Beautiful Decay
By Timothy Patrick
7 June 2008
I was going to hike at least six miles anyway, so hiking a mile by road to get to the start of the real Pihea Trail does not seem like a big deal. Skirting the road closed barrier I stay to the right out of habit and quickly ascend up the pot-holed road to Pu'u o Kila lookout, the last bastion of civilization before I descend into the Alaka'i: Kauai's swamp, the highest elevated swamp in the world.
After an hour's hike past beautiful drop offs and down into the forest, the red dirt becomes muddy and muddier with each passing cloud bank. The trail winds up and down, back and forth. Man made footholds help, as does the surrounding flora, but I do not want to become a cautionary tale, so I take my time. Then out of nowhere, and having no business being way up here, a boardwalk appears. Installed in the late 1990's, the boardwalk sits a foot above the mud, and is just wide enough for one person. Strips of a cyclone fence cover it for traction, but the rain has made it rusty and slippery defeating the purpose. Still, it makes my trek easier.
Winding through millions of ferns and trees, the boardwalk leads you through all the silence in the world. The only interruptions are the occasional bright colored bird, and maybe another spirited wanderer. The muggy quiet is of different quality, such that I have never experienced before. The earthen colors are as intense as the air; moss covers absolutely everything and makes a downed tree look like a cushy armchair.
Stepping off the boardwalk reveals the softest earth, and hidden telephones polls. Strung along the trail by the government after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the poles used to allow communication from one side of the island to the other, but now they just collect moss like everything else, and are beautiful because of it.
Alaka'i is Hawaiian for "to lead", and the trail has led me through a different world from anything I could have ever imagined. It defies what I thought a swamp should be: gators and everglades. No, there is little standing water. The water runs down the cliffs or is soaked up by the moss and the trees. You hear tropical birds more than you see them, but they are present. It is a perfect venue for soul searching or quiet contemplation. The peace is so overwhelmingly beautiful that you think a loud voice might cause everything to crumble.
Three miles into the jungle without food and I decide I have to leave, which feels like a crime. The ancient Hawaiians used to hike here centuries before the boards were installed, centuries before telephone poles were rigged, and centuries before hiking boots were first laced up. For them, it was the quickest way to the other side of the island when waters were too rough to paddle. I choose to believe that they made their way through the brush and trees as quietly as I did.
