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September 23, 2005

Stock Stories - Koa Kahili - Valley of the Lost Tribe

Valley of the Lost Tribe

For years I had seen Honopu Valley from the water. The mysterious and remote valley along the NaPali coast on Kauai tempted any adventurous soul who gazed into its narrow depths. Honopu is considered a sacred area to Hawaiians, a place where high in the cliffs the ancient Ali’I, or god kings, are buried.
So compelling is its mystery and beauty, Honopu has become a favorite location for Hollywood. In the remake of King Kong they superimpose a wooden fence at the entrance, capturing the giant ape in his mystical home. Honopu is a hanging valley, meaning the ocean eroded the volcanic cliffs faster then the river could carve out the valley. This created a magnificent waterfall that cascades about fifty feet to the beach. The water on its way to the sea slowly drained through the cliff separating the two beaches of Honopu. This produced a sea arch one hundred and ten feet high. This impressive arch is featured in such movies as “6 Days 7

Nights”, “Honeymoon in Vegas”, and in “Acapulco Gold” they flew a helicopter through it. In “Raiders of the Lost Ark” they opened the Ark of the Covenant behind the large sand dune on the beach and in front of the cliff C3PO and R2D2 had a brief discussion while lost in the desert. Sports Illustrated even shot a swimsuit issue on the pristine beaches.

Every beach in the entire state of Hawaii is public. On this beach they post a sign that says NO CAMPING OR LANDING OF BOATS. Money talks and Hollywood pays hundreds of dollars an hour to film at this sacred location. Thousands of tourists view Honopu from helicopters and tour boats each year. In the summer a few brave souls will even swim over from the next beach to enjoy the solitude of Honopu.

Legend has it that a strong North wind will blow through the arch resonating off the far cliff wall creating a deep honking noise similar to the sound of a conch shell. Hence the name Honopu refers to a conch shell in Hawaiian. This natural hanging valley made the perfect fortress. There was only one way to enter and that was easily defended. National Geographic dubbed Honopu, “Valley of the Lost Tribe”, after finding artifacts like no other in Hawaii. It appears that an earlier migrants from the Marquesas islands were able to hold out against the invading Tahitians, making their last stand in Honopu Valley. Some say this is where the legendary Menehune lived. Framed by sea cliffs that drop thousands of feet in the angry ocean, it is no wonder Honopu fuels our imagination.

I worked on the tour boats for years telling inquisitive visitors all about the Na Pali coast, a truly breathtaking vista unlike any other in the world. Pali means cliff in Hawaiian while Na is the plural, so Na Pali means the many cliffs. The floor of each of the seven valleys along the Na Pali coast is covered in ancient rock terraces used for the cultivation of taro or kalo, the staple of the Polynesian diet. It is estimated that the Native Hawaiian population along the Na Pali coast was about 10,000, before the arrival of Captain James Cook in January 19th, 1778. Half of the population lived in the largest valley of Kalalau, which is three miles deep and about two miles wide.

Humpback whales, spinner dolphins, and green sea turtles played next to the boats as we marveled at the glowing rainbows and golden sunsets. I had hiked into Kalalau plenty of times under all types of weather. I was even lucky enough to witness a night rainbow or moonbow from Kalalau beach. I had kayaked the coast from Ke’e beach to Polihale many times, searching for waterfalls and seldom seen vistas, I explored every valley along the coast. Hanakapiai, Hanakoa, and Kalalau are accessible by foot and consequently get a fair amount of intrepid hikers and campers visiting them. Awaawapuhi, Nualolo, and Miloli’i are only accessible by kayak and required a lot more daring. In each of these three valleys I ran into no one but wild goats. Honopu was the last valley left, eluding the siren call.

Every time the tour boat passed Honopu I would study the sea arch for the climbing route up into the valley. It must be there, I would say to myself as we would cruise by. I had tried to climb up a few years ago. I was alone and it just freaked me out, standing on the slippery rocks while the ocean swells pounded the shore just a few meters away. I was determined to try again, so I borrowed a friend’s kayak, took a week off of work and set off for an adrenalin filled adventure. Once again I was going solo, none of my friends were crazy enough to join me. It was summer and I was not exactly alone, for it was kayak and boat season, not to mention the constant drone of the helicopter highway. So it was going to be a challenge to keep away from all the people, and that’s exactly why Honopu was so enticing, I would have it all to myself.

One early morning I started off from Ke’e beach soaking up the sublime scenery. The lush green cliffs majestically rise out of the ocean making the kayak seem so small and fragile. No engine noise, no gas fumes and early enough that the dreaded helicopters were on the ground, only the sound of the paddles along the glassy aquamarine sea this morning. I looked up to one point 3800 feet above marveling at the spires, pinnacles, and melting formations where only the gods and birds can play. They say this is the second fastest eroding coastline in the world, next to the white cliffs of Dover in England. I took my time floating with the current, exploring the sea caves, testing their depths with wild echoes, and leisurely taking photos. Before I knew it, I was at Kalalau beach. I stopped for lunch, going up valley to find a mango tree, foraging along the way for some tamarind, avocado, and oranges. That night I slept on Kalalau beach dazzled by the clear, starry night.

The next day I awoke early and planned my mission to Honopu. I could easily paddle around the corner to Honopu beach and stash the kayak under a tree, but I decided to play by the counties’ silly rules and swim over. I stuffed my camera, backpack, water and sleeping bag into a dry bag and make the fifteen-minute swim over. The beach was all mine. I meandered down the waterline looking for sunrise shells but found only fragments. I walked under the sea arch and around the outer edge of the arch, feeling like one of those little black crabs scurrying along the rocks. This is the spot. The one and only way up is a free climb of about thirty feet, but the slippery and crumbly rock make it very nerve racking. There can be no mistakes. It is not like free climbing Half Dome, it’s only thirty feet, but a fall from that height is all it takes. The pounding surf below definitely added to the tension. I started up slowly, studying my route, making sure the hand and footholds were solid. Be one with the rock, I kept telling myself, with each careful step. There comes this point half way up, where it’s a bit of an over hang. There is no turning back. I can do this, I can do this, is the mantra that repeats itself in my mind. My heart is thumping in my chest as I concentrate and go for it, reaching up for the next hold.

I make it to a safe ledge, breathing a deep sigh of relief. Now it’s a scramble up the slippery skree slope. Just as treacherous as the climb, each step is carefully measured and assuredly placed on the disintegrating slope. Using controlled sliding as a technique I inched my way up. Cutting back, grabbing onto little tufts of vegetation I persevere onto the top of the arch. The arch juts out into the seas and the 360-degree view of the Na Pali coast is unparalleled. Now the valley awaited. All I had to do was walk along a narrow path that drops off hundreds of feet on both sides. No problem, no climbing or slipping, just a simple walk of about fifty feet. Looking down at my feet as they walk along the two-foot wide spine of the arch, vertigo sets in. To my left and right the beaches far below turn to blurry abstractions. I wanted to look up, but couldn’t take my eyes off of my feet. I felt the light, floating sensation start in my legs and rise up quickly to my stomach and chest. The adrenaline surges into my fingertips and the giddy dizziness compels me to jump. My toes start to instantly sweat and I lose control of my weak knees. Keep going, just keep going, almost there, the voice in my head desperately whispers.

I make it over the arch and stand at the entrance to the valley. For an instant I think to congratulate myself, but quickly brush the thought away. If I make it back to the kayak I’ll start to breath normal. I was actually above the stream and needed to drop down about a hundred feet. I took my time and contemplated just how I was going to hike up the valley. I had a gut feeling that this was not going to be easy. I anticipated some bushwhacking, but would soon realize the painful error of underestimation. I devised a plan. Stay high until it looks safe to drop down to the stream, then try to follow the stream all the way to the back of the valley. Again the agonizing reality of my simple plan taught me a brutal lesson. I continued to walk along the ridge at the valley’s entrance and noticed that the large rock I was standing on started to move. I slowly and calmly stepped off. The boulder just rolled off its perch and silently disappeared over the side of the cliff. It seemed like an eternity till I heard a big puff noise from far below, but in only an instant my eyes turned to saucers. What was so eerie was the silence of it all. Huge boulders are supposed to make a big crashing noise. This one took quiet flight. Time to get off this crumbly ridge. I start climbing down the steep slope. Wham! I’m down sliding fast on my ass. That’s the thing about falling, it happens so fast. One second you’re standing, the next you’re clawing the earth for dear life. I always thought that I fell in slow motion, the terror of the second stretching out for frightening years. But no, it was instantaneous. Instinct takes over, my heels and hands dug desperately into the rough rocks. I had to slow myself, fast. Momentum at this height is not good; I need to stay in control. Again, a simple concept. I got lucky and found a small rock to stop me before I hit the really steep part of the hill. Shit! Falling already, I chastised myself. I barely felt my scraped and bleeding hands. Survival instincts do have their perks, lots of endorphins and little pain. The pain comes later, if and when you’re able to relax.

At the river I noticed a few feral goats. They looked at me curiously, quite friendly. Something was different about them. They were not afraid. Sequestered in their remote valley they have never been hunted. The stream was pristine. Watercress lined the banks while fat crayfish and shrimp meandered by. I followed the stream up a bit, sticking to the goat trails. I stopped and marveled at a sight I had never scene before, an ancient lohi or agricultural terrace still functioning. Taro filled the enclosed area as water gradually flowed through a channel in the rock wall. There are countless rock walls terraces along the cost, especially in Kalalau, but they are all over grown and in ruins. This one has stayed the same for hundreds of years. It was like stepping back in time. I encountered some nesting Nene geese who looked quite surprised to see me, and utterly befuddled when I took their picture.

Then it started, the dreaded drone and thump of the helicopters. You don’t really mind at first, but slowly they creep into your head, boring deeper and deeper into your subconscious. They drive some people crazy. I tried to not let it get to me by blocking the noise out, I was excited to actually be in Honopu Aina. I bumped it up a notch and charged up the valley. Soon I was surrounded by Lantana bush. Lantana is a very aggressive plant with gorgeous little clumps of multicolored flowers. Pink, orange, fuchsia, lilac, and purple blossoms gather in a miniature bundle to give lantana an unmistakable appearance. Its leaves have a rustic mint fragrance and can be used to make a stimulating tea. The bad thing about lantana is that it is covered in thorns and I happen to be waist deep in it and wearing shorts. I had followed the goat trails, taking the path of least resistance. There was only one way up the valley, and that was through the scratchy lantana. I tried to bend each thorny stem back, high stepping it, whacking it with a stick, cursing as it tore into my flesh, shredding my legs. And with each step it only grew taller until it was chest high. I was determined. I pushed on, splashing up the stream trying to avoid the relentless thorns. I realized that the thorns don’t reach out and bite my legs, it’s my momentum and force against the thorns that caused me pain. I developed a technique of slipping through the bushes and gently pushing them aside to reduce the number of vicious scratches.

I cleared the dense patches of lantana to reach the Hau bush forest. Hau bush loves water and can easily take over suffocating all other plants til there is nothing but Hau. Again the flower of the Hau bush is a beautiful yellow that turns to red, deceiving the plant’s hostile nature. Hau grows quickly creating a thick, almost impenetrable, maze of branches. Mosquitoes and chickens love its protected dark recesses. I luckily saw neither as I climbed through the living maze of twisted limbs. Up, over, under, dodging the mud puddles, I squeezed through.

Out into the light, and back into the lantana bush. I keep on keeping on, wiggling through, sweating and bleeding all with a smile. And up ahead another section of Hau bush, great. There had to be a better way, so as the valley narrows, I scramble up a red dirt ridge that to my surprise and relief, rises higher and higher into the back of the valley. From the top of the ridge the view is sublime. Almost right in the middle of the valley, surrounded by green towering walls, waterfalls, the sea in the distance, and a few helicopters buzzing my head. I can tell they have spotted me by the way they come in close and the surprised stupid look on their gawking faces. It’s like they have never seen a person before. I soak up the unforgettable vista and slide down the back of the ridge.

Now it’s a more mellow hike up the river rocks into the dark narrow back section. I noticed a piece of riveted metal embedded in the river rocks. It looked like a piece of an old aircraft. Maybe one of the helicopter pilots got too close for his own good. Then I found some old instruments, and a rather large tire. So it was a plane that crashed into the cliff wall and settled into the deep gorge. At long last, I made it to the back of the valley and marveled at the falls. Not that large, but flowing from thousands of feet above, the clean water refreshes and refuels me for the hike back.

It’s always quicker going back. I pause by the stream contemplating a camp site, and meander to the archway by sunset. I even consider sleeping on top of the arch, but the wind and spirits make me reconsider. The sun is inching toward the horizon and I can’t attempt a descent in the dark. I make it down to the cliff edge, almost stepping on some rather large bones, let’s just say they weren’t goat bones. I look down at the sea colliding against the rocks 35 feet below. I will just jump then swim back to Kalalau beach, easy. But the waves keep pounding against the rocks below, and it looks like I would have to time it perfectly between waves and hope I don’t get smashed. No, I liked the chances of climbing better, so its over the ledge I went, inching down. This time the going up part was a lot easier. I made it down safely to the beach, and swam back to Kalalau just as the sun slips below the orange horizon. I gobbled down some macadamia nuts for dinner and fll into an exhausted sleep on the beach.

Posted by Pat at September 23, 2005 06:55 PM

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