Even though I’m not a teenager anymore, I still feel invincible sometimes. Or I just don’t accept my physical limitations. I’m not a good hiker. Hiking Kalaupapa was definitely not on my to-do list for Hawaii.
So naturally, when my friend asks me if I want to hike down and then back up the tallest sea cliffs in the world, I said sure. Love to. Sounds like an adventure. Kalaupapa – here we come!
I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
A wedding brought me to Hawaii, but my friend brought me to Molokai: she heard about the Kalaupapa National Park and wanted to check it out.
Even when she told me we’d be hiking Kalaupapa, down 1600 feet with 26 switchbacks for a total of 2.6 miles ONE WAY, I didn’t think much of it: I was just too excited to be in Hawaii for the first time.
For some reason I thought it would be smart to choose hiking Kalaupapa as the moment to break in my new Chacos. It wasn’t.
The hike started off pretty mild: we parked right next to the trail head and started a gradual descent. The trail was fairly wet from the morning dew and even though I was wearing them for the first time, I was grateful to have good shoes.
How horrible would it have been to slip? I just shudder thinking about it still.
After the first few minutes of hiking down, we came upon the first evidence of a staircase and thus, the challenge began.
(Did I mention that this hike is also accessible by donkeys? That’s right. Instead of a 2 hour hike down, you can ride a donkey for a bunch of money. I didn’t really think about how the donkeys would affect the hike until we cautiously stepped over a pile of droppings. That became the game for the rest of hiking Kalaupapa: stepping over donkey dooty. Woof.)
When I got to the first bridge, I got my first glimpse of the sea.
Wow. And then another.
And another.
Full disclosure: I was born without hip sockets. When I was a baby, my legs were in braces as a crude way for my body to “carve” hip sockets. As horrible as it sounds, the method worked. I have hip sockets now, but sometimes feel the effects of the disability. Even after physical therapy, stairs often give me trouble.
When we finally made it past the 26th switchback, the hike leveled out and once again, we were rewarded with the most amazing views.
About halfway through the descent, I knew that my feet were going to hate me. By the time we reached the beach, the skin on the bottom of my feet felt like they were being peeled away by the traction in the shoes. I found myself walking on my tiptoes to take any pressure off the arches of my feet as possible. I fully understood what “barking” feet meant. And yes, that’s blood.
As my friend and I sat waiting for the rest of our adventure to begin, I made the mistake of taking off my shoes. The skin on the bottom of my feet was still in tact, but very red and blistered. At this point the donkey train made it down the cliffs and I started asking the guides if there was any way I could ride a donkey back up the cliffs. Nope.
The pain I felt as I put my shoes back on was indescribable. I’m shivering with memory right now, it was that bad. After a little bit of whining and whimpering, I got them back on and met up with our tour guide. The whole point of us hiking down the sea cliffs was to visit the leper colony of Kalaupapa . The good news: we were taking a bus around the colony so I didn’t have to be on my feet very long.
Before we began to trip back up the sea cliffs, I had to pause and collect myself. Was I really going to be able to do this? I knew what was coming. My feet were searing with pain. The dogs were barking. Did I have enough money to call a helicopter to come get me? Could I just join the colony and never have to leave?
Never one to miss an adventure, my friend asked if I was ready.
“Yep,” I heard myself say.
What?? No, I was most definitely not ready. I wanted to cry. I needed to pee again for the 10th time. I needed a new pair of feet. If it wasn’t for those darn donkeys, I might have even considered climbing back barefoot.
But I didn’t cave in. I didn’t give into fear or doubt. I could do this. I needed to do this.
Seriously, the hike back up didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Either that or I was just so completely beyond feeling by the end.
I’m a slow hiker. I have no reservations in saying this. The point is that I am trying. I persevere. I take my time. I arrive. Of course, my friends usually arrive before I do, but I never give up.
Note to self: break in shoes long before a hike. My feet will thank me later.
Have you ever done a hike that pushed you to your limits? How was it?
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