Cross One Off the Bucket List

Before I get into it, I wanted to highlight one of the key figures we owe thanks to for the existence of these trails we are so fortunate to explore with a quick history lesson.  The following is an excerpt from Stuart M. Ball Jr.'s "The Piko Club: Hiking O'ahu in the 1930s:"

Born in 1881, Charles Sheldon Judd was the son of Albert F. Judd, attorney and judge, and Agnes H. Boyd of Honolulu, and the grandson of Gerrit P. Judd, medical missionary, and Laura F. Judd.  After graduating from Punahou School, he attended Yale University, receiving a BA degree in 1905 and a Master of Forestry degree in 1907.

 

Judd began his career with the United States Forest Service in the northwest region.  In 1910, he was promoted to assistant district forester based in Portland, Oregon. Judd returned to Hawai'i to become Superintendent of Forestry in 1915.  For the next 15 years, Superintendent (later Territorial Forester) Judd managed and expanded the forest reserve system, consisting of mauka (inland) land set aside to protect the water supply for the populace and the sugar plantations.  Cattle from nearby ranches were the foremost threat to the forest watershed. Judd's rangers and work crews built and maintained boundary fences, and then planted trees in the areas denuded by cutting and grazing. With cattle largely out of the O'ahu reserves by 1930, Judd turned his attention to the wild pigs inside. He wrote, "It is felt that the solution to the pig problem on O'ahu may be attained through the construction of trails and consequently opening up of the mountain country to voluntary hunters."  His Division of Forestry began to build trails and cabins in the reserves for use by its personnel and pig hunters.

Timeline 

1932

Judd lead reconnaissance hikes for a new pig hunting cabin up Poamoho.

1933
Under President Roosevelt's Emergency Conservation Work (ECW) funding the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) was born.

1934

CCC began building Poamoho, Kawailoa, Ko'olau Summit, and Waiawa (now Kipapa) Trail cabins in early May.

The first whisper of Poamoho was from my friend Sean who went up with his father some years back.  This was an even greater experience than I could have ever imagined from beginning to end.  Permit acquired Friday and my hānai uncle and I were ready for Sunday's acshun advencha kine tingz.  He just got a brand new 4runner ladat that he wanted to break in and it had been raining all week but had cleared up that day.  I think that these were signs that this was meant to be, regardless if I only got one hour of sleep.

Following a narrow dirt road after going through the gate we gained elevation driving over laugh inducing, brain jostling, muddy and uneven terrain.  Something about splashing about through a puddle just brings out one's inner child.  I read of others walking up the same dirt road we drove on, and I'm glad we didn't follow suit.  It would have tacked on an additional 10+ miles (16+ km) to the 8.0 mile (12.8 km) journey.

We were provided with natural Hawaiian air conditioning, as we traversed up the well maintained trail.  I was in awe the whole time and sounded like a broken record around every corner.  "Wowwwwww, WOW, WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW."  After a multitude of switchbacks, passings over several points of surface runoff that fed into the valley below, colossal Koas (Acacia koa, E), and many a gate we finally made it near the top.  Following a contour that led into another small ravine at the very top my jaw dropped through the Earth to China.  Wisps of clouds brushed past our faces as we walked just 15 feet feet above a brook, a fucking brook, at the top of the mountain.  Following this path opened up to a large meadow, reminiscent of Waimalu and there it was, the KST marker.  The clouds had provided reprieve from the sun on the way up but had kindly dispersed long enough for us to enjoy the spectacular views of the valley beneath us and of the North Shore.

I dropped my pack and walked out to the edge just to be bitch slapped in the face by anabatic winds roaring their way up the cliff side, it was great.  I spent our "break" here running in circles jumping up against the strong winds letting out excited exclamations of pure joy (probs also delirium).  All I know is that there is nothing better to me, no greater feeling, no peace like being out in nature.  It's comparable to the feeling I get swimming far out into the ocean at night and looking back upon the specks of light that glitter the shore.  It puts into perspective the magnificence of nature and our place in all of this.

BREAK OVER, just a mile out and back, we headed towards the cabin.  Following the fence line and another beautiful contour of the mountain it opened up to the last bend.  I looked out again and down below was a fucking wetland, a marsh, A FUCKING MARSH AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN.  Then boom, ahead of me I see the cabin.  One of the guys who started 'Imiloa, Nelson, told me I'd probably want to live up there, well he was right.  I didn't want to leave and it pained my heart to do so.  I always have the same thought in my mind whenever I come back down the mountain, how will I recover?  How will I return to the banality of life, slaving away in a concrete prison harshly illuminated by fluorescents seated in front of computer monitors?

The thought quietly wafted away on the backs of clouds returning to the KST as the tired finally set in and we finished the day with huli huli chicken in Haleʻiwa.

Huli in Hawaiian translates to "to turn," although many believe it means flip.  Flip would be pana hoʻolei.  Huli huli chicken is appropriately named as they turn the many chickens on long metal rods over an open fire.  Major props to the chulrens working on this sweltering summer day.

Click here to see a list of shit I use for hiking.

Although I like to use this as a platform to combine any history or knowledge I can find regarding the place or topic I'm discussing I think it's important to remember that the only way to obtain true knowledge is through experience of the real world.  I live my life in a state of constant skepticism, always seeking answers to my questions firsthand.  Many have grown into a habit of vicariously fetishizing experiences online, especially with the advent of social media.  The photos or videos I post and descriptions I provide are indignant of seeing these sights for yourself, if you are able, and there is nothing that compares to the satisfaction of forming your own axioms.