January 26-29, 2025

NaPali Coast, Kauai, HI

Rated by Backpacker Magazine as one the most dangerous hikes in the US and often considered one of the top 20 most dangerous hikes in the world, the Kalalau Trail is not for the faint of heart.

This January (2025) I went back for my second trip along the rugged NaPali Coast. It was an impulse decision after returning from my solo Grand Canyon Rim-Rim-Rim trip… I just couldn’t bear not having another trip to look forward to and felt confident enough to revisit a place that I had once feared.

January 2023

I first experienced this trail in January of 2023 when I was still suffering from vertigo and had an extreme discomfort with heights. I watched all of the videos and read all of the trip reports, most of which mention the notorious Crawler’s Ledge, a narrow rock path, bordered on one side by a rock wall and the other side by a precipitous 200′ drop to the ocean. I didn’t believe the hype. I had bagged some of the tallest peaks in my local mountain range. No way it could be any worse. But I was wrong.

That trip was terrifying, and I didn’t have any idea that there were so many more possible dangers than the relentless, vertigo inducing cliffside trekking. I still felt excited for what was to come as I dropped my pack in the woods on the far side of Hanakapi’ai Stream and hiked the 4 miles round trip to the Falls. It was a gorgeous location, with a cold yet refreshing pool beneath the Falls. It didn’t take me long to get back to my pack and onward along the coast.

After crossing Hanakapi’ai Stream at mile 2.4 (the mile markers start at Ke’e Beach trailhead, ~.4 miles from where you are actually dropped off), the trail becomes more of a footpath, transitioning from the relatively wide, protected, and well-trekked trail, to a narrow and sometimes washed-out path with frequent sections of high exposure. I knew that if I fell it was possible that no one would ever know what happened to me, since I made the rookie mistake of taking on this trail as a solo traveler. I look back now and realize how unwise that choice was.

I camped at Hanakoa for a night at mile 6.4, having hiked more than 10 miles already, and hoping to shake off some of the stress from the vertigo and the building fear of the upcoming Crawler’s Ledge. I set up my Hammock and slept as much as I could, with the wild pigs squealing not far off, and my mind racing about what was to come.

The following morning, I set out, not willing to turn back over fear. At this point I had met another solo hiker, and we traveled together. Not far beyond Hanakoa, I turned the corner and there it was. Crawler’s Ledge. I was so much worse than I had imagined, or, more likely, I had just driven myself irrational. A sign with a warning showing a person falling off a cliff did not help. I set off down the switchbacks and around the point where the exposure is the most severe. It was a breezy day, and I could feel the ocean spray on my back as I shuffled along, with my hands glued to the rock wall. I balked for only a moment before I moved quickly forward just to get to safer ground.

As soon as I reached the other side, I realized I eventually had to go back the same way. I wanted to cry, but moving forward, I was too busy trying to keep myself from losing it… the exposure and washouts became more than dizzying, they felt unbearable. I knew I had fucked up. I knew this was beyond my limits. Just when I thought to myself that I couldn’t take it anymore, I came to a crumbling “Kalalau Valley” sign, the “Red Dirt Hill” ramp leading down to Kalalau Stream and, a mile later, the beach. I was crying tears of relief and also of fear about the return.

I found a nice spot in the trees just past the camping area border and set up my hammock, got water from the waterfall, and made dinner. I checked the weather with my InReach, and it wasn’t great… the rain was supposed to move in the following evening. Like the exposure, trip reports and trail descriptions warn of the dangers of rain, and I wasn’t willing to brush this warning aside. Walking along those ledges in the rain was unthinkable.

The ocean was so loud, and my stress level was so high that I knew I had to get out of there the following day. Although I was disappointed that I wasn’t going to be able to explore Kalalau Valley, I knew it was the right choice. I would make my way back to Hanakoa, salvage one of the nights I sacrificed, and hike out the next day.

The next morning, I woke, packed and headed out with a couple from Montana who had also made the hard decision to leave early because of the forecast. I felt a little better knowing that if I fell off a cliff, these folks would at least be able to share my fate with my family. From Kalalau to Crawler’s was a blur; I don’t remember much and must have been in state of survival mode, but I do remember the husband taking my pack and bringing it across Crawler’s so I could travel the narrow precipice unimpeded.

We made it safely to Hanakoa and the couple continued on to the trailhead. I later found out that both of their headlamps had failed, and they had to walk the last couple of miles in the dark. I camped alone in the jungle, but I had no fear. My evening tea had a message that struck a chord, and I had made it back beyond the worst of the trail. I slept like the dead, even as a steady, light rain developed and continued into the morning.

Walking back from Hanakoa to the trailhead was uneventful, although it was lightly raining for the first couple of miles. I felt accomplished having made it out and back but also ruminated on the embarrassment of having my pack carried for me and for showing weakness. I held onto these regrets for years, always saying I would never, ever go back there.

January 2025

…Until December of 2024. After an extremely successful and fulfilling trip to solo trek the Grand Canyon Rim-Rim-Rim, knew I was ready to redeem myself. Although the trail was much more well maintained, the high exposure of the north rim trail in GCNP was a test of my vertigo and fear of heights. I had quit drinking in February of 2023 and was pushing myself on my local peakbagging outings to explore more challenging and exposed terrain. It all paid off. The vertigo wasn’t rearing its ugly head anymore and I found the GC North Kaibab Trail to be thrilling in a way that brought me extreme joy.

It was time to go back to Kalalau. But this time I was going with a healthy respect for the trail… and a hiking buddy. No more solo Kalalau for me, thank you very much! Less than a week after my return from Arizona, I texted Jason and asked him if he would like to join me for a return trip to Kalalau. He said something about wanting to spend money on new skis, but I cut him off and reminded him how much he regretted turning me down to join me in GCNP. He relented and we spent the next hour making plans and booking flights.

I went to the permitting website and opted for 3 nights, which would give us some flexibility if we had any delays, as January is the rainy season. I’ve seen many a trip report of people who regret not having booked extra time and took risks of crossing swollen streams to catch flights. Some never even get on the trail because there is an emergency closure for the one or two nights they have a permit. January tends to still have permits available as little as a month out because of the likelihood of heavy rains and flash flooding. Most people opt for spring thru fall trekking along the NaPali Coast to ensure more stable weather patterns, so permits for these peak months will often be gone within minutes after they open.

I came up with a basic itinerary to fly in mid-day on the 26th, hike the 6.4 miles to Hanakoa, on the 27th we would hike the 5 miles to Kalalau Beach, camp two nights and hike the 11.4 miles back out on the 29th before flying out at 11pm. This would give us the opportunity to explore the Kalalau Valley for a day, an experience that I missed out on in 2023 because of my rush to beat the weather.

I brainstormed all of the contingency plans, knowing that Hanakoa is available for camping “1-night camping (each way),” which offers a safety net in case of bad weather or other issues that may arise.

As the weather forecast began to include the dates of our trip, it wasn’t looking great. I was obsessed. Refreshing the weather app every hour to see it change from sun to rain to sun to rain, although the trend was showing that the rain may win out over the sun. I poured over recent trip reports of people risking their lives to get across streams that were running dangerously high due to the relentless rain. The trail had even been closed for few days by Hawaii State Parks, who deemed it too dangerous for travel due to severe flash flooding and landslides.

Day 1

We boarded our plane early morning on January 26, not quite sure if we would even be able to start the trail, let alone finish it. I was feeling nervous about the weather and the possibility we could be thwarted to get to the beach, but completely comfortable about being on the trail and the exposure that had terrified me only two years earlier.

When we arrived in Kauai early afternoon that day, we immediately changed into our hiking clothes and packed our backpacks, as we were getting a ride directly to the trailhead to start our trek out the NaPali Coast. I had booked a ride service with Kevin Schwoebel, who also provides stove fuel, luggage storage, and other services for hikers. He picked us up from the airport, where it was gorgeous and sunny, but that didn’t last long.

We traveled for an hour along the east coast, wrapping up to the north shore of Kauai. It became darker, more ominous, the closer we got, and rain began to fall, but we were optimistic that it would clear up or at least rain only lightly. We couldn’t have been more wrong.

We donned our ponchos and as we started out towards Hanakapi’ai, it began to rain steadily, the wind starting to pick up. A normally busy section of trail, typically packed with day hikers, the first two miles were eerily quiet. We were relieved to see that Hanakapi’ai Stream was passable, although it was starting to have a tinge of muddy water from flash flooding above us. We crossed without getting our feet wet (not that it would matter soon) and turned around to see that the stream level had already risen and what was mostly clear just a few minutes before was now chocolate milk brown.

We forged on and were relieved when the rain became a bit lighter, although that didn’t last. Before long we were in a full-on monsoon; it was raining sideways and blowing somewhat fierce, as we picked our way along the Palis. I gave up trying to keep my feet dry and just kept moving forward along exposed sections of trail with greasy mud threatening to steal your footing. Amazingly, I felt great! This time I felt ready and was not at all uncomfortable with the dizzying heights.

Although it was flowing at a rate that was far more than its typical trickle, we were able to find a way across Ho’olulu stream by rock jumping. It was becoming incredibly obvious that if we had started any later, Hanakapi’ai Stream would have been impassable. At this point we only had one more valley to traverse before reaching our campsite at Hanakoa. A few times we were startled by wild pigs, but they wanted nothing to do with us and ran off into the jungle.

As we rounded the corner from the coastline and into Waihukua Valley, I realized I had never noticed how beautiful this spot was, even in a downpour. Needle-like palis rise vertically along the rim of the valley and the lush greenery was welcome change from the bland colors of a snowless Alaskan winter. We relaxed a little knowing we were close. But Kalalau has way of reminding you to stay on guard…

We approached Waiahuakua Stream and realized that we would be risking our lives if we attempted to cross. We were less than a mile and half from Hanakoa, but we weren’t getting any further tonight. And we sure weren’t getting back across Hanakapi’ai. Although permits are only good for camping at Hanakoa or Kalalau, I knew it was wiser to stop and wait as opposed to losing our lives, and I was sure that HI State Parks would agree. As darkness began to fall, we hustled to find a good spot to set up our hammocks, and after a half hour of stumbling frustrated and wet around in the jungle, we were finally set up and climbing into our cocoons.

Not long after we settled in, a couple came by in trail running gear. They had managed to cross the Waiahuakua, but said it was waist deep and still rising. We exchanged some pleasantries, as much as we could in a torrential downpour and howling wind, and they moved on, focused on getting back to shelter. We later heard that they were unable to cross the Hanakapi’ai and spent the night in the composting toilet **(the second time in two treks that I had experience with discovering folks had slept in a composting toilet)**.

Amazingly my gear stayed dry on the hike out with just a rain fly and my poncho draped over my pack, although I should have used a contractor trash bag to line it because I think I just got lucky. I struggled to make dinner under my rainfly but stayed true to my routine and even had a cup of coffee as Jason and I attempted to communicate by screaming over the wind and rain.

I felt bad bringing him out here. I didn’t think he was impressed. But surprisingly, I was having a blast. Nothing like being tested by Mother Nature to know what you are capable of. Honestly, I was very pleased with our progress in some awful conditions. I slept soundly through the monsoon.

Day 2

The next morning, we woke to a completely different atmosphere, windless with sun poking through the trees. I hustled down to the stream to see if we could cross and continue on. Surprisingly, it well below its previous night’s levels and easily crossable!

I ran back up and reported to Jason. We packed up and continued on, a quick hike around one last Pali and into Hanakoa Valley, where we came upon the camping area, just beyond the mile 6 marker, complete with a composing toilet and sheltered picnic table.

We stopped to regroup, dry out and have something to eat before heading out to Kalalau Beach, but first we reconned Hanakoa Stream, which was found could be easily crossed. As we ate and had coffee, laying our wet clothes and shoes out to dry, we noticed that it had been raining up in the mountains and the waterfalls were very pronounced.

We walked back down to Hanakoa Stream to check on the water levels and were shocked to find that the stream had risen by more than 3′ in less than two hours! Once again, we were halted because of a flash flood, and once again we knew we weren’t willing to risk our lives for a trail. We set up camp and enjoyed the day, playing cards and coming to terms with the fact that it was very likely we weren’t going to make it to Kalalau, especially as the forecast was not looking much better for our last permitted day.

As we wrapped up dinner and got into our hammocks, it started to once again downpour and we lost any hope we had of continuing on.

Day 3

We again woke to beautiful weather, and incredibly, the stream levels were back down to baseline. As we ate breakfast, we talked about our hike back out to the trailhead and about sitting by a pool for our last night and day in Kauai. Not what we had planned, but it would do. Honestly, I was a little relieved but also bummed out. I didn’t feel like I got my redemption.

Then Jason proposed we out and back day hike to Kalalau. The weather was fantastic, we hadn’t heard back from our ride about picking us up a day early, and technically we could stay at Hanakoa for another night since our nights were bookending our hike out to Kalalau Beach. Although the intention of the 1 night each way Hanakoa rule probably wasn’t meant to be interpreted this way, we felt like it was legitimate enough of a situation to justify the decision.

We transitioned from our leisurely pace to loading a day pack for the 10 mile out and back. A stove, a water filter system, some food, and a couple of sleeping bags were stuffed into Jason’s pack. Enough for an overnight on the far side of Hanakoa Stream just in case we were stuck on the other side upon our return. We were now well aware of how quickly things can change out here and made sure we considered all of the contingency plans and just in cases.

After easily crossing Hanakoa and stashing Jason’s pack in the jungle, we struck out towards Kalalau Beach. We climbed up out of the valley, towards the coast and in no time we were at the sign with the guy falling off a cliff. I had butterflies but was excited to revisit this place with a clear mind. It didn’t look nearly as bad as I remembered it.

We descended the switchbacks to the ledge and followed the narrow rock path out and around the point. No problem! It felt so much less exposed than I previously recalled, and the rock offered excellent footing. I even filmed most of the way with my phone in one hand, although I put it away before the narrowest section. I stopped mid-way and took in the view and snapped a selfie. I had earned this. I wanted to spend more time on the ledge, to really absorb the gravity of overcoming my fear, but we had a beach to get to, so we moved on.

Not far after Crawler’s Ledge, we came to a small nook along the Palis that shows evidence of frequent landslides, loose material and rock strewn down to the ocean. It didn’t have the same angle as it did in 2023 and appeared to be an easy traverse. Jason moved forward as I put away my phone and suddenly a roar from the mountainside snapped us to attention.

I screamed “LANDSLIDE!” as Jason ran back towards me, narrowly missing being hit by enormous boulders and landslide debris. If he had been hit by the landslide, he would have been swept down towards the ocean, likely not a survivable event. I thought back to my solo hike along this section in 2023 when I was oblivious to this danger. I may have even had airpods in. I again realized how stupid I was.

We took a moment to catch our breath, and I was sure we were going to turn back. That was too close… but Jason, was insistent we had avoided the worst of it, so we listened for a while for any additional debris coming down. When we were sure the saturated land had all let go, we ran across the slide debris to the safety of the far side. Looking back and up, we could see where the slide had originated, about 150′ above us, a wide swath of vegetation and hillside just gone. We forged ahead.

The next couple of miles skirted along the coast, many areas washed away from the recent heavy rains, leaving whole sides of the trail just wide enough to walk on, with a dropoff of hundreds of feet to the ocean. We continued to keep an eye and an ear above us for any more dreaded landslides and we made our way quickly across these obvious danger zones. I realized then that Crawler’s Ledge was probably one of the safest parts of the trail.

I still felt confident, with no bouts of vertigo, as we approached the old wooden Kalalau Valley sign. We had made it to the Red Dirt Hill and beyond most of the dangers. Descending the gradual 400′ to Kalalau Stream, we both breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled. We had made it.

Jason found a great rock hop route across the stream and we were soon at the boundary of the Kalalau camping area. I found the campsite from my 2023 trip and then caught up to Jason at the waterfall, where we showered with the help of a pvc tube that had been cut to direct the water away from the vertical rock wall into a stream of water that would beat any shower’s water pressure.

Rejuvenated, we made our way down to the beach, walking along in the sand, but not taking any chances with the large winter swells to risk swimming in the ocean. I spent some time reflecting on the past couple of years and on how thrilled I was to be back, although disappointed to not have the opportunity to trek out Kalalau Valley.

I didn’t have time to fret about that missed opportunity for too long though; after taking plenty of pictures and videos, I could tell Jason was antsy to get moving on the 5 mile hike back to Hanakoa, so we donned our sneakers and headed back the way we had come.

The return was uneventful. A hot, sunny day had allowed the land to dry out and firm up, leaving great footing and plenty of opportunities for taking in the incredible views. It was one of those days where the greens of the vegetation are blindingly brilliant, and the color of the ocean from high above was a vibrant teal.

Arriving back in Hanakoa with plenty of time to make dinner and relax, we crossed the still low stream, stripped off our hiking gear and went for a swim. It was ice cold and refreshing. It felt good to be clean and safe, but even better, I slept that night knowing I had attained redemption that I didn’t know I would ever get.

Day 4

The morning of the 29th we took our time breaking camp, knowing we had until late afternoon to hike the 6.5 miles back to the trailhead to meet our ride. Thankfully the forecast was wrong, and it was another day with pleasant weather. We marveled over how nice the dry trail was, reminiscing about the monsoon and marveling at our unhinged stubbornness for navigating these Palis in such conditions.

We waved to boats whose occupants watched us, hundreds of feet above them walking on a sheer cliff, and I wondered what it would be like to see it from that perspective. I spent quite a bit of that time thinking about a summer kayak trip to Kalalau to finally get the opportunity to explore the Valley that had stayed just out of reach.

Besides some minor rockfall that we were able to sprint past, the walk back to Hanakapi’ai was enjoyable, although we did have some concerns for those heading out toward Kalalau, since the forecast hinted that the weather would be much worse than what we experienced. (The trail was, in fact, closed the night we came out due to flash flooding and landslide dangers).

Crossing Hanakapi’ai, I was too excited to worry about not getting my feet wet, wading through the water to the “day hiker” side of the stream. We came across a man who had slipped and fallen on the rocks and after a doctor evaluated him, I used my InReach SOS button for the first time in 5 years.

The trail completely disintegrated for the last two miles, a muddy mess from the masses of hikers that obtain day permits to walk the 2.4 miles out to the stream. We struggled with the sudden transition to busy sidewalk from the desolate and sparsely populated trails beyond the day hiker turn around point. Frustration grew as we weaved our way through the throngs of people while simultaneously trying to keep our footing.

We made it back to the trailhead with a mixture of relief, pride and longing to still be walking along those cliffs that two years earlier had broken me down to nothing but now felt like an old friend.

We heated up water for instant coffee and ate the last of our food, excited for a hot shower and a meal from a restaurant. Our ride showed up not long after our agreed meeting time of 4pm and brought us to shower at Lydgate Beach Park. Don’t do this. An unhoused person was blocking the entry to the men’s bathroom, and no other people were around, so Jason and I both showered in the pressure washer stream of ice water in the open-air showers of the women’s side. It was a rude awakening after longing for a hot shower, but I can say that I was completely exfoliated by the firehose jet of the shower head, even if it was hypothermia inducing.

We found our way to dinner at Monico’s, a Mexican restaurant in Kapa’a. Five stars, 100% recommend. By 9pm we were back at the airport, repacking our bags and navigating in a somewhat dreamlike state through agricultural inspection, bag check and security. Our plane took off on time, barely missing the incoming storm, and I settled in for a long flight, satisfied that I had accomplished something that would finally allow me to remember this place with excitement, joy and peace.

Just The Tips:

1. Permits open 90 days out and often sell out quickly. There is no lottery, it is first come, first serve.
2. Hammocks are preferred for this trail. There are ample places to set one up at both Hanakoa and Kalalau. Hanakoa does not offer many tent camping options, but there are a few spots clear enough to pitch one.
3. Nights at Hanakoa can get chilly. I used a 40-degree bag in 2023 and was cold. My 30-degree bag was perfect. Remember that if you are hammock camping, you may get more chilled because of the airflow beneath you.
4. Be prepared for a change of plans, especially in the winter. Consider booking 3-4 nights in case of inclement weather or emergency.
5. As someone who made this mistake, Do Not attempt this trail alone. There are too many opportunities to completely disappear, whether it be due to landslides, a fall, a flash flood or a number of other possible demises.
6. Keep your eyes and ears open along the trail! Don’t wear earbud or headphones. Listen for landslides and rockfall.
7. Use Hanakoa on the way out and/or on the return. This is much underutilized site, but it offers a relaxing location and the amenities of a composting toilet, and the opportunity for a side trip up a spur to Hankoa Falls. There are sites on both sides of the stream.
8. Use good judgment crossing swollen streams. Stop and wait if it appears that the streams are flooded. The conditions can change quickly, and you may not have to wait long. It is not worth risking your life. Most people who perish on this trail don’t fall off cliffs, they drown in flash floods or while swimming at the beaches in the winter when the surf is rough.
9. If you are afraid of heights, consider a day trip up to Hanakapi’ai Falls instead of going out to Kalalau. This trail will not be enjoyable if you are terrified the entire time. The exposure is relentless and some areas are only narrow enough to put one foot in front of the other
10. Pack out what you pack in! This area is sacred to the Hawaiian people, so please show respect.
11. Enjoy!

Kalalau AllTrails Link: