His partner was a likeable, bald-headed pediatrician from St. Louis, Missouri. Drawn to Kauai for his honeymoon, this afternoon’s game was his first venture away from his new bride. It did Cooksey good to talk with someone not in the service. Introductions were exchanged, their cart was loaded, and by the time the sun was straight overhead they had climbed onto the first tee.
With a bit of apprehension, Cooksey tightened his glove and pulled out the number one wood. The hole was a beauty. It was a par four and appeared extremely unforgiving. The drive would have to carry up a narrow fairway that was flanked by a lake on the right and a sheer, 400-foot drop-off on the left. The doctor hit first and promptly smacked a 200-yard-plus drive straight down the center. After attempting a few practice swings, Cooksey approached his ball.
Concentrating on an easy, smooth swing, he hit a sizzler that more than matched his opponent’s. A grin of selfsatisfaction painted his face as he climbed into the cart and began mentally preparing for the next shot.
Four-and-a-half hours later, the twosome was making a golf date for the next morning as they walked off the eighteenth green. Though his game could certainly use some sharpening, Cooksey had come within three strokes of matching the doctor’s par round. True to the admiral’s words, the course had been one of the most beautiful and challenging he had ever played.
Rolling hills, volcanic promontories, adjoining pineapple fields and thick forests of Cooke pine trees made it a visual paradise. For the first time in months, an entire afternoon had gone by without Cooksey being aware of the passing minutes. Concentration on his game allowed his ponderings to remain far distant from the Triton and his duties.
The doctor had a great sense of humor, and wasn’t a bit inquisitive as to what Cooksey did in the navy. Instead, he chronicled his honeymoon, told various golf tales and gave the captain a comprehensive lesson in the horrors of rising malpractice insurance.
Cooksey decided to drive into town and pick up some groceries before returning to the condo. A nice, thick T-bone steak sure sounded like it would do the trick for the evening. Happy to have a healthy appetite, he made a mental list of the supplies he would need. A walk after dinner would be nice, and then he could settle down with that Ed Beach novel he had been wanting to read for so long. And then — a sound night’s sleep. Grateful to have taken the admiral’s advice, Cooksey could already feel the tension draining from him. He’d be his old self in no time.
Throwing the jeep into second gear, he initiated the long, steep grade into Princeville.
Cooksey’s round the next morning was a nightmare.
It was at the third hole that his nasty slice reappeared.
Six holes later, he was forced to make his way over to the pro shop to replace the dozen balls he had already lost. By the time they reached the fifteenth tee his swing was back in control, but it was much too late to catch the doctor’s lead. Beaten by a whopping seventeen strokes, Cooksey humbly said farewell to his partner, who was returning to the mainland in the morning.
That same night, he was searching the condo for a spike wrench, when he chanced upon a full set of camping gear stashed in a closet. Stored in a blue nylon backpack, the equipment included a sleeping bag, propane stove, canteen, and a myriad of other utensils necessary for a comfortable overnight stay in the wilderness. Supposing that this gear belonged to the admiral’s son, Cooksey didn’t give it too much thought — until he uncovered a small booklet that lay beneath the toolbox. Entitled Hiking in Kauai, it described a variety of excellent hikes into the interior of the scenic island. In college, backpacking had been another of his favorite after-school activities. Weekend treks into the Appalachians were followed by excursions into the Ozarks and Colorado, and even included a week spent roughing it in the mountains north of Banff. Just as exciting as the trips themselves was the time spent preparing for them. This included many hours devoted to devouring guide books like the one he had just uncovered. On a whim, he took it into the kitchen and began reading it over dinner.
One particular hike looked most interesting. Coincidentally, it was the only trip of the dozen offered that was underscored in red by the manual’s owner.
The 10.8 mile trail from Kee Beech to Kalalau was said to be the most spectacular overnight excursion in all the Hawaiian Islands. The trail started where Kauai’s main road. Route 56, ended. That was only seven miles from Cooksey’s current location, outside the tiny village of Haena. Accessible only to backpackers, the Kalalau Trail offered verdant valleys, magnificent waterfalls, thick woods of mango, fern and guava, and vistas of the uninhabited north coast that were supposedly unequaled.
Certain that the Millers wouldn’t mind if he put this gear to use, Cooksey lugged it into the living room and began making a complete inventory. All that was lacking was a proper food supply. Aware that the store at Princeville had a complete line of lightweight, dehydrated and freeze-dried foods, he decided to visit them first thing in the morning and to bring the gear along with him.
That night, for the first time in months, he slept a sound eight hours.
Waking fresh and rested, he made himself a hearty breakfast, crammed enough clothing into the pack to last two days and took off to buy groceries. By 10:00 a.m. he was parked in the lot where Highway 56 ended. Per the recommendation of the guidebook, which he brought along, Cooksey left the jeep unlocked. Local thieves were known to smash a hiker’s windows just to check the contents of a closed glove compartment.
The weather was so mild that he stripped off his T-shirt, leaving himself dressed only in khaki shorts and Reebok sneakers. With barely a grunt, he loaded the thirty-five-pound pack onto his back and took off for Kee Beach. Since the trail here was well marked and easy to follow, he spent the first eighth of a mile adjusting his stride to the additional weight. Once that was accomplished, he was able to pick up some speed.
The rudiments of hiking, like golf, are not easily forgotten. Taking care to place his step firmly and not jeopardize his balance, Cooksey soon established a comfortable pace. He couldn’t help but feel the alien pressure on his legs and back as the footpath began sloping upward. He knew that he was facing a steep, one-mile climb. To avoid over exertion he decided to stop approximately every quarter mile to catch his breath and enjoy the scenery.
He took his first rest at a spot where the trail was shaded by a grove of large Kukui trees. Cooksey was able to identify the plant, as well as many other native species, by once again referring to the manual. It was in this manner that he learned that leis were made from Kukui nuts.
Its oil could also be burned for light, while its trunk could be hollowed out into an excellent canoe. In the same grove he also located a patch of yellow, lemon-sized sweet guava and the colorful purple plumes of the wild orchid.
A flock of white frigate birds soared up above, and Cooksey looked out to the surging Pacific. How different this view of the sea was from what he experienced six months out of every year. As an explorer of its depths, he almost felt as if the rippling surface belonged to another element altogether.
Happy to have his present, solid vantage point, he took one last look at Kee Beach and the Haena Reefs beyond, then turned and continued upward.
It took him a little over an hour to reach this portion of the trail’s summit. A thick band of sweat covered his forehead as he peered down into the lush valley that he would presently be penetrating. Here he spotted the plant called the hala. Jokingly referred to as the “tourist pineapple” because of its similar shape to the popular fruit, the hala had a value all its own.