Kauai Trails. Kathy Morey

      Introduction

      “Kauai….Oh, it’s just a little island. You can fly over it in an hour in a helicopter. Or you can take a half-day bus tour. Or you can rent a car and see everything in a day. It’s just a little island.”

      That became a standing joke in our house, a metaphor for a common misperception about Kauai. Kauai is a little island only from the outside. Kauai is big island on the inside, especially when you see it on foot. True, flying over Kauai or touring it with a guide may give you a different perspective on it or helpful information about it. And even a hasty visit like that will leave you with lasting memories of its beauty. But I’m convinced that if you’re at all able, you need to see Kauai on foot, too. It’s only when you get out of those metal-and-glass cocoons to touch Kauai with all your senses, to experience it at the slow pace of the walker, that Kauai can really touch you. There are rewarding strolls as short as a quarter mile, suitable for just about anyone who’s ambulatory; strenuous, multi-day trips like the Kalalau Trail on the Na Pali Coast; and everything in between. How do I know? I walked every trail that’s used as a trip in this book at least once in the winter and spring of 1990, for the first edition. I walked many of them again in the spring of 1993, in the wake of Hurricane Iniki (September, 1992), and yet again in the spring of 1995.

      When you’re on foot, Kauai’s rugged landscape seems to be faceted like a diamond, so that with every few steps you take, it reveals a new face to you. The rain may fill one face with rainbows, another with waterfalls flying down sheer cliffs. Where rain is abundant, as on the northern shore, luxuriant vegetation envelopes the landscape, softening its lines and muting its colors. Infrequent rain, as on the southwest coast, yields dry golden dunes stretching along the sea for miles and bare red cliffs soaring behind them. Inland, dense banks of ferns dotted with wild orchids set off abandoned roads whose eroded surfaces may display an astonishing array of colors. Cascades barely glimpsed from the highway show themselves to the hiker as immense falls, like Namolokama, the great waterfall that leaps down into Hanalei Valley. Dozens of unnamed waterfalls may be apparent, from broad ribbons of white to stairstep cascades to fragile wisps blowing in the wind. A stroll down a cane road shows you how the clipped, gray-green carpets of the canefields unfold across the plains and stop abruptly at the shaggy, dark green mountains of the forest reserves.

      Perhaps I should

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