[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.
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