The farther north we drive along Maui's western coastline, the sparser the hotels and resorts become. Soon they are replaced by dense coastal foliage. Eventually even the highway morphs into a narrow one lane road snaking through the hills and cliffs. We stop to buy banana bread and sliced pineapple from locals along the roadside. Soon after we arrive at the Knob. Part hill, part cliff, it rises almost vertically up from the coastline, projecting out into the ocean where ferocious breakers crash at its base.
I am clad in only my slippers, t-shirt, and board shorts. I remember when I initially arrived on Maui, my backpack was filled with gear – knife, binoculars, water bottle, etc. Today I carry no backpack. I am learning the freedom of embracing the unknown with only personal strength. I stand at the base of the Knob with no boots, long pants, or gloves, about to put my new outlook to the test.
We walk through tall grass. There is no trail. The ascent begins and we scramble through brush and loose dirt. My five friends are spread below me. I take the lead and find the goat paths that crisscross the hillside.
I come to a cliff face of volcanic boulders. Some I can climb around, others I must climb up. With feet and hands, I pick my way upwards. The rock is solid, laced with igneous bubbles that provide good grips. The loose dirt amongst the rock is treacherous. A misstep sends reddish Earth and stones cascading down the hillside. I pick my path carefully.
I feel the rush of climbing, of looking down at the long fall. I feel the Zen that climbing imparts. I am alive and my reality becomes only the now, hanging onto the rock, breathing, moving to the next hold. My feet slip but I dig in through the flimsy rubber soles of my slippers. My calloused fingers find nooks to grip.
In this manner I pick my way up the slope till eventually it levels off. Now I walk through chest high grass like a soldier in Vietnam. I stand at the crest but realize this is not the end. On the far side of the Knob is another crest, a precipice protruding farther out into the ocean. Here the path bottlenecks to an arm span, with cliffs plummeting down on both sides. Obstructing the way is one more rock wall to climb.
This rock wall hangs over the ocean. To climb it, I must hang over the ocean too. I look down. Hundreds of feet below me the breakers crash against the cliff, enormous in size but diminutive in distance. Here is the last challenge of the Knob. I touch the rock. The footholds and handholds are not as abundant as on the other side. This rock is more weathered, smoother, of different consistency. Cautiously, I raise myself up it, my slippers digging in and my fingers straining for crevices.
My lanky limbs always prove their worth when it comes to climbing. I soon stand on this final crest and my friends filter in over the next minutes. We look out across the ocean before us. Humpback whales are breaching, four at a time. Their flukes crash against the water. They wave at us with their pectoral fins. We wave back. The splashes they make are enormous, even from here. Most of the humpbacks in the world are somewhere below us, gathering in the Hawaiian Islands for the winter. We think of ancient times, of the Hawaiians who stood on this spot, scanning the blue horizon.
Behind us shadows creep along the hills which are aglow in the sinking afternoon sun. Nightfall is coming. The return trip is challenging, but easier. Back in the cars, we drive in darkness to Lahaina. My feet are scratched and dirty, my shins and ankles scraped, but I am content. It will be some time before my pack bursts with gear again.
I am clad in only my slippers, t-shirt, and board shorts. I remember when I initially arrived on Maui, my backpack was filled with gear – knife, binoculars, water bottle, etc. Today I carry no backpack. I am learning the freedom of embracing the unknown with only personal strength. I stand at the base of the Knob with no boots, long pants, or gloves, about to put my new outlook to the test.
We walk through tall grass. There is no trail. The ascent begins and we scramble through brush and loose dirt. My five friends are spread below me. I take the lead and find the goat paths that crisscross the hillside.
I come to a cliff face of volcanic boulders. Some I can climb around, others I must climb up. With feet and hands, I pick my way upwards. The rock is solid, laced with igneous bubbles that provide good grips. The loose dirt amongst the rock is treacherous. A misstep sends reddish Earth and stones cascading down the hillside. I pick my path carefully.
I feel the rush of climbing, of looking down at the long fall. I feel the Zen that climbing imparts. I am alive and my reality becomes only the now, hanging onto the rock, breathing, moving to the next hold. My feet slip but I dig in through the flimsy rubber soles of my slippers. My calloused fingers find nooks to grip.
In this manner I pick my way up the slope till eventually it levels off. Now I walk through chest high grass like a soldier in Vietnam. I stand at the crest but realize this is not the end. On the far side of the Knob is another crest, a precipice protruding farther out into the ocean. Here the path bottlenecks to an arm span, with cliffs plummeting down on both sides. Obstructing the way is one more rock wall to climb.
This rock wall hangs over the ocean. To climb it, I must hang over the ocean too. I look down. Hundreds of feet below me the breakers crash against the cliff, enormous in size but diminutive in distance. Here is the last challenge of the Knob. I touch the rock. The footholds and handholds are not as abundant as on the other side. This rock is more weathered, smoother, of different consistency. Cautiously, I raise myself up it, my slippers digging in and my fingers straining for crevices.
My lanky limbs always prove their worth when it comes to climbing. I soon stand on this final crest and my friends filter in over the next minutes. We look out across the ocean before us. Humpback whales are breaching, four at a time. Their flukes crash against the water. They wave at us with their pectoral fins. We wave back. The splashes they make are enormous, even from here. Most of the humpbacks in the world are somewhere below us, gathering in the Hawaiian Islands for the winter. We think of ancient times, of the Hawaiians who stood on this spot, scanning the blue horizon.
Behind us shadows creep along the hills which are aglow in the sinking afternoon sun. Nightfall is coming. The return trip is challenging, but easier. Back in the cars, we drive in darkness to Lahaina. My feet are scratched and dirty, my shins and ankles scraped, but I am content. It will be some time before my pack bursts with gear again.
