I set out on a picturesque Hawaiian hike expecting waterfalls and rainbows, but instead I got mud, a surprise rainstorm and a sneaky wild chicken with a taste for mischief. It turns out paradise trails come with a few rules: pack bug spray, never hike in slippers (flip-flops), and beware the wildlife, especially any creature with feathers and an appetite.
The day started innocently enough. Armed with a water bottle, some musubi snacks, and an overconfidence born of watching too many travel vlogs, I headed into the jungle. The trail – a lush path on Kaua‘i famed for its waterfall at the end – began under a canopy of swaying trees and sweet bird songs. I thought, “This is paradise! What could go wrong?” (Cue ominous laughter from the island gods.)
About a mile in, I realized my first mistake: wearing slippahs (flip-flops) instead of real hiking boots. The morning rain had turned parts of the trail into a mudslide waiting to happen. One minute I was admiring wild ginger flowers, and the next I was on my okole (rear end) in red clay mud. No harm done – except maybe to my pride and my formerly white T-shirt, now tie-dyed in dirt.
Pressing on, I encountered a squad of mosquitoes the size of tic-tacs, all apparently thrilled to meet fresh blood. Note to self: tropical forest = bring bug spray. After performing a spastic slap-dance to shoo them off, I emerged at a clearing, covered in mud and sweat but triumphant. The waterfall was just a short scramble ahead, and I could already hear its roar. Victory (and a refreshing swim) was in sight!
I decided to take a snack break before the final push. Pulling out a trusty Spam musubi, I sat on a rock to recharge. That’s when I met him: the wild chicken. A scruffy, red-combed rooster emerged from the bushes like an uninvited tour guide. He eyed my musubi with a knowing glint. “No way he’ll jump up here,” I thought. Wrong. In a flash of feathers, the little bandit flapped onto the rock, snatched half my musubi in his beak, and darted back into the underbrush. I was too stunned to do anything except watch my lunch disappear, punctuated by the rooster’s triumphant crow. That rogue clearly had done this before.
Lesson learned: in Hawaii, even the chickens are seasoned hikers (and foodies). I had to laugh – how many people can say a rooster stole their lunch on a hike? I finished the trail, minus one musubi, and the waterfall at the end looked even more magical with my slightly humbled perspective. As I soaked in the view (and rinsed off the mud), I realized that every misstep and surprise had become part of the adventure. I left the trail with mosquito bites, dirty clothes, and a story I couldn’t wait to tell. Because out here, even when things go “wrong,” the aloha spirit has a way of turning it right. Just don’t turn your back on the chickens.
Travel & Outdoors – Hawaii Monthly hawaiimonthly.com