Maui Adventure - Day 3 - Sliding Sands Hike - Breathtaking In Every Way

[Composed 1/3/2026]

After a few minutes in the car with the heat blasting, we were finally warmed up enough after watching the sunrise to make our next move. The plan was to hike part of the Sliding Sands (Keonehe'ehe'e) trail. Once thawed out, I was eager to get started.

Sliding Sands, we read, consisted of a 9 mile hike into the Haleakala crater, followed by 9 miles hiking back out. The trail has a reputation for spectacular views, and martian like terrain. The trail starts from the visitor center's parking lot which is a short drive from the summit.

Another critical feature of the hike we picked up during our research was that the views remain relatively consistent. So whether you hike one mile into the crater or nine, you don't really see anything different.

Like the drive to the summit of Haleakala, I worried that this hike would trigger my fear of heights. Yet, looking out over the massive expanse at the start of the trail, I realized that there was nothing fear inducing about what was before us. The trail was wide and gently sloping; there wasn't a cliff or drop off in sight.

Once the conditions were visible, Shira and I started the negotiation for how much trail we'd do. I argued we should hike three, if not four miles in. Shira was pushing for one. We compromised at two miles.

Those two miles were absolutely stunning. At the start of the hike we saw a little flora and fauna, but once in the crater, it was almost exclusively volcanic rock as far as the eye could see.

We made our way into the crater spellbound by the views. The gentle downhill made the experience a piece of cake.

At two miles, Shira announced it was time to turn around. Reluctantly I agreed. After some water and a snack, we turned and headed up hill. It took only a single step before I was breathing heavily; according to my watch, my heart rate had jumped to 150. Whoa. A wave of fear washed over me: this was going to be no ordinary hike to the car.

At 10,000 feet, I knew that I'd feel the altitude. But surely I was fit enough to get at least a few steps up the hill before I hit the wall. Apparently not.

None of this should have come as a surprise. Sliding Sands comes with countless warnings that the hike in is easy, but out, not so much. But I thought that warning was for other people.

Putting panic aside (did we have enough food, water and cold weather gear to endure hours of hiking ahead of us?), I turned my attention to a single goal: taking one more step. The experience hiking out of Sliding Sands became meditative: my mind was clear of all distractions; there was no past, no future; no failures, no successes; there was only the step in front of me.

With all the mental drama, hiking the two miles to the car turned out to be no big deal. The recommendation I heard from a ranger as I explored the gift shop at the visitor's center was simple: plan to spend twice as much time hiking out as hiking in. Still, I can't recall a hike going from easy to challenging so quickly when I'd already experienced the full terrain.

I asked the ranger in the gift shop if she had any advice to put what we'd seen in geological context. She explained that the shades of color we'd seen, from pitch black to deep red, and every shade in between, was all the same rock. It was that the rocks had been exposed to air for different amounts of time, so they had different rates of oxidization. The patches of solid black had been more recently exposed (maybe 100 ~ 1000 years ago), while the patches of dark red had been exposed many thousands of years ago.

Playing forensic geologist is fun!

Notable Creatures

Check out these handsome looking Chukar partridges we saw at the start of our hike:

Introduced in 1923 as a game bird, these guys apparently thrive at higher, drier altitudes. They seem to have little competition up here, so even though resources are scarce, they still thrive. And they're pretty!

The other notable resident at the top of Haleakala is this guy, a silversword:

First off, the silversword is a native resident of Hawaii. Hurray! Finally a true native caught in the wild. Second of all, the above photo shows a fine specimen, but it's only part of the story. These plants can live in this state for decades, and then finally procreate by sending up a massive, 6ft tall stalk full of purple flowers. And then they die. Dang Silversword, drama much?

Surely, I thought, the silversword must be related to the agave plant. Both exist in a rosette shape for years, thrive in arid conditions, and finally produce an impressive stalk full of flowers and die. And yet they are only very distantly related. Both plants evolved to make use of monocarpy indepedently; finding a similar path to survival on their own. I find that both completely reasonable and utterly miraculous at the same time.

Review: The Line Becomes a River

Last week the White House gleefully announced that, thanks to their efforts, 4000 "criminal illegals" had been removed from the streets of Minnesota.

My sense is that pronouncement could serve as a sort of immigration issues Rorschach test. Some will greet this news with a sense of relief: finally, progress is being made to keep Americans safe. Others will read the article with a sense of horror, fearing that countless individuals and families have had their lives derailed for little more than political theater. To the first group, border issues revolve around drugs and violence. To the second group, it's all about neighbors getting swallowed up by bigotry and bad policy.

Who's right?

Francisco Cantú's The Line Becomes a River: Dispatches from the Border brings a unique perspective to this debate. Cantú is a gifted writer who spent 4 years working as a Border Patrol Agent. His book, The Line Becomes a River tracks his experiences, giving the reader a front row seat to America's immigration challenges.

Warning: Spoilers Below

Cantú gives us views into the border in three acts: first as a field agent, then zoomed out a bit as he works in border intelligence and finally, through the lens of a citizen who has a friend swallowed up by the system. I found the writing to be excellent and I zipped through the book in record time. I listened to the audio version, which he read, and found him to be an excellent narrator.

I could tell that I was enjoying the book because I found myself trying to relay the text to Shira on a regular basis.

I appreciate that Cantú's book is descriptive, not prescriptive. He doesn't say what border policy should be; he just puts his experiences vividly out there for the reader to learn from. He lets the reader connect the dots.

One example, to prove the point. Over the years, the US has made crossing the border more difficult. Personnel, sensors, cameras, drones, have all increased the level of difficulty. The hope, of course, is that this will deter migrants from making the trip. Maybe for some, the deterrent works. But for many, this simply means that migrants now need to turn to more extreme means to make the trip. The result, as Cantú shows, is that a harder to cross border is an aid to narco terrorists. Desperate crossers are easy fodder for carrying drugs or serving as kidnapping and ransom victims.

While Cantú doesn't say it, he seems to show it: hardening the border is a win for the cartel. One wonders what outcome doing the opposite would be.

So, who's right? Is the border a place of horrific violence, or the site of a policy that tears apart families and keeps good people out of our country? My take after reading The Line is: Yes.

Cantú makes it clear that there is horrific, out of control violence in Mexico. Narco terrorists have committed unspeakable atrocities. You can sense the physical toll on Cantú as he simply tries to process what happens along the border on a day to day basis. The Line was published in 2018, so perhaps there have been changes in the level of violence along the border. But given the scope described in Cantú's writing, it's hard to imagine it's ebbed in a significant way.

But the story doesn't end there. The narrative of the law abiding, hard working, community contributing would-be citizen is also real. Cantú shows us the impact first hand as a beloved father of three finds himself trying to illegally enter the border to reunite with his family. Refusing entry to this man means depriving three vulnerable US citizens of their father. How is that just? How is that in the best interest of America?

Thanks to Cantú's book, I feel like I have a more complete picture of the challenges that are at the root of the immigration headlines I see daily. I'm not sure what the solution is, but at least I understand the problem better. And that's a start.

Maui Adventure - Day 3 - Here Comes the Sun

[Composed 1/3/2026]

Today's adventure was made possible by my wife's dogged persistence. As we were moments from landing in Phoenix airport, Shira logged into recreation.gov and tried to buy tickets for the Haleakala National Park Summit at sunrise. She had been unsuccessful the day before.

Space at the summit is notoriously limited, so tickets go blazingly fast. As a rule, the National park makes tickets available 60, and 2 days out from each date. We failed to get tickets at the 60 day mark as we had not planned our trip, and failed again the day before at the 2 day mark.

And yet, Shira's determination paid off, and as we touched down in PHX, we officially had tickets to watch the sunrise from the summit of Haleakala.

Fast forward to 2am this morning, where we awoke and piled into the car to drive to this exclusive parking lot.

Ascending from sea level to 10,023 feet, I braced myself for the trip. Surely this would be a test of my fear-of-heights. And yet, the test never came. The road switched back and forth up the mountain, but never got especially steep or cliffy. That was a nice surprise. In fact, the entire time we were at the summit my fear of heights never kicked in. I worried about being worried for nothing; classic.

We arrived at the summit parking lot at around 4:40am. There was plenty of space, so we got to breathe a sigh of relief.

Stepping out of the car, I found the surroundings to be positively magical. I was expecting high winds and found the night to be calm. Chilly, but calm. The moon was full, so star gazing was out of the question. But one can easily imagine how spectacular the night sky would be on a moonless night. I snapped photo after photo, trying to capture the magic of the place, but knowing that I was going to fail.

Ultimately, I rejoined Shira in the car where we stayed warm until about 6:15am where we trudged up to the summit and took our position facing east.

We were warned time and time again that viewing the sunrise would be a bitterly cold affair. And the advice wasn't wrong. It felt a bit silly bringing winter gear on a tropical vacation, but it was completely the right thing to do. In fact, I should have packed wind pants and long underwear. At least we had proper hats, gloves, and down jackets. Many of the crowd at the summit were painfully underdressed.

For the next 40 minutes we watched nature's most spectular light show. Slowly at first, and then picking up steam, the light would morph into new colors. Words, photos and a video timelapse just can't do the experience justice. Being above the clouds, with peaks and an island visible in the distance, the scene was beyond extrodinary. It was well worth the 2am start, and Shira's effort to get tickets. The magic of Maui was on full display this morning.

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While I lacked the words to dscribe the sunrise, Mark Twain had no such difficulty. His encounter with Haleakala is quite moving and closes with the following description:

There was little conversation, for the impressive scene overawed speech. I felt like the Last Man, neglected of the judgment, and left pinnacled in mid-heaven, a forgotten relic of a vanished world.

While the hush yet brooded, the messengers of the coming resurrection appeared in the East. A growing warmth suffused the horizon, and soon the sun emerged and looked out over the cloud-waste, flinging bars of ruddy light across it, staining its folds and billow-caps with blushes, purpling the shaded troughs between, and glorifying the massy vapor- palaces and cathedrals with a wasteful splendor of all blendings and combinations of rich coloring.

It was the sublimest spectacle I ever witnessed, and I think the memory of it will remain with me always.

Well said Sam, well said.

Maui Adventure - Day 2 - Kahakapao Loop Trail - So Many Aliens

My first impression of hiking the Kahakapao Loop Trail in the Makawao Forest Reserve was just how ordinary the hike was. Here we were, 5,000 miles from home on a tropical Hawaiian island, and we were slogging through a wet, deciduous forest in low 60 degree temps. Shira had her umbrella up, and my windbreaker was getting peppered with drizzle. This scene wasn't on any Maui postcards I'd ever seen.

Yet, upon closer inspection, I could tell we were off the mainland. For one thing, no squirrels. In fact, other than a couple of fleeting views of birds, we didn't see any wildlife.

As the hike and rain continued, I noticed an unusual phenomenon among some of the trees: they seemed to have tiny rivers running down them. See this video for what I mean. That's unusual, right?

A bit of research revealed that the trees showing this effect were all eucalyptus, and that the effect is known as stemflow. Eucalyptus trees have a combination of smooth bark and waxy leaves that allows them to pull off this water bending behavior.

At first this seemed like a flaw: wouldn't the tree want to absorb the water versus shed it? In fact, stemflow is a clever way for trees to route water directly to where it's needed most: the base of the tree and ultimately to the roots.

While it's a nice find, there's nothing native about eucalyptus trees. They were introduced to the islands during the 1860s, to provide resources for timber-hungry industry. The first "systematic forest planting [of eucalyptus]" occurred just a mere 10 to 15 miles from our hike, in Ulupalakua. Cool, but not a native to the islands.

As we continued slogging up the trail, I noticed multiple clusters of bright orange fungus and thought surely that must be a native resident.

A Google Lens search suggests that this is likely Favolaschia calocera, aka orange pore fungus, aka orange ping-pong bat. Not only is it native to Madagascar, but it's now considered an invasive species.

Favolaschia calocera R. Heim (Fig. 1) is a classic example of an invasive species in the islands. The bright orange poroid fruiting bodies of this fungus were not seen during the twenty or more years of collecting on each of the major islands, but in the last few years it is often encountered in troops on fallen logs and branches in both alien and native forests on all the major Hawaiian Islands. The spread of this fungus from Madagascar to Europe, Africa, Australia, New Zealand, China and various Pacific islands is well documented (Vizzini et al., 2009).

So pretty, and with a cool name, but definitely not Hawaiian.

The Kahakapao Loop Trail follows an elliptical path, having hikers travel southward up an incline, then return northward on a roughly parallel path. The hike switches back and forth over mountain bike trails, which are no doubt optimized for uphill and downhill riding. I'm not a mountain biker, but I'm sure if I were, this would be a gem of a location.

Near the southernmost point in the hike, we encountered a thicket of exotic-looking plants. While their flowers had mostly bloomed, you could tell that at the right season, this must be quite beautiful.

Google Lens tells me that we came across a patch of Kahali Ginger. The plant certainly looks like what I'd imagine would grow in Hawai'i. And the name sounds Hawaiian, too.

Not only is the plant alien, but it's considered #40 on the list of the world's worst invasive species. Ouch. Even the name is problematic:

H. gardnerianum has also been called kahili ginger due to its similarity to the kāhili feather staffs symbolic of Hawaiian aliʻi. However, many have taken to calling the plant Himalayan ginger given that the species is native to the Himalayas. A Hawaiian name can potentially mislead people to believe it is a native species.

You know that this plant is a significant problem because the Hawaii Invasive Species Council is considering importing natural enemies to tame it. Just think, next time we visit Maui, we could be hearing all about invasive "flies from the genus Merochlorops, large, conspicuous weevils from the genus Metaprodictes, and moth larvae from the genus Artona."

Introducing new species seems like a massive risk, but I suppose doing nothing isn't an option.

About half way down the hill on the return leg of loop, we came across this tropical looking specimen:

Aha, I thought, surely this plant is a native Hawaiian species. Just look at him (or her?)! Reddit's take on these pics is that I'm half right. Apparently, this is a Ti plant, and it was intentionally introduced by the Polynesians that settled the Islands of Hawaii. That means it's both alien, and thoroughly Hawaiian.

Ti, also known as Ki, is one of the 23 plants that were brought by the Polynesians when they voyaged to Hawaii. Collectively known as canoe plants, these plants served as a sort of civilization starter kit; ensuring settlers had a reliable source of food, medicine and tools when arriving at a new destination. Ti's benefits read like a sort of plant Swiss Army Knife.

In ancient times, the Ki served as a material for clothing, rain gear, sandals, roof thatching, dinner plates, ceremonial activities, fishing lures and making okolehao, an alcoholic brew from the ti roots.

The canoe plant strategy helps me appreciate what the Polynesian voyagers accomplished. Where, say, Christopher Columbus's journey was like a moon mission: risky and ground breaking, but ultimately intent on returning home; the Polynesians were more like colonizing Mars. That is, a mostly one way trip, intent on establishing a civilization where one didn't exit. In that context, canoe plants can be seen as a sort of a proto-terraforming project. Amazing. As NASA considers how it might allow humans to thrive on Mars, they are implicitly taking a page out of the Polynesians handbook: the the right plants may make all the difference.

Form the Ti sighting, we made our way back to the car. Here, I chugged a can of Aloha Maid Pass-O-Guava Nectar. Made in Hawaii, this was probably the most native encounter we had all hike.

In the end, Kahakapao Loop Trail was a well marked, easy to follow trail that helped us transition to vacation mode. If you're a mountain biker, you'll no doubt love the trails and seemingly well equipped practice area. For hikers, it checks the box, but there was nothing spectacular about the loop. In short, it was nice, but not a must do.