stays way back, content to sit quietly near an enchanting waterfall that plunges into a nearby bath.

I decide to check out the scene beyond. It's a magical fairyland of Queen- and King-sized baths, but the ocean waves are mercilessly pounding, spewing spray fifty feet high. Surf boils and roils, and undertows look beyond treacherous.

The possibility of rogue waves is not to be taken lightly. At one point, I stray too close to get a look and a giant wave inundates me to my calves. Shaken, I scurry back, staying a respectable distance, snapping a few feckless photos before scampering back to join my love, relieved to still be among the living. (OK, it wasn't all that dramatic or close.)

We find beach after beach – sun-drenched one second, tenebrous the next. Beaches of white sand, black sand, brown sand; geologically fascinating, lithified coastlines with red bluffs that make for spectacular hiking along the Māhā'ulepū red cliff area of the South Shore.

There are deep caves, and amazing blow holes – "Spouting Horn" – where the surf is forced through lava tubes and then bursts up through holes in the rock with sea spray and foam shooting up thirty feet.

There are breathtaking vistas, and intimate scenes. Birds are everywhere, resplendent and sonorous. Monk Seals lounge about on the sandy beaches, sleeping long stretches to reinvigorate for arduous ocean-venturing forays.

Only about 1,500 remain, and fewer than forty are believed to live around Kaua'i. Incredibly, we chance upon several, two scooting toward the water in almost desperate, hapless stabs to regain their aquatic identities.

Much of Kaua'i remains a mystery, dots on a topo map you long to explore. After all, what can you really see and do in a mere five days? We did not bicycle. We did not wind surf or kayak (not that we do much or any of either). We did not do a lot.

There were no triumphant ascents to high peaks, no Nā Pali boat trips, no surfin', no boardin', and, dammit, not a lot of snorkeling, come to think of it.

But we managed to pack in a lot each day, so much so that by early evening, after hearty meals while serenaded by the likes of the Jimmy Buffet-like Lost Pelican Band, we were exhausted.

Not enough in the tank even for that glass of champagne we were supposed to hoist in salud to our tenth, or twentieth, depending on how you want to count the years. And though we barely scratched the surface, we had an exciting, exotic, adventurous time.

Above all, we had fun and romance, yes we did.

And we shall return and begin anew where we left off.