Due to the high humidity, I wanted to get my phone back in the baggie as soon as possible, but it took a few minutes before I had (what I thought) was a good spot to do so. After I had stowed my phone, I immediately noticed that things didn’t look right. “The ocean shouldn’t be to my left,” I thought. I pulled my phone back out, but I couldn’t unlock it in the bag, so I peeled it out of the baggie again. But the screen had gotten damp, and my fingers were so sweaty, so the touch screen didn’t work. Not good. I about-faced to retrace my steps, but this didn’t seem right either. I longed for my phone to show me the trail, but I was forced to turn around again. This time I continued further until I saw an outhouse for the campground, definitely not the right direction. I continued back again only to discover that I turned around a handful of steps too early. When I was distracted with my phone, I accidently took a volunteer trail straight instead of staying on the Kalalau Trail which turned left in a small reentrant. I had now lost my entire cushion, and more. No more mistakes I told myself.
Unraveling
I was approaching the Kalalau River crossing where I had made a note of where I exited the crossing, but failed to identify a landmark on the opposite side of the river. I aimed off and found myself too far downstream. Despite my best efforts to pay attention at the river crossings, this was a reoccurrence on two more river crossings. I managed these crossings flawlessly outbound, but I was unraveling under the pressure, and managed to bobble. Each time I only lost a couple of seconds, when I had zero room for error. I tried to console myself by dunking as much of myself in the water without immersing my pack. I rocketed past a hiker and realized he enthusiastically had his phone out because he was the one hiker I divulged my FKT plan to the day before and he gave me a quick “Great job.”
Soon, I’d be hitting two spurs. I had seen one of them on the way out, but I had missed the second one. I was apprehensive about veering onto the spur because then my FKT attempt would be over. I noticed a patch of flowers I hadn’t recalled on the way out and panicked that I had slipped onto the spur by mistake. I groped for my phone and stopped in my tracks. Every step down the wrong trail would mean two more steps away from the FKT. I shouted at my phone to unlock as I stood at a standstill on the trail grasping my phone in both hands. Tick. Tock. I could feel the precious seconds ticking. I lost my entire cushion minutes earlier, so I didn’t have a second to waste. In what seemed like minutes, my touchpad worked well enough for me to unlock my phone and verify that I was on the Kalalau Trail. Soon I recognized a landmark.
I started passing backpackers that I had passed in my final miles out. As I approached a father/son duo, I assumed they had stopped to let me pass. I made eye contact with the son, so I didn’t bother giving the dad a head’s up. It wasn’t until I shouldered the dad that I realized he was stopped to take a photo. I felt like a jerk once I was too far down the trail and very grateful we weren’t on steeper terrain that he could have gotten hurt or lost his phone.
Knowing the trail would get more technical, I needed to fly. I was getting back on pace as I passed 6 and 4 miles to go. I still had a shot! Based on my experience the prior day, I’d be weaving around groves of day hikers in the final two miles, so I couldn’t wait to make my move. The second to last descent seemed to have endless switchbacks. When I reached Hanakapi’ai Stream, with two miles to go, the FKT was still within grasp. I couldn’t recall the exact FKT time, since I didn’t expect to cut it that close, but knew it was just south of 5:10.
I ran most of the ups zig-zagging around families and tourists in bright white sneakers covered in fresh mud. Since my kids are often in a world of their own while hiking, I was hoping I would be able to sidestep any kids that suddenly darted in front of me. I was starting to run on fumes and no longer had the energy to constantly yell “on your left”. Besides, many inexperienced hikers froze like deer in the headlights when they took their eyes off the ground. I almost recklessly flew down the final descent to the trailhead.
My Timex read just north of 5:10. Since I had started my Timex before my official mode of tracking the FKT on Strava, I didn’t lose hope. It was so close. I fumbled with my phone to unlock it and eventually sat down as I impatiently waited for my fingers and screen to dry enough so I could use the touchscreen. Occasionally I could get one digit typed but then the screen would relock. Finally, about 20 minutes later, I was able to unlock my phone and stop Strava. Haena State Park has no cell phone service, so I wouldn’t know until I was back to civilization whether or not I missed the FKT officially. With this window of uncertainty, I was able to be content with my effort. I couldn’t believe how my sporadic splits lined up exactly with the existing FKT, despite no Smartwatch to constantly assess my pace.
