Side Roads
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Road to Hana:
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Hiking along the King's Highway trail, the rocky footpath that early Hawaiian royalty used to circle Maui and collect taxes. |
Maui, Hawaii's second-largest island, has the well-deserved reputation of being an outdoor paradise. Only 48 miles long and 26 miles across at its widest point, Maui includes two ancient volcanoes and five distinct zones of wildly different flora, topography and climate. The serpentine coastal road around East Maui -- the island's most lush and jungle-like zone -- leads to Hana, known as Maui's "most Hawaiian" town.
When my husband, two teenage sons, and I left Kahului, Maui's commercial hub, we knew we couldn't do everything possible along the 55 miles to Hana. But I wanted to.
Armed with annotated maps, guidebooks and Craig Henderson's excellent "Hana Cassette Guide" audio tour, I was eager to hike, pick wild fruit, identify tropical flowers, explore tidal pools, swim, bodysurf and snorkel. Kayaking, horse riding, caving, shore fishing and hunting were available, too, I informed my family.
While my head was buried in maps, they were looking out the windows. Along Hana Highway, Route 36, head-high fields of sugar cane swayed like hula dancers. Relax, they seemed to say.
Past the sugar plantation town of Paia -- the last place to buy gas before Hana -- we stopped at Hookipa Beach, site of the autumn Pro Windsurfing World Cup Final. Dozens of sailboards dipped and darted like butterflies through 10-foot swells. Most of the windsurfers were males in their 20s.
"Those guys have dogs and beat-up vans and trucks. They can't be tourists. But it's noon. Do you think they have jobs?" asked 14-year-old Josh. Imagine defining a day not by school bells or business hours but by surf's up, wind's right.
Driving east again, we experienced one of those mutations-within-miles that makes Maui so magical. Sugar cane gave way to pineapple, which requires more moisture. The coastline was steeper, rockier. The air became cool and humid. It smelled green.
At the intersection with Highway 365 -- also known as Highway 40 -- Hana Highway 36 becomes Highway 360, the official start of what some people call "the real Hana Highway." Mile markers (MM) start again here, which made sense to us. The road definitely changes character; in fact, if you give it a chance, it can build character.
Slow Down
As it winds around the steep flanks of Mt. Haleakala, the dormant volcano that dominates East Maui, Hana Highway twists, curves, hugs rock walls, often narrows to one lane and frequently skirts deep ravines and major drop-offs without benefit of guardrails.
It's not dangerous or scary for people who like to drive. But the message is clear: slow down. Posted speed limits range from 10 mph to 20 mph. Signs warn drivers to sound horns at blind curves, to yield to traffic on one-lane bridges.
Our family too often measures life by quotas, appointments, deadlines and race results. On the road to Hana I abandoned my plan to tally the precise number of 600-odd curves and 50-plus bridges. (Published figures vary.)
We had better things to do with our eyes. Mauka -- Hawaiian for inland, or toward the mountains -- we saw monster-sized impatiens and philodendrons dangling down rock walls, tufted tops of bamboo groves, and clouds ringing the 10,000-foot peak of Mt. Haleakala.
Makai -- toward the sea -- we could see orange-flowered African tulip trees, carpeted ravines, and light green kukui trees whose nuts provided oil for ancient Hawaiian lamps. Far below, surf hammered black lava boulders.
My husband, Steve, inhaled lungfuls of eucalyptus- and plumeria-scented air. "This is the real Maui," he said.
Every half-mile or so, pullovers offered room for a carload or two to admire waterfalls plunging toward the sea or diverted into the East Maui Irrigation (EMI) system. East Maui averages 360 inches of annual rainfall. EMI ditches and tunnels carry 60 billion gallons of water a year to central Maui cane fields, where it takes one ton of water to produce one pound of refined sugar.
We stopped most often between MM 12 and 20, along the Keanae Peninsula. Keanae means "inheritance from heaven." In the Maui version of creation, Keanae is where Sky Father created the first man and woman. There's no admission fee at Keanae Arboretum, a minimally maintained state property that is home to gingers, ti, taro, banana, breadfruit, papaya and other native edibles.
A steep, rutted road drops to the seaside hamlet of Keanae, where residents still fish with nets from shore, raise taro in paddies and hunt wild pigs in the mountains. We bought coconut candy from a card table in Pearl Pahukoa's yard. "Where do you get the coconuts?" I asked. "Right here!" said Pearl's little granddaughter, pointing to the family's coconut palms.
Go With the Flow
By the time we left Keanae, I realized there was no way we could hike to every waterfall, buy $2 flower bunches at each self-serve stand or sample all the fruits at roadside markets. Nor could I keep track of exactly where we were on the map -- and enjoy the road. Surprise can be good, I reminded myself.
We'd already arranged to stay two nights at Waianapanapa State Park, just outside Hana. Staying three nights would have been even better.
Our state park cabin overlooked the wildest stretch of coast we'd seen. Every color was intense: black lava beach and boulders; deep blue sea; foaming surf; essence-of-green sea grapes and hala trees.
One morning we hiked the King's Highway trail, the rocky footpath that early Hawaiian royalty used to circle Maui and collect taxes. Starting at Waianapanapa's freshwater lava tube caves, we headed toward stone wall remnants marking a heiau, or ancient temple. Shellfish, crabs and snails clung to sea-battered rocks.
The best part was the blowholes, rocky crevices through which waves roared, hissed and soared into wild plumes. It was exhilarating, like fireworks of water.
"At Yellowstone, there are crowds around every geyser. We're the only ones here," said Abe, 17.
On the way into Hana, we stopped at the local high school, because Abe and Josh wanted to run a timed-interval workout. We asked where the track was, and a student, hoeing in the school's three-acre native plants garden, looked puzzled. "Track? We got a big field you can run around in, but we don't got no track," he said.
Why chase yourself in circles when Hana offers so many ways to relax? We peered inside the hales (thatched Hawaiian homes) at Hana Cultural Center and admired the eclectic merchandise -- ukulele cassettes, dried cuttlefish, snorkel gear -- at Hasegawa General Store.
Instead of hiking to Hana's scenic overlook, we bought coconut and macadamia-nut ice cream cones from Tutu's, at the foot of the hill where Kaahumanu, King Kamehameha's favorite wife, was born in 1768.
The surf was too rough to kayak off Hana Beach Park. We didn't feel like navigating the slippery slope to Red Sand Beach. The waves were too wild for snorkeling at Hamoa Beach. So we read novels on palm-fringed, gray-sand Hamoa Beach, then battled the breakers.
On our final day, we drove 45 minutes west of Hana on Highway 31, a route even more narrow and lush than Hwy. 360. At the Kipahula section of Mt. Haleakala National Park, we hiked up two miles of slippery mud and roots to 400-foot Waimoku Falls. Fording streams, hearing wild snorts (pigs? cows?), threading an eerie clacking tunnel of 30-foot-tall bamboo and getting caught in a tropical downpour all added to the rainforest experience.
Back at the car, we faced a final decision. We'd originally planned to continue the loop around Mt. Haleakala, which includes several hours of bumpy and unpaved driving through remote arid ranches and lava fields.
But as the road to Hana had already taught us: you don't have to mark off every item on your vacation list to have a good time. Instead we returned the way we came -- with time to smell more flowers and buy more fruit and coconut candy.
Copyright 1999 Joan Huyser-Honig. All rights reserved.
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