Maybe that was a Little Too Much Adventure

In the past few months, we have drifted away from the habit of exploring the island.  This is mostly due to the purchase of our home; now our weekends are filled with DIY projects and gardening experiments.  I don't really find this to be a problem, but when last Saturday rolled around, I realized it had been a while since we had all been home together as a family, and decided to plan an adventure.

It only seemed appropriate that we do something with the Jeep.  I could practically hear her sitting patiently in the driveway, silently begging us to use her for what she was made to do.  Besides, we had begun feeling like we needed to justify bringing the beast with the three inch lift, winch and horrible gas mileage all the way out here.  With this in mind, we decided to explore the leeward coast of the island up toward Ka'ena State Park.  The road here winds through several towns along the coast until it turns into a 4WD trail upon entering the park.  It clings to the side of the mountain about fifty feet above the ocean, making its way to the northernmost point of the island.  Just before the point, the road has washed out.

 The view is stunning in both directions.  Here is looking back to the south:

 and below the road:

 We set out on the trail, expecting to turn back when we got to the washout, but not knowing exactly how far we would get before that happened.  The road was narrow, muddy and a little "tippy" in places, but after several excursions into the Utah mountains, we felt confident in the truck's ability to handle the road.

What followed was a series of bad decisions.  At each narrow turn we figured we would have to turn back soon anyway, so we kept going.  "I think we should stop now!"  Harry would exclaim, staring anxiously out his window when we were close to the edge.  We assured him that we were safe.  We passed some hikers, but the only other cars had been the pickup trucks parked at the entrance while their owners fished off the rocky coastline.

Finally we came to a point in the road that was so narrow that I offered to get out and spot.  Chris decided to scout down the trail a bit to see if we were about to encounter the washout (we were) and whether there would be a place to turn around up there.  We examined the narrow spot and figured the wheel base wasn't too wide for us to make it safely through.  She had definitely been through spots this tight in Utah.

Let us take a moment to examine our mistaken assumptions:  Firstly, we forgot to account for the softness of the dirt on the oceanside of the road.  Driving over narrow ledges of rock is not the same as driving over eroding mountainside a day or two after rain in a season of unusually heavy rainfall.  Secondly, for some reason we seemed to equate the risk of getting wedged between two boulders with the risk of rolling over and down into the ocean.  Thirdly, we failed to consider that we had not adequately prepared for being stuck on a remote road with no shade for any length of time.

In retrospect it sounds pretty stupid, but at the time it seemed like a sound decision.  Oh, one more detail:  this might be the time to note that we were traveling with our two young children and my father, who needs to take supplemental oxygen everywhere and cannot hike short distances, never mind long ones.

Chris proceeded with the driving while I spotted.  Before long, the wheel was too precariously close to the edge for comfort, so we decided to back her out while the going was good.  Here was the one good decision:  we got the kids and Dad out of the Jeep before Chris backed it up.  I went around the back to spot in that direction.  He began to ease it back.

From my perspective, I could see the sudden shift in the bulk of the truck, but I did not appreciate the gravity of it until Chris started swearing, turned the ignition and exited on the mountainside.

"What?"  I said.

"I'm screwed!"

My stomach lurched.  Chris doesn't get upset easily in emergencies, and this loss of composure was disturbing.  "What do you mean?"

"I'm screwed!"

"That's not very useful information," I grumbled as I followed him around the back of the Jeep.  The left front had shifted significantly downward when the crumbling earth gave way, causing the entire vehicle to be one slightly wrong move away from tipping over and rolling down the hill.

 To the right there it drops off pretty quickly to the ocean.  I don't think you can appreciate here, however, how truly gutwrenchingly awful this was, so here's a close-up:

Maybe it was more scary in person.  That tire just needed to back up about twelve inches and it would be back on terra firma, but if the ground shifted again, it would be a done deal.

We decided to go get help.  

Chris ran the two miles or so back to the trailhead while Dad, Harry, Lily and I sat around trying to create some shade with the blankets we had.  I took a couple pictures.  We rationed out the water.  We waited.  Dad gamely alternated between shouting at Harry to stay away from the edge of the cliff and cheerfully declaring that we were definitely having an adventure as promised.  We waited some more.  I contemplated what it was going to be like if we were stuck out here for hours.

In my heart, I was confident that Chris would find someone.  People help each other out here.  Sure, a few of them will happily remove your camera from your car if you are foolish enough to leave it there at the beach, but most folks are kindhearted and will stop to help a stranger in need.

At last Chris called with the news that a couple local fishermen were crazy enough to come down the trail to help us, although it took a few tries to find a willing candidate.  Before long a white pickup came bouncing slowly along the shoreline.  Two shirtless, sweaty, beer-bellied Hawaiian emerged and examined the Jeep's predicament.  They looked like they were the type that would usually be laughing and jovial.   They frowned.

Anticipating that we were going to use the pickup to provide stability and tension to the Jeep while it backed out, fearing that they would decide it wasn't worth the risk to their own vehicle, I retrieved the tow strap from the bag (in case you hadn't noticed, the there-for-peace-of-mind winch was pointed in the wrong direction, out into the ocean).   Suddenly one of the guys opened the door and jumped in the driver's seat.  Knowing what was about to happen, I stopped breathing and my stomach lurched again.

My mind has conveniently reconstructed what happened next, although I am quite certain that I wasn't looking for most of it.  He turned the ignition, put it in reverse, and gunned it.  In about two seconds flat, the Jeep was safely back on the road.  I whooped loudly and went over to thank them, pulling money out of my pocket babbling something about them needing to reward themselves with some beer.  One of the men held up his hand.  "No," he said, "this is how our mother raised us.  Next time you see someone who needs help, you help them out." 

The same trail that seemed so innocuous on the way in was now seemingly full of potential pitfalls and landslides on the way back out.   Our thus anointed guardian angels waited  for us to turn around, then pulled aside at a turnout to let us pass, following us back to pavement. Within an hour, we were sitting at an outside table at a pizza parlor in the nearest large town.  As we waited for lunch, Harry summed up the morning aptly.

"Well," he said, "we learned from that mistake."