I thought that it was time for me to hike into Na Pali Coast. He said that I could stay with him for few days, but that was all because the owner of the estate would be returning soon. I met Bert back at the shop when he was off work. We collected my luggage and the tarps. Thank God for Chris and Bert. I relaxed at Bert’s cottage for a few days as I prepared for the hike.
My backpack was huge. It was so heavy I couldn’t pick it up. I kept trying to lighten it, but it was still very heavy. I had to sit down, slide the pack on, and struggle to stand up. I don’t know what it weighed, maybe sixty-five or seventy pounds? To make matters worse, it had rained on the island for forty days straight. A levee had broken, washing a road out, killing seven people. The trail was closed at five miles in. A permit was required for hiking and a different permit was required to camp over night. They were not issuing any permits. It did not matter anyhow because you were never permitted for longer than a couple of nights at a time. I had asked Wei one day how I could have enough money to survive and be able to live as I chose. He said, “That is very difficult. I would have to do nothing for one hundred days, but then one hundred days turns into another hundred days and so on.” He had done it. So, I figured I’d go in the woods for one hundred days.
I had sold my laptop computer to raise some money. I decided that my writing would have to wait until I was able to figure some things out on the inside. Getting right within myself was more important than anything, including the book. In fact, I was willing to give up the idea of ever writing a book if I could only find a way to be at peace within myself. I called Wei and told him I was going into the woods. Wei met me at the North Shore the day before I was to hike in. He offered me some packaged food, but I declined. I was taking fruit and I understood there was plenty of fruit in the valley. If not, I figured I’d fast on water. I told him about the rangers in the forest and that they catch people and fine them and make them leave. He asked what was a ranger. I told him, like a policeman in the woods. I told him that the trail was closed and the river was high. Wei said, “No problem. Problem is only in the mind. Do not worry.” I laughed and said, “Okay.” But still, I was stressed. I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
The next day, I finished packing and Bert drove me up to the North Shore. I hitchhiked and a man in a truck picked me up. He had to help me lift the backpack into the truck. A big bottle of water fell out of a pocket of my pack into the bed of the truck; I would not notice that it was missing until I was on the trail. It was the only water I had. I planned to drink from the river once inside. I had planned to borrow a portable water filter, but that didn’t work out, and I had no time to buy one. Besides, my money supply was dwindling. I was dropped off about a mile from the entrance to the trail. By the time I reached the entrance to the trail, I was already tired. My pack was so heavy it was a struggle to walk. It was Easter Day 2006. It was warm and raining, off and on. Bert became impatient with me when he saw my backpack. He said, “Can you even pick that up? This is a serious trail. Do you know what you’re doing? You have to be able to stand on one leg with your pack on.” I could barely stand on two legs, so I didn’t try with just one.
I knew Bert thought I was crazy. I silently concurred. I was scared out of my wits, but it didn’t matter. Something inside of me pushed me forward. Here I was, about to hike a trail that was dangerous under the best of conditions. People had lost their lives on this trail. I was hiking with a backpack that I could barely carry, and the trail was closed due to heavy rains. I had never hiked anything like this or even camped out before. Other than that, it was a perfect plan. Problems are only in the mind. I was going in to fix what was broken. I was going in to learn how to live, even if it killed me.
Chapter Nine
The Na Pali Coast is on the North Shore of Kauai; the name of the trail is Kalalau Trail. I would hike ten miles in to the Kalalau Valley and camp for eighteen days. A healthy, experienced hiker properly outfitted could hike this trail in eight hours or less. It would take me two and-a-half days to go ten miles to the bluffs where I would set up camp. The eleventh mile ends on the beach, and has plenty of camping too, but it is more exposed. The bluffs would provide a cover from the rangers. I lived on water my body was not used to, and I had no way to purify it. My giant backpack was symbolic of how I felt all of my life; I was carrying the weight of the world on my back. I wouldn’t have that insight until after I had hiked a little ways into the woods of Kalalau.
I began my hike at about mid-day and began walking as best as I could. I had backed myself into a corner. I suppose I could have flown back to San Diego instead; but the thought never crossed my mind. For some inexplicable reason, I felt drawn to this place, even before I had arrived on the island. For the first two miles I would cross paths with other hikers. As we passed each other, they’d all look at me and say, “That looks like a heavy pack.” I would smile and nod, kind of like always, only now people could see what was inside my mind because I was carrying it on my back, in a symbolic way. I had a walking stick that helped me with my balance. With such a big pack, it was impossible for me to be balanced, but the stick helped. Every so often I’d sit on a big rock, lean my pack on a rock and rest my legs. After hiking for a couple of hours, I realized my water was missing. I had little tangerines that I ate. It rained off and on, all day and all night. The trail was not difficult until I reached the five-mile marker. I had no idea how long it would take for me to hike in. The first day I hiked until it started to get dark. I was tired and in pain. I pulled out a tarp and spread it on the ground, pulling it over my pack and me. This way I was protected from the rain. I was on a slant and kept sliding down hill all night, getting very little sleep that first night. At least there were not any animals or snakes to be afraid of, because there were no predators on the entire island. In the morning, I ate more tangerines and set my pack on a big rock, making it easier to slip it on. My muscles were sore especially my neck and my thighs. Many times I had to crawl to reach a higher, stepped-up part of the trail. The second day, it also rained off and on. I reached the five-mile marker where I had to cross the river. It wasn’t too wide; but it was high, and the force of the water rushing downhill toward the ocean was very strong. There were signs posted saying that the trail was closed. Normally, a permit would be required to hike farther or to camp overnight. But now no permits were being issued at all. A sign warned that the river was extremely dangerous and that crossing it risked death. It was frightening and I had to get up my courage to cross it. The thought of turning back still didn’t cross my mind. When I stepped into the river, the water was above my waist. I slipped and fell sideways. With the weight of my backpack, I stayed calm and still. I regained my bearings and wedged my feet into the bottom of the river between the slippery rocks, while crouching. One step at a time, I kept a foothold and made my way across the loud rushing water, using my walking stick to keep me from being pulled down river by the strong current. Finally, I made it across. I was supremely, royally, largely, hugely, thank you God for saving a retch like me, relieved.
A little later on, I lost the trail as I descended through the woods. When I realized I was off the trail, I retraced my path and eventually found the trail. It took three hours or more. I had started the day, tired. That mistake used up most of what little energy I had. After the five-mile marker, other hikers were far and few between. I was hiking up and down mountains. Sometimes the trail was steep and some times it flattened out. Sometimes it was on the outside of a mountain or sometimes it was through woods.
When I was on the outside of a mountain, the narrow trials were so thick with overgrown brush and slippery that it was difficult to keep from sliding off. The danger being that if you didn’t fall all the way down to the ocean or the valley floor to your death, you’d be hung up somewhere in between possibly severely injured. Whatever happened, you might not be found in time to be rescued. Out there you get in touch with your will to live very quickly. I realized more than ever before, that I did not want to die as I hiked on the mountains thousands of feet above the ocean. I saw that I could easily plummet to my death. Each time I climbed a higher mountain, I ‘d think that the worst was over and that it would get easier. But it didn’t. It kept getting harder and more dangerous.
By late afternoon of the second day, I came to possibly the most dangerous part of the trail. I looked out and down the mountain. There was a very narrow and steep path traversing back and forth down the mountain. It was hard to imagine how anyone could hike it without sliding down the face of mountain. As I looked it over I said out loud, “You’d have to be a Billy goat to hike that.” I began to descend the trail, one step at a time, which is how I had made it that far. Instead of thinking ahead, or how far I had to go, or how much I was hurting, I looked at my feet and willed them to move, one foot in front of the other, one step, then another, and another. It wasn’t easy because of the weight and balance of my backpack. The entire trail was wet and slippery from the rain. Each step had to be carefully placed, measured and slowly executed, or I could have too easily lost my footing and tumbled to my death or serious injury. As I was slowly making my way, a barefooted man with long hair, a beard, and no pack, easily whizzed past me, down the side of the mountain and up the next. He must have been one of the local residents of the forest. All day long there were helicopters buzzing overhead. I was afraid of being seen, but most of the time there was nothing I could do because I was out in the open. I would later learn that they were tours, rangers, or the Drug Enforcement Agency looking for marijuana. I never knew which was which.
I cautiously made my way down one mountain and ascended the next… I found myself climbing up the face of the mountain on a narrow slippery path. The path was barely a foot-width wide. It was windy, so I faced the mountain walking sideways, leaning into and hugging the mountain, so that I wouldn’t lose my balance and be blown off the path. There was no brush, only air in front of me, and an unobstructed view to the rocky shores of the ocean below. As I hiked around the mountain, I was faced with a straight ascent up the mountain. It looked impossible, but I did it. Then, as I sat and looked around I realized I could not find the trail. I looked over the edge of the mountain and I saw what might have been the remnants of a trail washed away by the rain. I looked behind me and there was a ribbon that went straight up. I could not see past it. The trail must have been washed away. I looked at the trail I had just descended. I didn’t want to go back but decided I must. On the face of that mountain, there were a few small inches between death and me, and death was not what I wanted. I felt Mom and Cathy calling out to me. For the first time in my life I realized how much I really did not want to die. I yelled out, “Okay, you win, I do not want to die.” As I crawled back along the mountain ledge, shivering from the biting wind, hugging the mountain and feeling warmed by the heat and smell of the sun soaked stone, I said, “I do not care what I have to do. I will go back into town and work any job and do anything to survive. I will find a place and set up my tent. I will rest a while and then hike back out. I give up. I give up. I give up.” (Upon my return to civilization I would find out that Mom and Cathy were worried about me and had indeed been trying to locate me at approximately the same time I felt them calling out to me on the trail.) I made my way back through Billy goat trail all the way up to a safer place on the trail. From out of nowhere, a man appeared and I found myself looking up into his face. He was shirtless and a large duffle bag that he carried with his head through the handles hung down his back. He walked with a stick and was older with gray hair and a gray beard. He said to me in a thick European accent, “How are you doing?” I said, “Not very good. I was on my way into the forest to camp but I lost the trail and I’m giving up.” He said, “Do not be ashamed, I have seen grown men turn back from this part of the trail. Would you like me to carry your pack for you?” I looked at him dumbfounded. “Thank you, yes.” He set his bag down and took mine. He was off, descending down the Billy goat trail and up the other mountain. He moved so quickly that I lost sight of him. I followed after him, still in pain, but much lighter and easier without the pack. I made my way back to where I had recently lost sight of the trail, he had already passed me on his way back to retrieve his own bag, as he pointed to where the trail was. I climbed up and over a piece of rock. There, down below, was the trail I couldn’t find. It was only a couple of feet away from where I had been sitting. He had set my pack down there. I went and maneuvered my pack back on. It was difficult. By now, it was nearing the end of the day. I was exhausted, sore, and worn out to a frazzle. The man’s name was Hamlet. When he caught up with me he told me that we were near the helicopter landing at the eight-mile mark, about a half-mile from where we had met. He suggested we camp there for the night. We hiked on. At another difficult point of the trail, he simply set his bag down and took my pack again. I followed him until he set my pack down. He hiked back to retrieve his own bag. I sat down. I did not think I’d be able to carry my pack any further. When Hamlet caught back up with me, I asked him for help. He set his bag down and picked mine up while saying that I should not become dependent upon him.
We finally made it to the campsite. I told Hamlet that I had not drank water for two days and he steered me to the nearby river. When I returned we used my two tarps as a floor and a roof. Hamlet expertly made a shelter for us by fastening one of the tarps between some trees with bungee cords. Hamlet offered me a powdered drink mix that I declined because I thought it had too much sugar in it. I shared the last of my tangerines with him. I told him that I was grateful for his help and that the next day I’d be fine to go on my own. Normally he would have made it into the valley to his camp. But, because he helped me, he ran out of daylight. By now, my feet had blisters where the straps of my sandals rubbed. This would make hiking difficult. We slept but I kept waking up from the sound of the tarp being whipped by the wind.
The next morning, we were up bright and early or did we even sleep? Hamlet told me that there were a few more sections of the trail ahead that were dangerous and that he would carry my pack through them for me. I thanked him, telling him he had already done enough. He stuck by me though. He had asked me many questions: Was I a writer? “Yes,” I said, “how’d you know?” He asked about my spiritual beliefs. After I shared some of them, he asked if I had ever studied Buddhism or eastern philosophies. I told him no I hadn’t but that lately I had skimmed through some of those teachings and I felt that some of them resonated within me.
As we hiked the rest of the trail, Hamlet told me that he knew of a perfect spot for me. The first night that I had stopped to sleep for the night, I had heard my brother Michael’s voice telling me that he had the perfect spot picked out for me, and that someone one would show me. I had forgotten all about it. Hamlet ushered me along. It wasn’t easy but I knew the end of the difficulties was near. I’d soon be able to crawl inside my tent and pass out for as long as I needed. Hamlet carried my pack over the more difficult passes. There were some places where the mountainside looked like a mountain of red dirt with no discernable path. It appeared that you would slide down the mountain into the ocean below. But somehow, I was able to remain upright and on-track. Although in one place I wanted to squat and crawl, Hamlet was able to talk me through it. When we came to the heavy brush, Hamlet cut through it with a small machete he carried with him, making it much easier to pass through. He said that we would reach the bluffs by noon. Finally we had one final huge slick red mountain to pass. Hamlet instructed me to lean into his shoulder when I needed help. It was a difficult descent, especially with my feet torn up. We finally made it to the woods. Hamlet led me back to a place under the cover of the forest, near a clearing on the bluffs. There were huge rocks that had been arranged to form camps and gardens many years ago by the original settlers of the island. It is impossible to describe the full beauty of the Na Pali Coast and Kalalau Trail and Valley. Everywhere I looked the beauty was breath-taking and astoundingly magnificent. It was beyond anything I had ever seen or possibly could have imagined.
It started to rain again as Hamlet quickly set up my tent between four trees. He fastened a tarp to the trees over the top of the tent for protection from the rains. He told me that he would come back for a visit in a week or so and would show me around Kalalau Valley. Hamlet hiked in and out of Kalalau twice a month to pick up his mail, food, and supplies. He had a Ferrell cat buddy that he named Cat who was waiting for him back at his camp. Then, he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.
I took off my hiking sandals and set them outside of my tent. Fortunately, I had my therapeutic flip-flops to wear. I unpacked and organized my stuff. What a relief it was to be there at last. I doubt that I had ever felt so relieved in my life. Just to have survived the trail, to still be alive, and in one piece was quite something to me. The trail was a transforming experience in of itself. Now came life. I was filthy. My fingernails and toenails were packed with mud, as well as my clothes. I cleaned myself up the best I could and hiked to fill my plastic collapsible water jug finding some guava fruit along the way. I ran into a man named Nathaniel whom I would learn was one of a handful of “outlaws” that lived in the forest and valley. Years ago it was legal, but no longer. Hence the name. He invited me to join him and some other campers for pizza that evening. I declined the invitation because I was still eating all raw. Besides the fact that all I wanted to do was to lie down and do nothing but sleep for a few days. I could barely walk and leaned on my walking stick to alleviate some of the pain.
I concluded that no one person actually owns or governs any land or place in the entire universe. Ownership is just an illusion. I felt that I had the right to be in the Kalalau Valley for as long as I chose. For the entire eighteen days, the rangers did not find me. Four others, whom I met near my camp, were found and cited. During the eighteen days I spent in the valley, I encountered a few of the other outlaws and they were all very helpful, kind, and generous. There were only a handful of them, living there taking care of the land, cultivating gardens, and speaking to the visitors about packing out what they packed in. I also learned that they often collected trash that campers had left behind and placed it down on the beach where the rangers could easily collect it.
Wei had warned me that I would go through a high level of detoxification and purification. He gave me a tiny statue of Buddha and a bracelet made of Buddha Beads and a chant to say while rubbing the beads between my fingers if the pain became too intense.
As I lay down to sleep I realized my tent was on top of big thick tree roots and was on a slight slant, causing me to slide as I slept. It was difficult, if not impossible, to get comfortable. The next day my thighs were so sore I could barely crouch to urinate. I slept the best I could.
I would eat the guava fruit for about three days until my stomach turned and I had to stop. I found out that there was plenty of fruit in the forest, but most of it would not be ripe for at least a couple more months. I mostly just drank water. There was a garden nearby was cared for by the outlaws and regular visitors. Every day or so, there would be a few ripened papayas, and that is what I had to eat. After two or three days I went ten consecutive days without a bowel movement. That was a first. I felt very light and weak.
The blisters on my feet had become infected, and so it was still painful to walk. I didn’t feel well enough to make it to the river to bathe until about the third or fourth day. As my muscle aches began to subside, I developed intense sinus headaches that were especially painful when I lay down to sleep at night. I couldn’t recall ever experiencing sinus pain that severe; and I used the beads and chant that Wei had given me. From the first night, I had vivid dreams, visions, insights, and knowing. I was “told” that a wealthy and famous actress would be so moved by my book that she would be instrumental in having it made into a movie. At the time, I thought that the book with Michael was the one that was being referred to, but maybe it was a book that I had not yet written.
In four nights the headaches subsided and finally faded away until not even a hint of pain was left. Hamlet brought me a couple of oranges, one morning. My feet were still sore, but overall, I was feeling better. One of my toenails became infected and in time would fall off. He told me that my own saliva would heal the infections, which proved true. I followed Hamlet down to the beach, and through various gardens along the way, as he picked herbs and greens to eat later, explaining as we went. I hurriedly limped along, never quite able to keep up with him. There were remnants of a library and outdoor kitchen along one wall of a natural cove, very near to the beachfront campsites below a waterfall thirty feet high. He told me how he had lived in the woods for the past few years. He said he was originally from Europe, spending time in a concentration camp with his sister when they were small children. He told me that the males and females were placed in separate dorms. The guards would force the men and boys to strip naked and walk outside in the cold to the women’s dorm to shower. Then, they would do the same thing to the women and girls, making them shower in the men’s dorm, just to humiliate them. He said all the guards were horribly cruel and inhumane. On Christmas day, they would come into the dorms making eerie sounds like ghosts, frightening the children.
I shared with Hamlet the story I had planned to write and what had brought me to the forest. We spent most of the day hiking and foraging for food. Hamlet was a gentle man, living alone for years, and a friend to many. I told him that I did not want to hike back out and had heard there were boats that sometimes carried people out of the valley. He told me of a native Hawaiian man who had a boat and provided such a service. He handed me a hundred dollar bill saying, “I have plenty of money. This will get you back to town.” I gratefully accepted his offering, thanking him for his generosity. As late afternoon settled in around us, we hiked back towards the bluffs and then parted ways. I would be gone before he would be back that way again.
When I returned to civilization, I encountered others who knew of Hamlet and his kind and generous spirit. Somehow, whenever Hamlet came into town for supplies, our paths would always cross. To this day, I correspond with Hamlet. In a recent letter, he wrote of how he had been pulling weeds from the trail, which abruptly released from the ground. He went tumbling backward, headfirst, off the trail, landing as helpless as a turtle on its back. He said somehow his life had been spared for the twelfth time and wondered why and what was he supposed to do. I know, that at least for me, he had made all the difference in the world. I will always remember to never forget how Hamlet helped me on the side of a mountain in the most remote place on earth, that day when I no longer wished to die more than I wished to live.
I spent the rest of my time quietly resting, showering in the waterfall by the beach, or bathing in the river, never quite becoming accustomed to the chill of the water. Every couple of days I easily rinsed and freshened my clothes in the river, hanging them to dry at my camp. I was there for eighteen days. I started out with a few papayas, a few oranges, some nuts, and water. Many days I had only water. I hiked around and did some exploring, sometimes on my own or occasionally with other campers. I showed them a small group of orange trees that Hamlet had told me about. Most of the oranges were still green and a month away from being ripe enough to eat. Each trip to the oranges included at least several failed attempts to obtain the one or two oranges that were ripe enough to eat. If we were lucky, we were able to shake a couple lose, which were divided up and devoured on the spot. Because I was eating so little, I got tired very easily and had to pace myself. I enjoyed hiking down to the beach to walk barefoot on the sand but I had to go very early or the sand was like hot coals. I did make it into the valley a couple of times and to some huge caves on the beach. I sunbathed in the nude and walked on the beach au natural. It was a liberating experience, and one that I had never before experienced
The other campers had nightly parties to which I was invited. I declined preferring to be inside my tent by sundown, when the mosquitoes were at their worst. It was cold at night, even with two light sleeping bags, long pants and two shirts. Much of what I had brought was unnecessary, and I gave away what I could. I met a young man whom had hiked from Mexico to Canada, twice, and to many other places. I inquired as to what he carried in his backpack. He knew the exact weight of everything in his pack to the ounce and had it down to a science. I learned much from him. He came over to my tent to see what I had packed. After laughing at my gigantic floss, he pointed out that my huge torch lighter could have been replaced with a tiny one. I told him the worst part was that since I wasn’t cooking I had no use for it. I had thought I might need it so I just packed it. There were many other items like that; along with clothes I didn’t need either.
I could view the sunset by looking out the front of my tent and peeking through the trees. When I hiked to the beach the view of the coastal mountains were beyond magnificent. There was one place where they resembled a Heavenly Cathedral. The entire coast held some of the most indescribably beautiful fantastic sights I had ever seen in my life. After I had been there about two and-a-half weeks with little to eat I was feeling pretty weak. Something told me it was time to go. I made arrangements to be picked up at the beach the next afternoon by Jet Ski. The charge was two hundred dollars, reduced to one hundred dollars, since that was all I had. I gave my tent and camping things to one of the men who were on an extended stay; my hiking sandals were a perfect fit for a young woman who had recently lost a shoe in the river. The man, to whom I gave my tent, carried the rest of my belongings down to the beach for me. I showered in the beachfront waterfall and made myself comfortable under the shade of a tree on the sand. I fell asleep. The sand made a comfortable bed, and that nap turned out to be the best sleep of my stay. Day turned into night and no Jet Ski. The man I hired had been so adamant about his dependability that I waited until it was too dark for me to hike back up to the bluffs. Some campers shared some cooked food, my first in over two years. It tore my stomach up.
I had no tent and it started raining. A young woman in the group chewed me out for being so irresponsible as to be left this way. She hoped that I would not do this to myself again. She was young enough to be my daughter. I did not debate the matter with her. I climbed on top of a huge wooden storage locker with my sleeping bag and slept the best I could. At least I was dry. The next morning, I woke up early and went back to the beach under the tree. I waited again for the Jet Ski, but he didn’t show up the second day either. This time, an older woman at a nearby campsite, knew my story and was keeping an eye out for me. When my ride out had not yet arrived an hour before sunset, she offered me shelter at her campsite. She generously shared some food and made a “tent” for me out of a spare tarp. Early the next morning, she packed up and bid me farewell as I thanked her for her help and kindness. During the previous two nights mosquitoes had ravaged my face covering it with bites. I decided that I did not care if the Jet Ski ever arrived. There was nowhere I had to be. So I retrieved an abandoned tent and a clean sleeping bag that someone had left behind. If I was going to stay, at least I would be safe from the mosquitoes. As I finished pitching the tent, two women approached. They had hiked in with their husbands the night before, and one of the husbands was pretty beat up. The other husband had left early that morning to send a boat. The women were frightened because the trail was dangerous. They had heard about me through the grapevine, and asked if I would like to leave with them on the boat. I thanked them for thinking of me. I explained that the currents were very strong and that I was not a good swimmer. So, I would not be able to swim to the boat. The woman said that the boat would come right up on the sand. Just then, they saw another boat dropping off two women. They ran out to where the boat was. I went about my business, getting some water for the day and using the bathroom. They called out, as I was on my way back from the waterfall. They had hired the boat to take them back and there was plenty of room for me. But, we all had to swim to the boat. There were boogie boards and we’d be coached. They pointed to where the boat was and told me to bring my things out to the beach if I wanted to go back with them. I packed up my belongings. They were pretty well water-proofed in a big black garbage bag I’d prepared for the ride on the Jet Ski. I dragged my bag out to the beach and watched the others swim to the boat and how they did it. Once they were past the break point, they were home free. It was just getting past the break point. That was the tricky part. It would throw you back if you didn’t swim hard enough. There were five, including myself being picked up. Two of the people made it to the boat. The wife of the man who was hiking out alone, was very worried about her husband, and couldn’t get past the breakers. She kept getting tossed back. I had a little pep talk with myself. I asked Jesus and whoever else was willing to help to step forward, because I was going in. I had been scared of deep water ever since Tommy had drowned. I rarely went into the water in all those years. I picked up a boogie board and walked over to the young man who was doing the coaching. I told him, “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” He swam with me out toward the breakers and told me to kick like hell. I did and I made it past. I was on board before I knew it. One of the things that had most frightened me was the idea of cold water. I had forgotten how I had cried all those years ago during that night thinking that Tommy must have been so cold. But the water was not cold. I was no longer afraid of the water. Now, all I had to do was conquer my fear of being bitten in the ass by a shark.
The wife finally made it to the boat and was worn out. The ride back to Hanalei seemed like a long one. It was a much different perspective to view the mountains from the water, whizzing by the trail that had taken me days to cross. I was so grateful to not be hiking back, especially since my feet were not healed and I was still limping. I knew that my paradise was not in the forest. It was within me. I also knew that whatever else I was looking for was in there, too. I had come out with a much greater will to live, than when I went in. I had chosen life over death and no matter how much the people in our lives love us and want us to stay alive we are the only ones who must and can make the choice to live. I didn’t know it then but that choice would set the stage for the writing of this book and the forgiveness of my past. It had been eighteen days since I had first stepped foot onto the Kalalau Trail. Soon I would be back in Hanalei Bay, walking through Papayas, shopping for something to eat.