Haleakala: The Fast Way
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Haleakala: The Fast Way
“Mainland, yea?”
Biting the top of her knuckle, the old wooden desk creaking as she
leaned in heavy. Pressing the
phone to her ear and tripoding her elbows on the desk, she listened close for a
few more seconds then looked up at me and asks: “So the dogs came after you?”
her tanned forehead crinkling into the shape of a ‘V’.
“Well, no. Not
really.” Pausing mid sentence and
putting myself in the ranchers boots on the other end of the phone line; this
must sound ridiculous. A runner
from the mainland with no shirt and short shorts wanders off his ranch into the
Kaupo General Store and wants to know why his dogs, specially trained to
protect the livestock, come after him when he runs towards the livestock.
Meg presses the old phone back to her ear then leans back in
her springy office chair: “Okay, thanks John, got it.” I wander aimlessly in the cubical sized
store. Meg tilts her head,
pinching the phone to her shoulder and shouts, “Just don’t try and steal any
goats and the dogs won’t bite you.”
Loud enough for the neighbors to hear it.
Leaving camp early that morning with the plan of running
from the Kaupo General Store, at sea level, to the top of Haleakala, a ten
thousand foot volcano on the island of Maui, things had not gone as
planned. With livestock spread
across the route at three thousand feet and big white dogs ready to protect,
retreating to find out if they bark or bite was the only option.
I’d met a lot of interesting people since pedaling out of
the open air baggage claim in Kahalui.
An Olympic caliber runner and sometimes artist living upcountry on three
hundred acres of ranch land, he chases down goats, oddly enough, on long runs
from his door and sells them on Craigslist to get by; a group of long hairs
that’d turned grey as they watched the world change and develop around their
tent-beach community; and a Dutch man training full time to become a
professional iron distance triathlete who’s never raced an iron distance
triathlon—he’s strong, it’ll probably happen. The people you meet from the saddle of a bicycle or pair of
trail shoes defines the journey.
Going after three big human powered objectives unsupported and solo, the
trail, ocean, and open roads bring great solitude and clarity. It starts like any good adventure—with
strong microbrew and detailed topo-maps.
With a couple pairs of running shoes, a bicycle and Bob
Trailer loaded down with camping gear and three pounds of quinoa, collectively
known as Tuktuk, I bought the cheapest airfare I could find. On a budget of twenty dollars per day I
aimed to (1) set the fastest known time (FKT) trail running from sea level up
ten thousand vertical feet to the summit of Haleakala Volcano; (2) ride Tuktuk
around the one hundred and sixty mile circumnavigation of Maui faster than
anyone has ever recorded; (3) swim across the nine mile Auau Channel from Lanai
to Maui. The bike ride was long
and arduous and the swim was too windy and crossed a whale migration path
during whale migration. This is a
story about running from the tropical waters of the Pacific, through jungle,
ranch land, tree line and to the top of Haleakala’s moon-like crater.
10:00 AM December 14,
2012:
I’m tired and the dogs look angry. Quickly scrambling to the bottom branches of an old tree, I
could see the double track winding through two big knolls dotted with goats—seemingly
aesthetic until I heard the barking.
Climbing steeply to four thousand three hundred feet in the first three
and a half miles after an hour and a half ride to the trailhead from camp; the
clock was ticking and I was tired.
Perched and sweating from the humidity, all I could think about was
stories from Colorado: “…if you are in the high country and come across a group
of sheep with big white Burmese-mountain-type dogs, turn, and run like hell in
the opposite direction.” Unfortunately
I’m like a kid touching a hot burner for the first time—it’s not real until you
experience it firsthand.
Retreating back to the Kaupo General Store my effort was
thwarted. The first section was
hard enough, navigating head-high jungle grass through a maze of wild pig
trails, looking for tree trunk colored sign posts with small white arrows. There is no established trail until
four thousand seven hundred feet, where a person goes through a chain link
fence that signifies the Haleakala National Park boundary. The lower half is pure cross country on
Kaupo Ranch land. The rancher
opened the route as a courtesy to hikers, but let it be known he is still
ranching and has dogs trained to protect the livestock from predators or the
like. Back at camp I fell asleep
dehydrated and over trained—for the past two weeks I’d been riding Tuktuk from
trailhead to trailhead loaded down with all her gear. If I was going to complete the route I needed a different
approach.
Breaking the budget and renting a car for a day, I set up base
camp at Hosmer Grove near seven thousand feet on the other side of the
crater. Figuring the most
efficient way to do the run would be duel sport; lock the bike to a fence post
at the summit, watch the sunrise, drive around to the opposite side of the
island where the trail starts, run the route, and ride fifty miles back to the
car into the setting sun.
7:00 AM December 17,
2012:
No matter where you start, 10,000 feet is still
ten-thousand-feet. A marshmallow
of weather squished the summit on run day. Forty mile per hour gusts, sideways rain, and less than
twenty feet visibility left me grinding my teeth with crossed arms in an overcrowded
visitor center. The summit parking
lot was an ant hill of tourists from sea level who’d come from eighty degree
weather in Kihei wearing tank tops and flip flops; there was frost on the
ground. The three mornings prior
had been a blue-bird sunrise with a full moon and bright stars fading to calm
weather and views of adjacent islands.
Frustrating, but today was not the day—I extended the rental car and
drank overpriced coffee in beach cafés.
4:30 AM December 18,
2012:
The stars are close enough to touch from the door of my
tent; recovered and anxious, it’s time to run. What took ninety minutes on recon took forty. Moving quickly but conserving energy, I
met two Peruvian guys who tend to the goats. We talked in Spanglish for a couple minutes, I told them
about my first encounter with their dogs, now sitting obediently five feet away
and ready to work. I nick named
the dogs Pica and Rico. The
Peruvians offered me a ride on their four wheeler, I gave them a high five, and
ran up the hill.
Steep double track with bowling ball lava rocks slow
progress, but soon gives way to more gentle fell style running across wind
exposed fields with long range views of the Kaupo Gap; the long ramp exiting
the crater through sheer walls and leading down to the ocean. Knee high sub alpine grass-land and
eucalypt forests defines the middle section of the run. The route sees little traffic below the
crater—if there ever was a proper trail the jungle ate it a long time ago. Around five thousand eight hundred feet
a pristine alpine trail emerges and it’s time to hammer. Climbing nearly six thousand feet in
the first five miles, steepness backs off, the wind dies down, and the crater
walls close in protecting the runner from weather systems crashing into the West
side of the volcano.
Low hanging cloud bands hover around three story cinder
cones and the trail gives way to a lifeless moon-like sand box. I’m thankful for the moisture in the
morning air making the sand play dough.
The sun aluminates the stacked ridge lines of red, orange, and brown
lava rock. The route hugs the left
wall through the belly of the crater via Sliding Sands Trail. This upper section is one of the most
unique alpine runs a person will ever
experience.
The final three thousand feet is dry, on deep sand, climbing
sustained switchbacks, and it hurts.
From the bottom of the crater I start to push hard toward the distant
ridge—what I thought was the finish line.
Six miles and three thousand vertical feet later the number of tourists
multiplies and I reach my bike.
Eighteen miles, ten thousand vertical feet, three hours and thirty seven
minutes made for one of the most dynamic and varied runs I have ever done.
Unlocking my bike a grin spreads across my face—I was about
to coast down ten thousand feet of brand new road as the sun set. As luck would have it, my pedal broke
at mile thirty and it starts to rain just as the road turns to dirt and
cobblestone.
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