-William McKinley
In January I went to the Big Island of Hawaii, planning on a week of tough backpacking in the Volcano National Park, eating trail mix, purifying rainwater and crapping in the woods. It wasn't supposed to be a vacation in the restful sense. I ended up fully experiencing the entire island, however, and came home -yes, exhausted- but to my surprise in a state of peaceful delirium. And tanned.
After 5 hours of nothing but a cornflower blue haze out the plane window, during which I sprawled quite comfortably over the two empty seats next to me, I was happy to touch down on solid land. Our quick transfer in Honolulu left me only with the impression that Oahu is all red, green and rainbows, and resembles Jurassic Park. As the next plane neared the Hilo airport on the Big Island, we drifted down between the two massive red volcanoes, the sun glaring off the telescopes atop a rugged Mauna Kea, and Mauna Loa rising up like a giant humpback whale moving in slow motion on the horizon.
I caught a $14 cab ride to Arnott's Lodge after waiting half an hour for my late luggage. It's only four miles away, but that route circles around the airport and is not the most pedestrian-friendly throroughfare. I was worried about checking in late for my bunk, since they seem to be pretty adamant about their late check-in fees. My taxi driver who got me there in time was Jacquie, an eccentric and helpful woman with a great laugh and beads and feathers adorning her dashboard who gave me her business card in case I got stranded anywhere.
Arnott's is a bit remote, past some industrial weigh stations and the like, and four miles down the highway from downtown Hilo. It's also situated in a residential neighborhood, a sort of sprawling complex that includes a motel, dorm, camping area, gazebo and management house. They have a fleet of tour vans that parks across the street, and are just a short walk from the water, where you can watch the sun come up on Mauna Kea across the bay and sea turtles will pop up in front of you while locals hunt for coconuts along the shoreline.
Although unconventional for a hostel-type lodge, Arnott's is safe and homey. The evening clerk goes off duty at 10 p.m., but they don't appreciate having to come back up to the desk anytime after 8. I paid for my bunk and the next day's tour, totaling $100. I cut through a candlelit common area, where a few backpackers wrote in journals, watched T.V. and waited for their laundry to finish. Tents were set up in a grassy lawn nearby with showers for campers around the corner, and a hammock groaned under someone's weight by the light of a tiki torch. If you have a tent, save the money on a bunk and camp. It's a lot quieter.
The dorms are fairly sterile, but spotlessly clean and divided by gender. For $25 it's fine. Unfortunately, the female dorms are located right next to the common area and can be noisy at night in spite of the umpteen signs warning guests to shut the hell up after 10. I learned the hard way that you shouldn't even think about falling asleep before 11, as there are no doors to the rooms, kitchen sounds carry down the hallway, and tour groups often come back late.
In the morning, everyone waits for the shower before heading off in cars or on tour buses. Some lodgers were renting dirt-cheap (and dirt-caked) cruiser-style bikes and riding into town. Like most hostels, Arnott's has no lockers large enough to secure a backpack, so you either have to lug it with you, or trust your roomies.
With a few hours to kill, I started walking towards town to figure out just where the Hilo downtown bus station is. Once you see the layout of the tiny town, you can see why most people don't spend a lot of time writing out directions online. It's right there on the waterfront, by the bandshell, with a lot of buses hanging out in front of it. The little old man behind the counter acts as a sort of local information expert for all the tourists. It's about four miles from Arnott's down a highway that starts out ugly and gets scenic. Look for giant sea turtles in the water nibbling around the hull of a pepto-bismo pink boat about halfway there.
The farmer's market I heard so much about was pretty unimpressive, but it's a good place to pick up a cheap lunch. I wandered around and took some pictures of the old theater and some missionary churches, and stopped at a surplus store two blocks from the bus station to buy a cheap daypack. You can also get your machetes here.
Unlike Kona, the little town of Hilo hasn't become clogged with jerks in cargo shorts. It's mostly a place where people live rather than shop, with downtown buildings in colorful disrepair and some downright shabby streets. Local kids jump off bridges and float lazily in lagoons everywhere you look. Even the folks staying in the few resort-style hotels around Hilo Bay wander unobtrusively along Kamehameha Avenue at a sauntering pace unusual for American tourists.
Interacting with real Hawaiians, I felt like I'd pretty much entered another country, a polynesian hybrid where "mahalo" and "aloha" are not just catchphrases. The attitude of these locals towards outsiders seems mixed, friendly and helpful in most places, but with some behind-the-back shit-talking. Transplants to the island (referred to bluntly as white people) are generally insanely nice, probably because ex-hippies, travelers and surfers do not make for the most misanthropic bunch.
8 miles later back at Arnott's, I had a run-in with a pain-in-the-ass desk clerk who began demanding that I produce my receipt to prove I was indeed staying in the lodge because she couldn't find a record of me checking in, rather than answering the question I'd approached her with. She seemed typical of the hard-headed Arnott's attitude I'd read about online, and later when prepping our tour group she must've said "we are not responsible for your..." at least 20 times. Aside from the receipt nonsense, which turned out fine, I really had no other quarrells with them, but only stayed two nights.
The Mauna Kea tour was great - a little less professional than some I've been on, with our informative guide Robert stopping every 15 minutes to suck on a cigarette, but it was an easy and cheap was to get to the top of an almost 14,000 ft. volcano. I rode with a multi-national group of three couples (French, Japanese and Minnesotan), the third of which cracked me up the entire day (Hi Walt, it's Camera Girl ~ b.t.w - Barack Obama is not a Muslim!). The tour took us to a couple of ho-hum stops in Hilo, and then soon enough we were driving up the visually stunning Saddle Road, a two lane highway that winds over coils of hardened black lava from ancient Mauna Loa eruptions through the valley between the two behemoths. We stopped to hike some cinder cones and adjust to the altitude.
Ours was just one in a fleet of souped-up white vans from other companies doing exactly the same thing, barreling ahead to the summit for an unforgettable sunset at 13, 796 ft. Arnott's drops you off on the side of the road, where you hop a railing and slide down then climb a steep hill to the altar marking the summit. From there you have views of all the BIg Island volcanoes, as well as Maui, and -if you're lucky like we were- a spectacular pyramid shadow from the mountain cast against the eastern sky. It could've only been more rewarding if I'd climbed it myself.
We descended to a warmer altitude for a quick little stargazing lesson with laser pointers -as well as some secondhand smoke- and hot chocolate at the visitor center, where clients who'd shelled out about twice the cash I had were peering through a collection of high-powered telescopes aimed at the sky. I cut in line and sneaked a peek at the Horsehead Nebula, but the night sky was more impressive to the naked eye. Between puffs, Robert pointed out the Southern Cross, Capricorn, and an array of little cable satellites high overhead, but the sheer amount of stars was what had my inner astronomy nerd hopping up and down.
I kept my eyes on the sky as we followed Saddle Road back to civilization, occasionally studying the road ahead for "invisible cows". A ranch of free-roaming black cows covers part of the mountain's flank and they're impossible to see at night if you're speeding. Back in the forest, a Subaru-sized black pig watched us speed past in the dark.
Saturday morning I hitched a ride out to Hawaii Volcano National Park. The Hele-On bus only runs Monday through Friday, so if you miss it or can't make it those days, rent a car -and reserve it ahead of time to ensure a cheap economy car. Gas is staggeringly expensive, so the trick is to get the most economical car you can, but you'll want 4 wheel drive.
I found out halfway into my trip that a car is the ideal way to experience the entire island, even if you plan on doing a lot of hiking (which you should). The distances between trailheads can be vast, particularly when traveling over steaming black lava. The el cheapo option is hitch hiking, a popular and widely embraced custom. Catch your ride on Highway 11 where it crosses Kamehameha. Most people heading that way are going to Volcano or thereabouts, and are used to seeing backpackers with their thumbs out. As a lone female, I took comfort in the mythology of the Volcano Goddess Pele appearing as a lone female traveler whom you must be hospitable to or risk a curse, but that doesn't mean I was't on gaurd. I wouldn't necessarily recommend this on all of the other islands, either.
My first ride was with a Vietnam Vet named Dell White, a.k.a. Cherokee, a more haggard version of Burt Reynolds who pulled over an old red jeep and grinned under his ragged cowboy hat. His backseat was piled high with about a month's worth of Pringles and Sunney Delight, and when a fleet of motocycles passed us they honked and waved. "I used to ride with those dudes!" he explained, as we merged recklessly into traffic. Dell talked nonstop for about thirty minutes, and lives somewhere in the Fern Forest, in a reclusive community where at night the whole forest is lit red from the nearby Pu'u'o'o' eruption. I'm quite sure I don't want to know what they're growing out there, but he was a crazy and good-hearted guy. He offered to take me all the way to the volcano, but that would've involved a detour to drop off his groceries, which I politely but firmly declined. Oh, and he said he picked me up 'cause I didn't look like I'd steal his shit, so take note.
I rode the rest of the way with a much quieter farmer named Dwight after the Herrano Store, where you're said to find your surest view of the Pu'u'o'o from Highway 11 down Glenwood Road (if it's clear), as well as a lesser-publicized 4-mile trail through the rainforest straight to the backside of the erupting cone. Stay on the trail, and try not to look like you're stealing anyone's shit. I didn't actually do this trail, partly because I didn't find out about it right away, and also because seems a little creepy to me. There's a detailed description of it in "The Big Island Revealed", the guidebook everyone has on the island (you'll see).
I arrived in the park to a light drizzle, and stared out across the vast ugliness that was to be my scenery for the next few days. I was a little disappointed at first at the expanse of asphalt and drizzly sky. The sky cleared suddenly as I hit the first trail eager to get down to the floor of the crater, and I randomly headed east through a forest around the rim towards the junction between Kilauea Iki and Byron Ledge trail. I chose the latter, a hot two-hour hike straight across the giant Kilauea Caldera towards the Halema'uma'u Crater, a hole-within-a-hole pumping out a disgusting amount of sulfur.
As I hiked, Mauna Loa was there in front of me, a sleeping giant on the horizon, and once I walked into the crater a bit I could also see most of Mauna Kea. The sky was perfectly blue by that time and hot as hell, and I saw only a few people way off in the distance. The trail was marked with piles of lava rock, which were sometimes indistinguishable from lava trees in parts of the park, and became a little more difficult to follow about halfway in. I spoke with a woman coming down the Halema'uma'u Trail, which starts nearer the Volcano House hotel, and she seemed slightly rattled by the fragile, jagged rock. That's the thing you quickly realize, you're pretty much free to hike at your own risk in the park. Signs warn of certain dangers, such as sulfur fumes, dark caves, wild pigs and methane explosions, but I was amazed at the amount of normal people drawn to such a brutal, and sometimes frankly ugly, landscape. A beautiful sky is a saving grace during those times.
When I finally reached the sulphur cliffs, two hippie women in ill-fitting bikini tops were perched on the rim performing some sort of goofy cross between yoga and a prayer, no doubt praising Pele. Tourists snapped pictures of them, while I hoped for an old school smiting. Public displays of back-fat aside, the smell of the crater hits you instantly (from both the trail and the parking lot), but it's the actual fumes that are intolerable. Watching close to a hundred tourists gag and choke as they peered down the yellow-stained sheer cliff walls would've been funny if I wasn't one of them. I went to sit on the curb and study my map well away from the cliffs.
My bag was becoming a burden at this point, and I figured that it was another two or three mile walk to whatever I chose for my next destination. I wanted to be at Namakani Paio Camp by 6pm, just because it was my first night setting up the tent and I didn't want to do it in the dark. It's not actually in the park, but just off Highway 11 and free with the park entrance fee. Getting there on foot the way I did is sucky. I walked up an inclining highway past the eastern edge of the Kau Desert for over two hours, and then met with a short little dirt trail just off to the west of the Jaggar Museum that led me straight to the campground, a beautiful little oasis full of people with bathrooms and showers. Perfect for my first night under the stars.
Quick equipment note if you're interested: My tent's a Kelty Crestone 1-person tent. It was $60 used, easy to set up, annoying to pull taut, and water condenses on the inside of the fly and drips in. I put my 60-Liter backpack behind my head and my shoes at my feet, and there was not an inch to spare. I used an awesome Marmot mummy sleeping bag - rated for 15 degrees, I think. With no sleeping pad it kept me cozy, but I had half-awake nightmares about being paralyzed. In the dark I used a Petzl headlamp, which was bright enough and lasts long, especially on lithium batteries. The GPS is a Garmin, and I think it may be smarter than me. If you use lithium batteries on a GPS you should run them down a bit first, I learned.
The next morning I hiked in the twilight past some roadside natural steam vents to the Volcano House and had a coffee (so sue me). I cut east through the forest again, but this time took the Kilauea Iki trail. This trail is the most recommended by Park Headquarters, probably for its ease of access and mean beauty. It's another black crater, but more compact, with steeper walls and signs of violent upheaval all around.
Take a lot of pictures, because there's really no describing it. Tropical green trails lead down to a steaming floor on either side, but descending the trail on the Thurston Lava Tube side is a lot easier than going back up it. When I emerged at the heavily congested parking lot red in the face and sweating, I began to resent all the rental cars and tour buses.
The well-lit and short lava tube is is the only cheesy part of the park, but you can go about 500 ft into a completely dark adjoining tube if you have a light. It's easy and safe, but I'm a weenie so I waited for someone to tag along with.
To the south on my map I'd seen a trail called Escape Road and planned on taking that out to Napau Crater. But when I walked up to the fence, the yellow sign with a picture of a wild boar on it made me think twice... along with snorking on the trail that sounded like it was being piped through an amplifier. I backtracked nervously and got a quick pig-country lesson from a tour guide who looked Hawaiian before heading back in for a two-hour walk down a tire-rutted forest road. I don't recommend the trail and saw no one else on it, but it is a shortcut if you don't have a car and find yourself in that park of the park. Your alternative, walking down the highway and most of Chain of Craters Road, is boring and tiresome, but pig-free.
The forest dies off abruptly at a field of lava trees and broken-rock landscape all around. I was relieved to be out in the open again, yet that waned to nothing when dark smog rolled in. I got a little lost here trying to connect with the Mauna Ulu parking lot, but my GPS and map came in handy. I stopped gratefully in the bathroom there, since there was no way I was going to risk a tusk to the keister peeing in the woods. I headed towards the 3,000-ft steaming red-and-gold streaked Mauna Ulu through the trees. I hiked about halfway up it because I had read that people can indeed look down into the jagged mouth at the top, but my judgment told me to turn around. Later, I saw a family up there, so suit yourself.
I headed over to the Napau Trail, which originally I had planned to camp overnight on, out near the Pu'u'o'o cone. But with the ominous dark clouds and thick vog in the air, I was creeped out during the daylight! Soon enough, though, I saw folks coming down the trail and decided it was fine, just ugly weather. Two little blond girls with coke-bottle glasses told me that the view from the Pu'hulu'hulu overlook was about thirty minutes away and "awesome!" The clouds must've thickened considerably by the time I hiked over a lava field and up an overgrown cinder cone, because although I could see Napau Crater in the distance, I could only identify part of a lava shield, and what might have been the dark reddish flank of the Pu'u'o'o' rising up behind it. Disturbing, even more so hidden as it was.
I had decided in my tent the previous night not to get the backcountry permit to go all the way down the trail, and in retrospect I regret it. I had thought that the distance would be too far after my first hard day of hiking, but it turns out I physically could walk over 15 miles in a day and I probably should've just gone for it. I do think I would've been scared out there in that kind of thick vog, and later in my trip I decided that I definitely would've shit my pants had I opened the tent at night and seen the billowing red steam plume right next to me (which I'll describe later in part 3). And I only had two pairs of pants with me, so there you go.
It worked out for the best, thanks to Kelly and Mike and their two kids from Homer, Alaska, who saw me sitting at the trailhead later that afternoon. They must've read the 35 miles of walking in the last two days written across my face. Also, I was using my mind powers to will them into asking me if I'd like a ride back to my campsite. Not only did they offer, but they convinced me rather than staying another night, to just come back into Hilo with them, where they have a summer house and were heading anyway. They gave me that excellent guidebook (better than Lonely Planet, I hate to say), and we swapped travel stories and tips before they dropped me at the door of the Hilo Bay Hostel, a lovely, more traditional backpacker's hostel with gleaming wood fixtures. I hugged Kelly goodbye, and her younger kid waved to me as they drove away.
I fell into my bunk at the hostel after a coffee, a shower and a load of laundry, knowing that my trip had just taken a completely different turn, but certain that it was a good one.
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