Maunawili Falls

Another day of hiking in the backyard. Our choice the stream crossing-intense trail to Maunawili Falls. Our easiest hike so far, but also the wettest and muddiest. It rained all night and early into the morning, but by the time we met blue streaks were conquering the remnant clouds on this side of the mountains. There was no telling what the weather conditions would be on the other side of the range. We would not be stopped by the lingering smell of wet asphalt.


After a quick jaunt on the highway we turned into a verdant valley. We stopped off for a moment at the local park facing what must be one of the Olomana peaks, not knowing any better at the time I named it the Truffelo. Unique things should have names I argued. It looked strong and powerful, like a buffalo and it was triangular so I fused the two elements. My private naming ceremony over, we continued on the twisting, narrowing road deep into the valley, up to the trailhead.


Once on the trail, it became apparent that my mission was to make it to the falls and back without soaking my shoes and drowning my socks in river water, painting on a pair of mud pants, or collecting scores of mosquito bites. For the first portion of the trail we stalked the stream. The trail steeped in mud, not just at the crossings, but through the gulch, wound back and forth across the stream. Thick foliage shaded us from the harsh strength of the sun, and prevented the mud from drying out more quickly.


Only when we reached the summit of the hill did the path dry out. The giant green tapestry of the Ko‘olaus hung from the clouds enveloping us on three sides; the 360 degree view was completed by a Kaneohe and Kailua. But the panoramic view was brief and we soon plunged back down again into the sloshing and smacking muck for a last stretch before reaching the falls.


The trail ended abruptly at the side of the shallow stream. It trickled out from a deep pool at the bottom of a 12 foot waterfall. The herd already gathering at the watering hole balanced on some of the larger drier rocks in the stream. Most chatted and laughed, a few deposited their shoes and belongings and plunged into the water. A few even more brave climbed up from the other side to the cliff above to belly flop into the water from 60 feet up. When they collided with the surface of the water we could almost feel the reverberation from the echo in the valley.


At the end of the trail and bathing suit-less, my only options were to 1) abstain from swimming, 2) dive in fully clothed, or 3) strip down and enjoy the pool of potentially bacteria-laced water at the bottom of the falls. My adventurous side screamed swim, but I had no desire to tromp out of the gulch any wetter than my sweat had already made me. And far too many people had converged on the site to even consider the third option.

So instead we watched the water gurgle over the falls and brave swimmers jump from the cliffs. They slapped the water and sent out thunderous ripples. Unable to play too, or unwilling to do so, we left again after a short break. We braved the mire and stumbled across the stream collecting more mud splatters with each step. By the end the clumps of muck stuck to my shoes had added several inches to the width of my sneakers and had climbed onto my socks. Rinsing them in the river and stomping them on the road just didn’t get them clean. The hike ended with a ride back to the park and a makeshift sponge bath at the drinking fountain. Unfortunately, the attempt at improving our appearance didn’t make our waitress at the restaurant where we had lunch any more friendly. I guess to appreciate our efforst she should have seen us before we tidied up.