The central peak of Kauai, while modest in height at just over 5,000 feet, holds a unique allure. Its distinct character and challenging terrain make it one of the most captivating yet elusive summits in Hawaii. By 1874, the peak had been ascended only a handful of times by non-native Hawaiians, with the first recorded expedition taking place in 1862 from the Waimea side. This account narrates the subsequent ascent from the Wailua side in March 1870 by G. N. Wilcox, A. H. Smith, and the author himself, offering a glimpse into the arduous yet fascinating journey to Waialeale Lake.
Setting Out from Lihue
On Monday, September 14th, our party left Lihue at 9:00 AM, trekking past the stunning lower and upper Wailua Falls. Entering the valley of the northern branch of the Wailua River, we followed a narrow trail flanked by groves of guava, bamboo, and lehua trees, interspersed with ferns and vibrant grasslands. This lush region, teeming with wild cattle and hogs, is a hunter’s paradise.
As the dense jungle obstructed horseback travel, we left our mounts in a boy’s care and continued on foot. By sunset, we reached our campsite by a babbling brook, hemmed in by high, forested ridges. Dinner was a rustic delight: venison roasted over a roaring fire and coffee brewed at the tent door.
The Ascent Begins
An early breakfast fueled our continued journey up the narrowing gorge. Leaping across mossy rocks and wading through clear waters, we immersed ourselves in an enchanting landscape dominated by amau ferns. Reaching a fork in the stream, we began climbing the spur separating the two branches.
The trail, untrodden for four years, was overgrown with vines and underbrush, requiring our guide to clear the path with a hatchet. Around noon, we reached the main ridge and rested briefly. The ridge presented a dramatic challenge: steep climbs with sheer drops on either side, demanding both stamina and courage.
Scaling the Steepest Climb
The ridge ahead rose sharply at a 70-degree angle, a formidable section that would have been impassable without the dense tangle of vines and trees. These natural handholds transformed the climb into a full-body workout, engaging every muscle as we hauled ourselves upward.
Midway, we passed Wahinemake, a large overhanging rock named for a woman who, according to tradition, succumbed to the cold beneath its shadow. Soon, we entered the region of perpetual moisture, where moss blanketed every surface, dripping with icy water. Our clothing became soaked, a state we endured until our return home.
At dusk, we reached a narrow ridge barely ten feet wide, where we pitched our tent under lehua trees. Precariously perched between two gulfs, our campsite offered no room for error. As we prepared for the night, curious birds like the bright-eyed apekepeke flitted around us, and the o-o whistled from the treetops.
The Final Push to the Summit
Wednesday brought us to Punamaliu, an ancient camping site with small pools of cool rainwater. The ridge here broadened slightly, though it still featured a dramatic drop on the southern side. Pressing on, we encountered Naalewalewa (The Hanging Roots), where we climbed a natural ladder of tangled lehua roots.
The alpine environment revealed a unique array of flora, including lapalapa trees, whose quivering leaves fluttered like aspens, and the striking apeape plants with massive circular leaves and scarlet blossoms. These plants thrived in the constant trickle of moisture along the cliffs, creating a lush, otherworldly atmosphere.
Just before the summit, we traversed Namakanihoopuoho, a ridge separating the Hanalei and Wailua valleys. Here, fierce winds converged with a thunderous roar, heralding our arrival at Waialeale’s grassy, boggy plateau.
The Summit of Waialeale
The mountain’s summit was treeless, dominated by mosses and plants like the vibrant ohelo. At the highest point lay a small pool, the source of two rivers: the Wainiha to the west and the Wailua to the east. Nearby, a sacred stone marked a platform where offerings of silver coins and beads had been left by pilgrims in honor of Kaawakoo, the mountain’s guardian deity.
The weather turned against us, with relentless rain and howling winds confining us to our tent on Wednesday night and all of Thursday. On Friday morning, enveloped in dense fog, we began our descent, denied the sweeping views we had hoped for.
The Descent
Navigating the slippery, treacherous terrain, we descended the mountain with a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion. After four hours of near-continuous slipping, tumbling, and swinging, we reached the base stream by nightfall. By the time we returned to Grove Farm, bruised, cut, and thoroughly soaked, our enthusiasm for mountain climbing had been tempered—at least for the next five years.
Postscript: The venison we savored at the start of our journey came from a dear little goat, a lighthearted note to cap off an unforgettable expedition.