Throwback Thursday: Dusk hike to Grotto Falls, #hike30 of the #52hikechallenge

So yeah, it’s been a little busy around my life, y’all. Finding/securing/moving in to a new apartment, figuring out a new job, hunting foliage and views in Kentucky, Tennessee and North Carolina. It’s all good stuff, but it means I’ve had little time to do more than experience whatever event or emotion is right in front of me before moving on to the next…not a lot of time for blog-worthy introspection.

This is why I decided to force myself to write tonight. Because amid all the wonderful, I worry that I will forget the lessons and discoveries. So without any more ado, let’s dive in.

Exactly two weeks ago I was in the Smoky Mountains with a friend, enjoying one of our twice/thrice yearly adventures. It was day 7 of 12, but it was only our 2nd full day in the Smokies. Until the day prior, we’d been adventuring amid waterfalls and caves, but we hadn’t done any real hiking up anything worth writing home about. It’s worth noting that there had been a few uphill sections and those had pretty much kicked my ass, because, you see, I have been living at sea level for several months now. Not just on flat land, but literally next to the sea. I hadn’t been up a real hill since I’d left Boston back in the summer. Plus, living in a place where the only real way to get around is to drive, I’d let myself get out of shape. No doubt about that.

So, it was Thursday. The day before we’d done our first real “hike” in the Smokies, a relatively easy 4ish-mile trek that nonetheless killed me. On that Weds hike, I’d had one of my moments where I had to send my friend ahead because I was freaking myself out: about how slow I was, how tough the uphills were, how much of a loser I was. It got to the point where the anxiety in my head was defeating my determination to be cheerful, and my body was threatening an onslaught of tears that really had no basis in reality. I told my friend (who, incidentally, had been living and hiking in the Western mountains for the past 6 months, and thus was barely even breathing hard) to walk ahead for 5 minutes and wait for me, and I stopped and gazed, mostly unseeing, out at the gorgeous mountains, willing my throat to relax and my eyes to dry.

I have come to recognize that these moments are likely to happen any time I take myself out of whatever routine I’m in, and jump feet-first into adventure; they have happened on every trip and I’m sure they’ll happen again. That doesn’t make it any easier to cope with in the moment. After all, I’m supposed to be a fierce and strong and independent woman who can do anything, right? It’s tough to claim that when you can’t breathe after walking uphill for a barely more than a mile.

Anyway, I got myself together, set the slowest pace I could manage, and plodded on. I eventually found my friend lounging on the side of the trail. He gave me a smile and said “pull up a rock” as if absolutely nothing was wrong in the world, and I knew it would be ok. I would make it up the hill and through whatever else we planned to do. Maybe slower than I’d like, but I’d get there.

The next day, Thursday, I was feeling better. I had to work that morning, so that afternoon, we did a wonderful – and again relatively easy – trek up to a gorgeous place called Alum Cave Bluff. I’ll share pictures when I get them off my camera; that’s how busy it’s been around here! Anyway, I felt good about the hike – we weren’t speedy, but I didn’t suck wind quite as much. The views were lovely, and we enjoyed a leisurely journey down, stopping to take pictures of the river and the just-beginning-to-turn leaves. At the end of the 4ish miles, as late afternoon was turning to evening, we weren’t ready to be done with the day. So we decided to find a hike we could do in the dark.

My friend, fearless one that he is, would have been fine tackling another 5 miles or so of mountain, but I knew I needed to treat my newly-found confidence with care. So we hopped in the car and drove out a long, winding, one-way road to Trillum Gap, and the trailhead for Grotto Falls. By the time we got there, dusk was falling.

The whole reason I wanted to write this post can be summed up by the first few minutes of this hike. As we started up the trail, 2-3 groups were finishing up, and they all looked a bit askance at us. After all, it was getting dark. But you see, this friend and I have figured out the night hiking thing. Our first hike together ended as an unexpected night adventure, where I was so slow coming down from a NH White Mountain that we had to hike our last 1.3 miles out via one measly flashlight. We’ve climbed to the top of canyon overlooks to take star pictures, and there was that time we got separated, at night, in the middle of Arches National Park (a story for another time). We are prepared; we have headlamps, layers and batteries, plus a healthy appreciation for the invisible power of hidden tree roots.

So as one outgoing hiker suggested we bring carrots to help our vision, and another asked warily, “Um, do you have lights?”, I felt a sense of tremendous satisfaction that we never broke stride, just smiled and said “yes, we do”, and headed off into the evening. How far we’d come…how far I’d come in the years since we started these adventures, that I was actually planning on and really looking forward to a hike up a hill in the dark.

Because, you see, we were heading for a waterfall, and I’d never seen a waterfall at night – at least not one that I’d hiked to. The trek was easy, muddy, and quiet…I don’t remember talking much. As always, I watched my feet and concentrated on breathing. Before long, we could hear the rush of tumbling water, and a few careful steps on slippery rocks later, we glimpsed Grotto Falls. It was lovely, and after a few moments of looking, we both agreed that we needed to get closer, so up we went, this time over some slightly more serious wet, rocky terrain. In fact, we went all the way up and UNDER the falls, and had a riot shining our headlamps on the water to try to take pictures. Well, my friend did, at any rate. For some reason, I left my fancy camera in my bag and on a whim, just held up my iPhone to see if I could capture the contrast of white water reflecting the last smidgen of light left in the day.

I got this:

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When I looked at it on my phone, I gasped. Magical, I thought to myself, then tucked my phone away and headed back to the falls to run my hands under the water.

Then, it was back down the hill by the light of our headlamps. I joked with my friend that this was one time I would not ask him to go ahead of me. I wanted to lead the way down, to enjoy knowing he was right behind me and not likely to wander off, to appreciate the feeling of dawning strength in my legs, and to ponder how incredibly lucky I am to get to see waterfalls in the dark.

When we got back to the car, I didn’t really want to drive away. I stood for a moment, looking up at the black sky, smelling the trees, and wishing I could freeze time so I could always feel how I felt at that moment. But we did have to leave, back down into the reality of what to cook for dinner and the knowledge that life can’t be entirely about wandering in the woods. That’s ok, really. I’m just glad I get to have moments where I know for a fact that no one, other than us, got to see the world as it was on that night. That night, the world was nothing but a waterfall and some rocks to clamor over, and it was more than enough for me.

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Thanks, Boston.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about this move I’m about to make.

In an effort not to bore you with details, I’ll just say that, in about a month, after just over 4.5 years here, I’m leaving Boston. Heading south, to live near family for a little while, and try my hand at a total life change. I’m sure I’ll write more on that later.

The job change that prompted this came fast, but the thinking about moving has been happening for years. Almost every year after the first, when I realized that, much as I might love Boston, it wasn’t going to give me all the things I was hoping for: a tribe, a partner, a job with longevity, a home, roots. No, like most of the places I’ve lived, it just couldn’t give me those. I suspect this has more to do with me than Boston, but regardless – it’s time for Boston and I to end our little affair.

And it really was an affair, one that sprang out of a terrible breakup with my previous life. You know the deal; you put on a good face when inside all you can think is…I failed. I misjudged the whole thing, and I put all of myself into something that wouldn’t give it back. And so I left, not quite tail-between-my-legs, but definitely needing to rebuild my life and my belief in myself.

Boston was the perfect rebound relationship. It made my heart sing every time I turned a corner and saw something new. It was big, messy, gorgeous, full of new sights and smells and a blissful anonymity; no one cares, walking down a busy Boston street, if I don’t have a boyfriend, if I screwed up at work, or even if I’m having a bad hair day.

In Boston, I started running, for real. Since I’ve moved here I’ve run two 10Ks and more 5Ks than I can count.IMG_7300

In Boston I learned the beauty of a (crappy) public transit system, and didn’t drive hundreds of miles as I went about my life. Instead, I walked them, and took the bus and the train, and spent hours observing my fellow travelers of all sizes and colors, wondering about their stories.

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In Boston I fell in love with my camera, and filled a creative gap in my soul that I didn’t know existed.

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In Boston, I finally came to believe, really believe, that I can both love my country and want it to be better.

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Everything wasn’t perfect in these years. I learned that racism is alive and well even in one of the most progressive states in the country. I learned that breaking into cliques is really hard. I learned that rats hang out in garbage barrels, and that too many dogs go missing every day. I learned that even walking everywhere, every day, won’t magically make me skinny. And I learned that a lot of people play music really loudly in their headphones on the train, which is really, really annoying. 😉

But I also learned that, despite our reputation for being cold and mean, Bostonians do say hi on the street here, and stop for pedestrians in crosswalks. Not every day. Not all the time. But l learned that one person thanking the bus driver as we exit makes at least 75% of the rest of the people do the same. And the drivers always wish us a good day.

But most of all, I learned that I am who I am. A girl who always takes up a bit too much space on the train, but tries to keep her eyes open for someone who needs her seat. A woman who will never be able to look downtown chic, but will stroll down town in her comfortable shoes with her head high. A person who doesn’t quite fit into any of the accepted categories of our culture, and has finally, after more than 40 years, begun to realize that there are quite a few of us wandering around, and that’s ok.

Two days ago, I was walking in the Public Garden on a humid, cloudy day. It was right after a thunderstorm. For those who have no visual reference for the Public Garden, its the park where Robin Williams sat on a bench with Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting. As I walked, I realized that, when my move is done and I’ve left this place behind, I will always be grateful that I lived here. That I was lucky enough to live here, even for a few years. After all, every small town kid in New England grew up holding Boston up like some kind of sparkling icon. It was our Oz, our big city. I never even considered that I’d live here; I always assumed I wasn’t a big enough deal.

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But I did. I got to live in the city of the Red Sox. I got to walk and run along the Esplande, cross the Mass Ave Bridge via bus, train, and by foot, and visit the top of the Pru. I took the train to Foxboro stadium. I watched the Marathon from 4 different locations, including high above the last mile as the runners approached the finish line on Boylston. I heard the Boston Pops at Christmas and the 4th of July, the BSO at Halloween. I paddled in the Charles under the sun and under the stars. I hiked in dozens of parks and reservations, and ate seafood on the North and South Shores. I took guests to see the Ducklings in the Public Garden, and to the North End for pasta and cannoli.

I survived 5 winters.

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As I get ready to leave, I’m comforted that while I wander the city in my last weeks, I’m finding that I’m not sad. There’s no regret in my heart as I realize there are many corners of the city I haven’t explored. I’ll miss my favorite places, but I have received what they have to offer, with gratitude, and will use all that they’ve given me to move on.

Boston was my home for nearly 5 years. I will always sing Sweet Caroline at the top of my lungs when it comes on, I will never forget how the skyline view always makes my heart jump, and I will always claim this place as my big city. In all it’s wonder and contradictions, Boston is the place where I put myself back together, and found the guts to change everything. I’m grateful.

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You should hike this: Gulf Hagas

“Why is it called Gulf Hagas?”

This is the question I forgot to ask the range guides when they quietly snuck up behind us as we stood at the 2nd of two water crossings.

I can be forgiven for this oversight, because for the last 5 minutes, I’d been standing at the water’s edge trying to figure out a way to get across that didn’t involve a) completely soaking my feet or b) falling into the rushing water. My hiking partner had already successfully leapt, gazelle-like, across the water to try to set up his camera for a picture. And, he had also already leapt back to my side, but that attempt was not, ahem, as successful as the first. Luckily, he was fine, if a little soggy.

Give that his legs are longer and his courage greater than mine, this wasn’t boding well for my plan to cross without mishap.

Anyway, as I was pondering all of this, the range guides appeared behind us, and began a gentle interrogation to be sure we knew what we were getting into with the Gulf Hagas trail.

  • Did we understand that it had rained recently? Given that it still was raining, this seemed obvious.
  • Did we know that the rocks were going to be slippery? See previous note about the rain; check.
  • Did we know there was a flat way to come back after we’d done the Rim Trail? Yes, and I was delighted about that fact.
  • Did we have headlamps? (It’s worth noting that it was 11am when she asked this.) Yes, of course, we replied, and got an approving nod and a “smart”, which made me feel irrationally superior to pretty much everyone else in the world.

After the interrogation ended, in the way of smart outdoor safety people, one of the guides seemed to clue in that I was struggling to figure out how to get across and offered up a solution that gave me permission to be less gazelle-like than my friend. So I took off my boots, donned my water shoes for the 2nd time in as many miles, headed a few feet upstream, and waded across without incident. And then we set out on the Appalachian Trail, which led us eventually to the Gulf Hagas Rim Trail.

Backing up a bit, here are the basics on the Gulf Hagas hike. This map lays it out nicely, too. We stayed in Greenville, Maine, aka way-the-hell-up-there, and the trailheads (there are two), were about 40 minutes away by long dirt road. The hike can be anywhere from 8.5 to 9 miles roundtrip, depending on where you start (you can also make shorter loops out of the trip, but I won’t be discussing those here). There are two trailheads: East and West. If you start at the East, as we did, you’ll have to ford two water crossings twice (on the way out and the way back). At the biggest crossing, I’m told the water can be waist high at times; for us, it was just over knee-deep at the deepest point. And it was cold and the current was fairly strong. I wore my water shoes and that helped, but even with them, the rocks were slippery. My friend did the crossings barefoot, which I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t recommend if it can be avoided.

However, it felt pretty adventuresome to be “fording” a river, so don’t let the cold and the wet dissuade you. Just bring an extra pair of socks in case, like me, you accidentally drop your first pair into the water. Next, you’ll cross a smaller portion of the river – this is where I took my shoes off for a 2nd time to get across.

After the water crossings, you’ll be on the AT for a little while, then you’ll find yourself on a 2+ mile adventure up and down and over rocks and tree roots. There are quite a few viewpoints to be explored, which adds mileage and time to the hike – for these miles we were averaging about a mile an hour. These diversions are totally worth it, though – the waterfalls come one right after the other and they are wonderful.

Disclaimer from here forward: I may have the names of these falls messed up. Sorry about that. Perhaps you will just have to go hike this yourself and correct me.

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Screw Auger Falls

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Buttermilk Falls

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Billings Falls

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You can see why this is called the Grand Canyon of the East. What’s really wild about this canyon is that it used to be used for logging. It’s hard to see how that could possibly have worked, given the narrowness of the various places we saw.

As you reach the end of the first leg of the hike, you’ll come to the Head of the Gulf, where rivers converge and where you can really feel the power of the water. Then, you’ll make a choice which way to come back; either retracing your steps, or taking the Tote Road back to the AT Junction with the Rim trail. I highly recommend this option (since it’s the one we did), as the footing was easier and after all the up and down and making sure to not fall into the canyon on the slippery rocks, it felt nice to just tramp through the woods.

In our case, it was also getting dark, and so getting back to the car and eventually to dinner was on our minds. I chose to put my water shoes on at the first, smaller river crossing, and then do to next mile or so in them until we reached the bigger crossing. My legs were pretty tired by this point (even in on a rainy day its important to drink enough water so you don’t get muscle cramps, like I did), so I took extra care with the river crossings. We were glad for my trekking poles for this crossing, too.

And we didn’t need the headlamps, but another few moments and we would have!

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As I finish this post, it’s months since we did this hike (it was in late October 2017), but it still stands out as a fun day spent exploring some incredible terrain. I have heard from others that the black flies and bugs can be brutal during the summer months, so there is some advantage to coming in the late fall, though I’d recommend not waiting as long as we did; most of the leaves were gone, and we kept saying “I’ll bet this is pretty when the foliage is at its peak.”

And for the record, I have done everything but ask a librarian and I still don’t know why it’s called Gulf Hagas.

Thanks for coming along! Let me know in the comments if you have done this hike or plan to!

Day and Night Snorkeling…in whatever body you have

Before I left for my Hawaii trip, I did some online swimsuit shopping. One of the many companies I explored had a line of copy that stuck with me – “the best beach body is the one you have now.”

What bulls#!$, I thought. That was obviously written by someone who’s only body image concern is 5 or 10 pounds she’s been trying to lose since she was 18. She’s never felt the utter despair that she will NEVER find a swimsuit that makes her feel comfortable, let alone even the slightest bit sexy.

But with snorkeling and lots of beach time on my mind, I dug a little deeper into my shopping and found some solutions that I’d never tried before.

  • Swim shorts, with built in pockets – perfect for making strolls on the beach as pleasant as swimming (see: the perils of chafing). Perfect for those of us who want to hike to a beach and then maybe take a dip, but don’t want to have to wear a full piece swimsuit under normal shorts.
  • A rash guard/short sleeved swim shirt (rash guard is a terrible name, by the way!) that was super comfortable and best of all, covered the upper arms, which have always been my greatest area of self-consciousness while swimming.
  • And, shocker, a bikini top to wear under the shirt. Because, well, most gals with any, ahem, curves up top need a little support.

In this ensemble, while on my Hawaii trip, I went snorkeling, twice: once in a gorgeous cove in daylight, and once at night with a bunch of manta rays. Yes, you read that right. More on that in a moment.

First, daytime snorkeling. This is one of those activities that anyone can do – and a lot of people do – without any coaching or training. In my case, I just looked to my friend for how to do it, and she basically said: “Put the stuff on, stick your face in the water, and breathe. Don’t kick too much, and don’t touch the coral.” The rest – like how and when to put on your flippers, how to keep water from coming in to your mask, how to convince your brain that “No, you’re not about to drown. Yes, you can breath underwater” – the rest you have figure out.

For me, the breathing part was the hardest. I love to swim laps, and that entails taking large breaths that get expelled rather forcefully through both nose and mouth. Snorkeling requires breathing that is slow and purposeful, and doesn’t involved your nose at all. So for me, the first few moments were utterly terrifying. I kept thinking I needed to take a big breath to hold before I put my face in the water. My breathing was fast and panicked. My body was physiologically defying my brain, which knew that people all over the world do this thing all the time…without dying.

Once I got over this fear, and figured out how to keep water from seeping into my mask, the experience was magical. The fish in the bay were plentiful, colorful, and completely unfazed by my presence in their domain. I even managed to take a couple of pictures!

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And here’s the best part about this experience: I never really thought about what I was wearing. I never really freaked out about if the entire world was judging my body. I just put my face in the water and looked at the fish. When I climbed out of the water, I walked gleefully across the beach and didn’t even consider being self-conscious. I was comfortable and it occurs to me, now, this might be the first time I was ever totally relaxed in a beach setting.

Later in the trip, I donned my water outfit again and went night snorkeling with manta rays. I say that as if it’s no big deal, but let me tell you; it was a pretty big deal. See exhibit A:

As magical as it was, this experience surfaced a whole host of self-esteem issues. For example, knowing that I would be hanging out with toned and attractive 20-somethings who managed the experience. And, in this case, knowing that I was the only one in a boat usually reserved for 6. See, circumstances contrived to cause me and friend to be unable to attend our original night snorkeling date. Luckily, the awesome company we booked was willing to rebook me, and they were willing to take just me out in their latest boat. Why is this intimidating to me? I don’t know, it just is.

However, my guides couldn’t have been nicer, and we were soon out in the bay (which is a mere few hundred feet from the dock) ready to meet some mantas. I zipped into my wetsuit top (thank god it fit!) clamored awkwardly over the edge of the boat, and then proceeded to wrestle for a few minutes with my mask, which insisted on trying to drown me each time I put my face into the water. My in-water guide gamely tried to help me, and we laughingly agreed that I have a haircut not well-suited to snorkeling. Eventually, we got me situated, and it was time to…float.

Float, while hanging onto a lit-up surfboard, with a fun noodle beneath my ankles to keep my feet out of the way. See, the lights on the board attract plankton, which attracts manta rays, which attracts crazy night-snorkeling humans.

So after all the anxiety and bustle of getting there…all I had to do was float.That’s it. That’s all I was supposed to do.

This was, surprisingly, a challenge. After a few minutes, and my first gasp-worthy sighting of mantas, I picked my head up and remarked to my guide that I had no idea how much time we had left. She gently reminded me that I had a whole 40 minutes, and I could use as much or as little of that as I wanted; it was entirely up to me.

See, it was very, very strange to just watch and float. I had nowhere to go. Literally. The guides moved the board when needed, and my job was just to hang out in the water and watch the manta rays. At first, I tried to snap pictures and videos, but soon, I just gave up and looked. And reflected on the fact that I am not very good at that kind of stillness. Most of my outdoor adventures involve needing to get from point A to point B. Sure, I might stop and have a snack or take in the view, but pretty soon I’m in motion again.

This was different. It felt strange. And pretty indulgent.

But also amazing.

Once I relaxed, the time flew by, and before I knew it, I was being towed back to the boat and climbed back in. I struggled to peel my wetsuit off, and the male guide just said “oh, we all deal with that” and helped me, as if it wasn’t my fault for NOT being a toned 20-something. 🙂 They gave me lukewarm hot chocolate, motored me back to the dock, and sent me on my blissed-out way under a hazy, full, Hawaiian moon.

The moral of this entire story? If you are a person who deals with body consciousness issues, there is power in finding comfortable swimwear for the body you have right now. It might not be sexy swimwear, but comfort is a good first step. If it can take you across the beach without triggering your self-judgement, that’s a win. And if it can help you get over whatever fears you may be harboring about trying new things, that’s a real victory.

Because there are beautiful fish and otherworldly manta rays in the water, my friends, and it would be a shame if you missed them. Get to it.

Kilauea Iki Crater Trail: #hike6 of the #52hikechallenge

Let’s talk craters y’all. Like actual real volcanic craters in the earth that still have steam coming out of them. Did you know there are such places that have hiking trails into and around them? I didn’t, but I do now!

Every book or blog about the Big Island says that Kilauea Iki Crater in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park is one of its best hikes. I was a little dubious coming in because it was only 4ish miles long and it seemed like much of it was on flat terrain. But I couldn’t deny the coolness of descending into a volcanic crater. It was pouring rain, and it was still awesome. I guess that’s the mark of a great hike.

Speaking of pouring rain, on the east/Hilo side of the Big Island, it apparently rains all. the. time. We were there for 3 full days and it rained steadily. But that didn’t stop us.

The us, in this case, is me and my former college roommate. Since today is International Women’s Day, I feel justified in pausing for a moment to reflect on us two women, and the fact that, on this trip, we realized that we’ve been friends for 23 years. We met when I was a sophomore and she was a freshman in college. We are partners in pale skin and curly hair, though I think she looks more like a greek goddess with her blond curls and great smile. Though we haven’t lived in the same state since a brief NJ stint in 2003, we’ve managed to stay in touch through good times and bad. She’s smart and awesome and beautiful, and I’m grateful for our long friendship.

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This is us at the start of the Crater hike, when the dripping rain was more of a fun challenge than a pain in the butt.

Anyway, the hike began in the pouring rain. We chose the counterclockwise route, which I would highly recommend. The first section is along the Crater Rim Trail, a mostly flat trail that should, per its name, offer amazing views of the Crater and its rim. For us, the views lacked a certain…something.

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As you can see, the rain cloud was basically right on top of us. Eventually, we were able to see a bit more of the crater, and if you look carefully, you can see the trail way down below; that faint white line in the grey.

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The Crater Rim Trail actually goes for about 12 miles around the Crater itself, a hike I’d like to do someday when it’s not raining.

Pretty soon, we left the so-called views behind and found ourselves in what can only be called “lush rainforest”, filled with dripping greenery and huge fern plants.

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The descent through the forest was pretty easy. Eventually, we started clamoring down some steeper, clunkier rocks that likely give this hike it’s “moderate/strenuous” rating. If it’s not raining, there should be no issue, but in the rain, we had to pay close attention to our feet! We also had to go through that process of realizing that yes, our boots would grip the volcanic rock even though it looked black and slick and like it was ready to send us tumbling.

After just a few hundred feet of steep downhill, we emerged from the trees and found ourselves staring out at a vast, grey, steaming wasteland that looked like what I imagine the moon might look like, if it wasn’t white. This was like nothing I’d ever seen before; I stood in the rain and goggled. Because of the rain, I don’t have a lot of pictures of those first moments in the crater, but I did get this one; look at those red flowers springing up out of the rocks!

28423776_10155894307231900_6649769202190451279_oAfter we picked my jaw up from the crater floor, there was nothing for it but to strike out across the lava field, wending our way through craggy mounds of blackness. Ahu is apparently the Hawaiian word for cairn (piles of rocks used to mark trails); following the ahu led us down onto the flat, asphalt-like bottom of the crater, where the trail widens a bit. This terrain is not hard to walk on, but we did it at a snail’s pace because it was just so amazing to look around at the landscape. Parts of the lava looked like it had just broken apart in an earthquake, other parts were smooth and rounded, and steam vents dotted the terrain. For a brief moment, it stopped raining and we were able to get a few good pictures, and we both remarked that we felt like we were about to either win a prize or get eaten by a monster in a Young Adult dystopian novel.

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It started raining again as we neared the end of the lava field, and then it was back into the forest, but this time the trail up was a series of gentle switchbacks rather than steep rocks. From here we got the clearest view of the Crater yet.

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As the switchbacks ended, we found ourselves in a busy parking lot near the Thurston Lava Tube, so we added that the hike.

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This is a short little walk through a dark lava tube, which was fun, but would have been more fun if we’d not gotten caught in the middle of a senior citizen tour group. Several of the group were wearing bike helmets, and it took us a second to realize it was because there was a chance they might bump their heads. This seemed like an overabundance of caution, but it was still pretty cool that they all found their way down the steep and slippery stairs into the tunnel. It was so loud and crowded in there that I was content to zip through pretty quickly. Then, it was back to the Crater Rim Trail for a final flat trek through the woods. There were some pretty cool views of the Crater from this side.

And then, we were done. By this point, we were both pretty soaked, even with raincoats and hats, so drying off in the car felt great. We drove to another lookout at the head of a different trail, where we could look down on what we’d just hiked from a different angle. Can you see the tiny, tiny person in an orange jacket down there?

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The moral of the Kilauea Iki Crater hike? Don’t let rain stop you. Though I would have loved to see this place in the sunshine (you can check out this flickr gallery if you’d like to as well), it was still an astonishing journey through landscape I’d never seen before. I was exhilarated when I was done even though it wasn’t a huge challenge for my legs. I would do it again in a second.

Summary: Hike 6 of the 52 hike challenge (read more about the challenge here)

Location: Volcano National Park, Hawaii.
Date: February 25, 2018
Distance: 4.4 miles
Wildlife: None except for whatever rustled the leaves in the forest part of the hike.
Notes: Do the hike counterclockwise. If it’s sunny, sunscreen, water, and a hat would be a must for the crater floor. And always remember:

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