Can post this now?
Herself and I just returned from Hawaii, specifically the island of Maui. She had decided that we would do many outdoorsy things while on Maui, which was fine with me. One of these hikes was across the Haleakala Crater, in Haleakala National Park.
Mount Haleakala is considered a dormant volcano by most standards, last spouting off around 1790. We looked at the map, and figured out a loop that would be around 10 miles long.
The guidebook was adamant: this hike is NOT for the inexperienced hiker. NOT for the weak. NOT for people with a packed schedule of events. NOT for those who curl up in a fetal position and cry when they accidentally burn their arm on a hot baking tin while making cheesy cookies for their beloved widdle doggie. NOT for those that throw up at 10000 feet above sea level, which is where the visitor center/observation booth/Holy Shit Martha area is.
As my Dad would say: you best be able to eat hay and shit walking
We started at the visitor center at the top of Haleakala and began walking, walking, walking, downhill to get to the “bottom” of the crater. 3 miles later we made it to the bottom and began walking across the floor of the crater. This is when a few key points emerged concerning our journey:
- we had walked 3 miles to get to the bottom
- we were still above the clouds
- we had dropped 2500 feet
- the ground was nothing but red and black cinders for miles in ANY direction
- there was no shade here
- there was no ground cover
- I had not yet heard a single birdcall in nearly 3 hours of hiking
Pictures of Haleakala on teh intarnets tell the raw truth: miles of nothing but slag and cinders and dust.
For you Tolkien yahoos out there, this is what he was thinking about when he described Mordor. No kidding. It is a desolation beyond desolation, where the ground is poisoned by nature and burnt free of life by the sun.
We trudged our way out to the far end of our trail loop, and took some pictures to mark the event. It was 2pm, and the sun was hot and bright and doing a fantastic job of searing the life from everything on the ground, including us. We were glad to be heading back, knowing the worst was yet to come.
We stopped in the shade of a large, scrubby tree (one of about 3 in the entire crater) at the beginning of what would be the final 3 miles to the visitor center. 3 miles of trail. A gain in elevation of 2500 feet. And the sun was setting in a desert.
Did I mention the sand?
Yes, sand. A good 12 inches deep, blown down into the trail ahead of us and pounded by hikers, horses and the occasional park service maintenance worker on a motorcycle. So the final hike was uphill in the sand for 3 miles into progressively thinner air and colder temperatures. It was the longest goddamned 3 miles of my life.
But we finally made it, living to tell the tale. When we finally made it back to our room, we slept for 12 hours.
(As a side note, it was 39F at the top of Haleakala that day. It was 81F at sea level in our room that evening.)
So now, She and I can look at the pictures of that volcano, and say “We were there. Right there, at the base of that cinder cone.”
Mount Haleakala is considered a dormant volcano by most standards, last spouting off around 1790. We looked at the map, and figured out a loop that would be around 10 miles long.
The guidebook was adamant: this hike is NOT for the inexperienced hiker. NOT for the weak. NOT for people with a packed schedule of events. NOT for those who curl up in a fetal position and cry when they accidentally burn their arm on a hot baking tin while making cheesy cookies for their beloved widdle doggie. NOT for those that throw up at 10000 feet above sea level, which is where the visitor center/observation booth/Holy Shit Martha area is.
As my Dad would say: you best be able to eat hay and shit walking
We started at the visitor center at the top of Haleakala and began walking, walking, walking, downhill to get to the “bottom” of the crater. 3 miles later we made it to the bottom and began walking across the floor of the crater. This is when a few key points emerged concerning our journey:
- we had walked 3 miles to get to the bottom
- we were still above the clouds
- we had dropped 2500 feet
- the ground was nothing but red and black cinders for miles in ANY direction
- there was no shade here
- there was no ground cover
- I had not yet heard a single birdcall in nearly 3 hours of hiking
Pictures of Haleakala on teh intarnets tell the raw truth: miles of nothing but slag and cinders and dust.
For you Tolkien yahoos out there, this is what he was thinking about when he described Mordor. No kidding. It is a desolation beyond desolation, where the ground is poisoned by nature and burnt free of life by the sun.
We trudged our way out to the far end of our trail loop, and took some pictures to mark the event. It was 2pm, and the sun was hot and bright and doing a fantastic job of searing the life from everything on the ground, including us. We were glad to be heading back, knowing the worst was yet to come.
We stopped in the shade of a large, scrubby tree (one of about 3 in the entire crater) at the beginning of what would be the final 3 miles to the visitor center. 3 miles of trail. A gain in elevation of 2500 feet. And the sun was setting in a desert.
Did I mention the sand?
Yes, sand. A good 12 inches deep, blown down into the trail ahead of us and pounded by hikers, horses and the occasional park service maintenance worker on a motorcycle. So the final hike was uphill in the sand for 3 miles into progressively thinner air and colder temperatures. It was the longest goddamned 3 miles of my life.
But we finally made it, living to tell the tale. When we finally made it back to our room, we slept for 12 hours.
(As a side note, it was 39F at the top of Haleakala that day. It was 81F at sea level in our room that evening.)
So now, She and I can look at the pictures of that volcano, and say “We were there. Right there, at the base of that cinder cone.”
posted by cowboy00242 at 4:40 PM
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