Gray Wolf Blog

Two volcanoes are responsible for the creation of the Big island of Hawaii: Mauna Kea
and Mauna Loa. Mauna Loa, which means long mountain, is the more remote of the two
mountains as Mauna Kea is the location of some of the world’s premiere observatories.
Mauna Loa is the world’s most massive volcano, rising some 30,000 feet from the ocean floor with 13,677 feet protruding above sea level.

I had come to the Big Island in December 1992 for several reasons, one of them to stand
at the summit of Mauna Loa. After arriving at the Kailua-Kona airport, I hopped in a
rental car and headed towards the Volcano National Park. The Big Island is as large as all
the other Hawaiian islands combined and it takes around six hours to complete a full loop.
Volcano is around 100 miles from Kona. Kona continues to grow and most camping supplies
can be acquired in one of the many strip malls that are appearing on the main loop road.
Don’t freak out the baggage checkers, as I did, by attempting to bring a quart of
camping fuel aboard a plane.

As you head towards VNP, it is impossible to overlook the shaping of the land by Mauna
Loa. The first part of the trip is through lush terrain that one usually thinks of when
envisioning Hawaii. As you get closer, you pass some areas that look more like the moon
than a tropical paradise. It’s easy to see why, as the ground has been encased with a
thick mantle of hardened lava. Just as quick, the scene passes and you are back into the
forested topology.

I arrived at the Visitor’s center around 10 am. Walking up to the main desk, I
inquired as to the back country permits required for climbing the mountain. I assumed that
the standard registration would be required, but was somewhat taken aback when I was
informed that climbers were required to stay in cabins , rather than pitch tents. Climbing
was predicated upon bunk availability at the respective cabins: Red Hill and the Summit.
Not planning ahead could have burned me, but there was space at Red Hill.

Hiking solo sometimes raises eyebrows, but not from park rangers. The VNP Ranger was
very helpful and provided me with a small pamphlet that proved invaluable. Not only did it
provide historical information about the volcano, but it contained the elevation and trail
distance of various landmarks. The one thing that stuck in my mind was when the ranger
said: "Do not go off the trail. If you can’t find the next cairn, back track to
the previous one. We had someone leave the trail several years ago and we still have not
found the body." I did not see how someone could get lost on an established trail,
but took the advice to heart. Registered and ready to go, I agreed to sign back in after
my trip, to confirm that I had not been lost on the mountain.

As water and a bunk were waiting for me at Red Hill, I was able to lighten my pack
somewhat. I did bring along my Pur filter, but stowed the tent and sleeping pad.
Re-adjusted, I drove up the access road towards the trail head. The strip road becomes one
lane after passing through a bird sanctuary. I never encountered another vehicle, but it
would have been a bit tight. Probably nothing to the locals. It is about ten miles to the
trail head where there is a small parking lot and eating area. I ate a quick lunch, made
an offering of a ripe pineapple to Pele, and set out on the trail.

As this was my first climb on Mauna Loa, I decided to follow an old superstition that
had somehow worked it’s way into my mind and not take photographs. The superstition
did not mention anything about return visits, which is when the photos were taken.

The trail starts around 6600 feet amid somewhat dense vegetation. This thins quickly
and the trail continues though an area used to graze cattle. Be sure to close the gate,
after you pass through the fenced in area. The ground surface soon turns more rugged and
cairns begin to appear. In what must have been an unbelievably tedious and back breaking
chore, piles of rocks, called cairns, have been erected at various intervals for almost
the entire 19 miles of trail. They are necessary because there is no established trail.
More appropriately, no trail can be beaten into the volcanic rock. Gaining altitude, the
vegetation continued to decrease until it disappeared around 7500 feet. I was then on an
indescribably bleak, monotonous , yet beautiful landscape. Maybe moonscape would be a more apt description.

About a hour out from the parking lot

I had set out from the trailhead a little after noon, wanting to cover the 7.5 miles to
Red Hill before it got dark. There are markers along the trail to designate the current
altitude. The pamphlet obtained from the ranger station identified each altitude marker
and it’s mileage from the trail head. This was an excellent reference for pace and
contributed greatly to my enjoyment of the climb. The weather was ideal with temps in the
70’s and a breeze blowing in off the Pacific.

Climbing solo always gives you plenty of time to think, reflect and dwell. This
internal activity was greatly heightened by barren landscape. During one very self
involved moment, I realized that I could not see the next cairn, nor could I see the one
that I had passed. This snapped me out of my ego coma. I scanned the area where I thought I had come from, but could not find the cairn. The entire hillside was rocks. I tried to
re-trace my steps, but could not find a cairn or any semblance of the trail. Finally, I
spotted a small pile and got re-oriented. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be
in a similar situation at night.

With this little foray into pattern recognition successfully completed, I located the
next cairn and got back to business. I could make out Red Hill in the distance. I passed
the 8000, then the 9000 markers. It was around 4 pm and I had very little sunlight
remaining as the winter solstice was approaching. The approach to Red Hill has a bit more
slope than the preceding portion. By this point I was trudging and the trail was getting
more difficult to follow. Finally, around 5 pm, I crested the hill and got my first look
at the cabin.

In the early 1900’s, a group of black soldiers constructed the cabins at Red Hill
and the Summit. I believe that they were also responsible for the erecting most of the
cairns. These cabins are a true gift to climbers as the lava rock is not that amenable to
pitching a tent. Also, the winds can blow at a decent clip, whipping small rocks and dirt.
Water is stored in a steel or iron tank that collects run off from the roof of the cabin.
It is quite murky, but no problem for any pump. The are also two pit toilets.

Red Hill – The worn out area in the middle is the start of the summit trail. One of the more recent lava flows can be seen snaking down in the upper right hand side.

I can say that I was most happy when I was able to plunk down on a cot and take off my
boots. There were several other climbers in the hut. Some had even gone to sleep as it was
now pitch black. I set up my stove on the front porch and gawked at the number of stars
that were appearing. Got a pot of water from the tank and filtered it. Iodine might purify
the water, but I sure wouldn’t want to drink it. I ate in silence, thinking about the
day and drinking in the night. With the sun down, the air was cool and getting cold. I
cleaned up and made my way inside. The cabin was remarkably quiet. I popped a few Tylenol and I sacked out in no time.

I awoke around 7 am the following morning and began to prepare for the summit phase. A
few people were already having breakfast, but most were racked out. A few handfuls of
trail mix, a cup of hot chocolate, a cup of soup and a power bar helped me greet the new
day. One great thing about hiking solo is that you set your own pace. By 8 am I was on the
summit trail, 11.5 miles to go.

It was soon quite apparent that this day would be a little different. I could see a
large formation of clouds building to the south and west of the mountain. The sun was
shining brightly, but the wind was blowing steady and the gusts were really moving. I had
not brought any raingear and was hiking in jeans and an old ski jacket. Guess I was going
to get a lesson.

The terrain had changed dramatically. Below Red Hill the ground had been a reddish
brown. Now I was walking on the hardened flow from 1988. The flow had the potential to
destroy the Red Hill cabin, but was diverted by the crater and headed downhill. I
was walking on what seemed to be an unending ribbon of warped asphalt. I soon saw that the surface on which I was walking was much less stable that I had believed. As lava flows
down the walls of a volcano, it eventually starts to harden or develop a skin. Eventually
the skin cools and the lava flows through the middle, creating a pipe like structure. The
problems arise in that the thickness of the skin is not constant. The cairns clearly
marked the path and it was easy to see where the tubes had collapsed. You are risking
serious injury by venturing away from the cairns as some of the lava tubes are 10 to 20
feet high and you can go crashing through them with no notice.

So now I had something to keep me occupied in order not to dwell of the approaching
storm. Fat chance. The wind picked up intensity to the point that dirt was being whipped
against my face. I was a hour and a half out from Red Hill and the clouds had moved over
the island. I figured that I had another thirty minutes before it got interesting. All
mountains attract storms, but the Maunas have an additional perk in that they are large
chunks of black rock sitting in the middle of a warm tropical ocean. I had passed the 11k
marker earlier and guessed that I was another mile from 12k. It is a fairly creepy
experience to be alone on a mountain trail and watch storm clouds roll up the hillside to
kick your butt.

Twenty minutes later, I was enveloped by the clouds. At first the clouds were only a
nuisance, making the game of find the next cairn before falling through a lava tube a
little more challenging. But then the rain started coming down in sheets. The wind was
blowing so hard that the rain was falling sideways. Here’s a tip: Jeans are not
effective rain gear. I continued to hike until I could feel my leg ornaments reaching the
soaked point. The rain showed no sign of abating and I knew that to continue could lead to
hypothermia. I had to find shelter and try to wait the storm out. After looking around the
trail, I spotted a large lava tube that had cracked open. It was almost as large as a city
bus shelter. I scrambled off the trail and took my position inside the tube.

The tube was exposed to the wind, but I was able to use my pack as a somewhat effective wind block. Now I needed to concentrate on staying warm and being patient. I put on a hat and munched on some trail mix. After about a half an hour, I saw someone approaching. It was another solo hiker, but he had rain gear. We spoke briefly and he told me how he had been caught unawares during his first climb and the rain gear was a direct response to it. We wished each other luck and he continued on the path. It was around 10:30 am. Another thirty minutes passed and the rain seemed to be easing, if only slightly. The wind was not as strong, but I was still going to get plenty wet. I had come a long way to climb this mountain, so I figured to give it one last push.

I gave myself another forty five minutes. If it was still raining, I would turn around
and head back to Red Hill. I wasn’t going to hike another 4-5 hours in a steady
downpour. I slung the trust Kelty on my back, pulled my hat a little tighter and got back
on the trail. At least I was moving and getting warm. As I hiked, it seemed that the rain
continued to diminish. After a half an hour, it had stopped and another twenty minute
later, I emerged from the clouds. I had hiked above the storm! It was totally surreal. The
tops of Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea poked out through a mantle of clouds that appeared to
cover the entire island.

The bright sun made my eyes ache and I was more than content to put my sunglasses back on. The wind was still blowing brisk, but now it helped to dry out my jeans. I still had a
shot to make the summit and a huge jolt of adrenaline helped me pick up the pace. I was
psyched!

About half way to the summit cabin from Red Hill

I continued on for several more hours, crossing the 13,000 foot mark and finally
arriving at the base of the summit crater. The crater is gargantuan. It must be two miles
long by one mile wide. Unfortunately, the summit and the summit cabin are on opposite
sides of the crater. As this was my first time on the mountain, and I did not know if I
would return (I would), I really wanted to put my name in the summit log book. This
entailed veering north instead of south and tacking on another five miles. There was still
another two to three miles to the summit cabin afterwards.

Summit is off to the right, cabin to the left about 2.5 miles.

Turning my back on the cabin trail, I started down the summit trail. I stashed my pack
next to the trail and continued on. I was feeling the effects of the previous eight miles,
but really wanted that reward. The trail was much more varied than the approach as it
wound its way alongside the crater. The crater floor soon dropped away. The trail crested
and after what seemed like an incredibly long time, a bamboo stake appeared which marked
the summit. I signed the book, then headed back to the cabin trail. Clouds obscured the
view, but what I was seeking couldn’t be obtained through the eyes.

Kind of hard to miss this land mark on the south side of the crater.

I was pretty much spent when I got back to the cabin trail and re-mounted my pack. Just
had to get to that cabin. It was around 2 pm and I figured that I should have plenty of
time to reach the cabin. The trail leads down into the crater, then veers to the left to
climb the approach to the cabin. After ninety minutes and cresting yet another hill, the
trail split into a Y. There were no cairns. I looked at my pamphlet to try and orient
myself, but fatigue was making itself known. I could head south or east. I decided to try
east and stumbled off towards an uncertain goal. I continued for about twenty minutes but
the cabin was no where in sight. I doubled back to my starting spot. Whew, I really did not
want to sleep on the snow. I headed south and after another twenty minutes the roof of the sweetest cabin in the Pacific came into view.

Stumbling into the cabin, I mumbled hello to the other climber who had passed me during
the storm. He looked no worse for wear. The sun was setting over the clouds. I went out to
look at the crater, then returned to start cooking dinner. Snow covered ground at this
elevation and I thought that it was a bit ironic that I was considering the effects of
exposure and hypothermia while in Hawaii. I talked a bit with the other climber and then
crashed on my bunk.

I awoke several hours later with my heart racing. I think the sound of it pounding
actually woke me up. I was blazing hot and the room was freezing. I remember getting out
of my sleeping bag and seeing steam come off my body. The cabin was awash in moonlight
making this a very strange scene. I knew I was reacting to the altitude. For some unknown
reason, I had not taken any Tylenol. I drank a large amount of water and washed a couple
down. A few minutes later, my heart stopped racing and the heat left. Now I was really
cold, so it was back in the bag. Exhaustion soon overwhelmed worry.

I awoke early and made my way outside. The sun was just starting to rise above the
clouds and made for a dramatic morning. The clouds were not as concentrated as the
previous day and nowhere near as threatening. I was planning to hike the nineteen miles
out, so I started getting ready. After another short breakfast, I bid goodbye to the cabin
and the other solo hiker and headed back down the trail. The sun continued to rise and the
clouds dispersed. I had a great view of the ocean and VNP.

At the summit cabin

The rest of the descent was pretty much of a blur. Near the end, I ran into a group who
were on their way to Red Hill. I was glad to be heading down. Another somewhat bizarre
experience is the sighting of the first tree after leaving the moonscape. It’s all by
itself, like a sentinel welcoming you back . I got back to the trail head around 4 pm
having hiked 43 miles in 52 hours. I dropped off my registration at the ranger station and
headed to Hilo. A warm shower, followed by some mighty fine sushi left me one happy
camper.

Z trail at the north side of the Waipio Valley

 

Looking back across the Waipio valley from the top of the Z trail.