There was a Crooked Man

A brief but emotional account of Dan Fallis' Bad Water Run


The crooked man crab walked down the desert highway turning the light comedy of Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks into a separate circle of Hell, the pain on his face adding that final twist of reality that brought people to cheer or turn their faces in horror. But the bent man didn’t hear most of it, didn’t have time to raise a hand even if he could have managed it, he just jigged painfully on toward the top of the long desert mountain, down another hard hot highway, and on toward an Emerald City that lay shrouded in the dusty air, little more than myth at the end of a fractured yellow brick road.

He went as far as his friends could help him, as far as his body could carry him, as far as his determination could will. Then, somewhere down 98 miles of desert highway, since it was really only a race, and when it looked like he could permanently damage himself, he drove the stake into the earth and laid down to rest. But he didn’t quit, he didn’t despair, or lament his weaknesses. He rose in the morning, pulled up the stake and once again began the crooked but unbroken walk toward the green meadows of many a runner’s heaven, Lone Pine, the last of the desert check points on his long hard journey.

More and more crooked he moved, more and more bent he stood, more and more painfully he traveled, and yet more and more certain he became that he could do what he had seen only as a dream, as a forlorn hope. And as each painful step brought him closer to his goal his body twisted and turned and writhed, his stride became wounded and sadistically comical, and his voice turned dry and fragile. Hours passed, each one sixty minutes long, and each minute sixty seconds longer, and each second an eternity of pain he lived as if it were every mile of the long journey he had already completed. Then finally he stepped onto the edge of the summit and stood there with both feet on neither side, and the pain became just another tool to divine the journey’s meaning.

There was no highest mountain climbed, the portals of Heaven did not open, and many goals were left unfulfilled. But that is life. We often leave much uncompleted when we make a habit of striving beyond our known limits. There is no failure in that. The Crooked man did not stop in the face of adversity, did not falter in the face of defeat, nor whine when the demons of pain and despair enshrouded him in their twin veils. He pushed on until the clock ran out, until the final moment, and in that he found great success and proved an inspiration to many.

He wore a HURT shirt from start to finish. His run epitomizes what that symbol means. Understand his story, understand the limits that were in play, and let it stand as an example to you when you too wear that emblem and attempt to push your own personal limits. Draw inspiration, courage, and wisdom from his tale.

I’m sure he will tell you soon in his own words, but from my point of view this was the most miserable bitch of an hard ass run I have ever seen. It was an honor to be at his side through much of this grueling experience.

Mauna Kea Squared: A Sea to Summit Odessy (Part 1)

(MK)2-- Mauna Kea Squared—From Sea to Summit


The Basics
Approximately a 60 mile run
Course: Mauna Kea Beach Hotel to Pelekane Beach 3
Pelekane to Waimea 13
Waimea to Saddle Road 6
Saddle to Mauna Kea Access Road 28
Access Road to Visitors Center 6
Trail to just below summit 4-7
(depending on who you ask and if they ran it)
To top of sub summit pu'u .50
Summit trail to summit Pu'u .25

Summary: Brutal, Intense, Dangerous, Beautiful, Truly challenging.

Recommendation: Drop the name, keep the idea, run from sea to summit from Hilo side as roads are better. It would be safer. Any extra distance wanted could be added by running up and back some of the Mauna Loa observatory road. The run would be almost as difficult, though not quite as beautiful

The Run

I'd been trying to do this run for months but things wouldn't fall into place. So when David called me and said he would be in town and wanted to run it I made the flight arrangements and flew to Kona. It wasn’t the best of times. I’d been working hard at the hospice and had not been getting a lot of sleep or exercise, but I figured I could overcome that. I got home from work on the 3rd of July at 12:00 am, packed, got an hours sleep, and picked up David before 4:00 for a 5:15 am flight.

David and I did a number of aid drops along the route in the morning, driving up to the visitor center on Mauna Kea, and then went back to his parents place in the afternoon and slept. We were ready to go to the start at the Mauna Kea Beach Hotel by 6:30 or so in the evening. Charles and Stella, David's parents and my good friends, drove us to the start as the sun set in outrageous Kona style. It was one of most beautiful sunsets I have seen in years, as the western sky was ablaze with blues, purples, oranges, reds, and uncountable shades of these. Every time I looked it had morphed and become another beautiful evening.




At the Front Gate of the Mauna Kea Beach Hotel

After a few pictures at the Mauna Kea Beach Resort front gate we started as the last spectacular stages of the sunset worked their way into black. The run to Pelekane was easy. The weather was warm and I broke into a sweat quickly. The roads were crowded with people arriving for the fireworks, and parks were filled with groups celebrating the 4th and awaiting the evening’s lightshow. There was a festive atmosphere about the park as we made our way toward the beach.

David Bonnet and I touched the water at the sands of Pelekane just below the Pu'uokohola Heiau. After a few brief words and thoughts we started.

The Beginning: Pelekane Bay and Beach with Mailaekini and Pu’u‘o’kohola Heiaus above.


I chose Pelekane because it was once the residence of the Ali’i who ruled this area. It was the village where Kamehameha lived as he built Pu’uokohola and one of the early trading stations on the Kona Coast. Before the use of metal weapons the kahuna craftsmen of this village would likely have made the same trip we would be making, and along similar trails to the glacial rock quarries high up near the summit of Mauna Kea. Other Kahuna of the area would have made the journey to celebrate religious events or mark auspicious times of the calendar. It seemed appropriate to stop in Pelekane and pay our respects to people who had made this trip before us. We were not alone in our quest, it had been done many times before, and it was good to understand that our experiences would be in many ways similar to those who had traveled the paths before us. The spirit of Hawaii lives, but one must search her out.


Standing there looking out over the dark waters I was reminded of the terrible tale of Keuoa a cousin of Kamehameha who had contested the rule of Kona and the Hawaii. Keoua had fought Kamehameha and the Kona Chiefs who had united behind Kamehameha and after a number of battles he had been driven into the Ka’u, where it proved impossible to defeat him.

Rather than fight on Kamehameha had let the battle rage die and turned to building his heiau, Pu’uokohola, in honor to the god Kukailimoku, the Land Grabber. It was the Land Grabber behind which the Kona Chiefs united; the lure of island wealth central to their actions. After almost eighteen months of work the heiau was completed and Kamehameha planned his celebration. It is difficult to say what motives he may have had personally, but he invited his cousin to join him at the ceremony to be held at Pelekane.

Perhaps Keoua had tired of the war as well and was ready for peace, perhaps he believed his cousin would be seeking that same peace. It is hard to say. Kamehameha was not a particularly blood thirsty man in his time and place, but any one of a dozen acts he committed would, in our day, brand him a vicious ruler. But he was not a man of great subterfuge, and he often was quite forgiving of his kin. In any case Keoua chose to come, though on the trip to Kona he had a vision and put ashore to conduct a sacred cleansing exercise that Hawaiian Ali’i performed before facing the threat of almost certain death.

When word came that Keoua was arriving, the entire village of Pelekane, and the great crowd of visitors who were there for the dedication of the heiau gathered at the beach. As Keuoa’s canoe approached the landing, Kamehameha greeted him and bid him come ashore, then a commotion arose, and despite Kamehameha’s raised hand ordering the restlessness to cease, Keeaumoku a Kona Chief of the inner circle, ran forward into the water and launched a spear just as Keoua was stepping into the shallows. The spear hit Keoua wounding him mortally, and pandemonium ensued as Ali’I and warriors of the most violent Kona factions slaughtered almost the entire crew and Ali’i of Keoua’s lead double hulled canoe. The rest of the flotilla pulled back into the protective waters of the bay, and having killed all but one of the lead canoe the mob lost its purpose and Kamehameha was able to bring the crowd under his command once again.

How much of Kamehameha’s anguish at the slaughter of his cousin was real is questionable as he was, after a brief period of public remorse at the events on the beach, convinced by Kona chiefs and Kahuna that Keuoua, being of high Ali’i status, would make a most appropriate ceremonial sacrifice to consecrate the war god’s temple. So it was. And the first blood spilled across alter of Kukailimoku was that of Keoua.

Keuoa always seems to get less than a fair shake in the pages of history. He was invited to a family party and found himself the main attraction. In many respects he was likely no better or worse than his cousin, and just unfortunate. But seen from my perspective it seems a hard deal. I picked up a pebble on the shore of Pelekane with the intent of carrying it to the top of Mauna Kea in memory of him, and all the other forgotten Ali’I and people of Hawaii who did not support Kamehameha, but who were non-the-less people who believed in their way of life and deserved better, if only in the pages of Hawaiian history.

Having picked up the pebble we started off from Pelekane and within a score of yards I lost sight of David's light and pretty much chased him blindly from the start. It was to turn out to be a major ass whoopin.

The road up to Waimea from Kawaihae is 10 miles of windy road, sometimes with narrow verges. It is difficult but not dangerous along most of the section. It takes some finesse to work through the tougher points where the barriers come close to the road and there is but a few feet of asphalt to the road. At the bottom of the hill it was hot and humid and I was sweaty and wet. A half mile up the hill the Fireworks went off at the Mauna Kea Beach Hotel and it seemed an auspicious moment. But just as quickly as the display faded away it began to cool with every 100 feet of rise and by the time I reached 1500 feet the temp had dropped 20 degrees, and clouds were streaming down the chute spraying moisture. The wind picked up and were blowing a good 25 to 30 miles and hour directly into my face, forcing me to lean into the steep hill even more than normal. The cold mists that Waimea is so famous for chilled me quickly and came down so heavy it might as well have been rain.

The uplands of Kawaihae Uka, on the road to Waimea.

I had been a bit glib about my venture, and not really prepared for early cold and before I got in 10 miles I realized I was in trouble. I thought about the pebble and its meaning. The thought entered my mind that such feelings for Keoua might not be appreciated by all who reside in the area. Or, I thought to myself, perhaps my attitude about this run was not respectful enough and I was being tested for it. In any case within a mile or two my soaked body was freezing and I was wondering about Hypothermia. No joke, it happened that fast. One minute hot, sweaty and sucking down the water, and a few miles later I was freezing, my core was losing heat rapidly and I was beginning to stumble. When I reached the 2000 foot marker the weather was worse; the colds winds were blowing steady and it was raining. I only had on a running shirt and compression shorts and my warmer gear was far up the road. I knew if I didn't get warm I'd have to quit. You can not go out on the Saddle Road in bad shape because that is what the Saddle Road is famous for doing to runners. Before I reached 12 miles I was ready to call it quits. I struggled on hoping to find something in Waimea to deal with the cold. It was a real blow to a run I had wanted to do for a long time. But going farther up the mountain with cold and potential hypothermia problems would have been insane. I stumbled along screaming into the wind, feeling the cold droplets on my face, and watching the heavy mists billowing past the occasional street lights. The goddesses of the Mountain had stopped me in the first 2000 feet; I was humiliated and humbled.

The Beatles could have been playing 'with a little help from my friends' in the back ground when my old friend Charles pulled up beside me as I stumbled through the cold, wet, windy night and asked me how I was doing. "Not Good." was my reply. "I'll meet you in Waimea." I confirmed as he headed off to check on David. Suddenly I was back in the race! I could do this thing 'with a little help from my friends.' The road seemed a bit wider and the rain not so heavy and I picked up my pace a bit. Just knowing I could get warm in a few miles was a great elixir. When I got into Waimea (13, 3:15, 2000 -Miles, Hours, Feet-- and all approximations) I found Charles and his Wife Stella ready with aid. I needed it. I gobbled down a hamburger, I had a few long sleeve shirts in my gear in the car but put on a fleece jacket they had with them. I ate, talked, and just felt a hell of lot better. It was a far cry from being wet, tired, freezing, and alone on the side of the dangerous road in the middle of nowhere. I thanked Charles and Stella for the 10th time and headed back up the mountain.

The long plain of Waimea and slopes of Mauna Kea stretch toward Saddle Road.

There is a six mile stretch of the Mamalahoa Highway that heads out of Waimea to the Saddle Road. I've run it twice before and had good memories of it. But that was at 4:30 in the morning a few years ago. This time it was about 11:00 PM on a holiday night in a much busier Kona side. It was a busy road and I often found myself running on the grass on the side of the road or what passed for it. Fast moving night traffic is hard to take when the margins are built for bikers and runners; narrow country roads are simply dangerous. Half way through the section I saw a truck pull down a farm road ahead of me. The lights went out, I heard noises, and then the truck pulled out again. I had a bad feeling and moved off onto the verge trying to make myself small. The truck raced out of the road and back on to the highway heading back toward Waimea. Waimea has been plagued by arson and when we came back by there after the run the land was charred for miles around, much of it happening that night. I believe I saw the culprits setting up another blaze. I had reason to avoid these guys. Farther down the road a patrol man stopped me and asked me where I was going. I told him what I was doing, he nodded doubtfully and said "Look that light of yours is blinding the on coming traffic you have to keep it down." Well I thought to myself, at least they are aware I'm on the margin.

I made the Saddle Road (19, 4:30, 2200) and began that long climb up to Waikii, which is just below the major southwestern ridge of Mauna Kea's long reach. It is a beautiful section and always a pleasure to traverse. The traffic was mostly Kona movement so it was immediately quiet once I reached the cross island road. I could hear cars coming for miles and could prepare for their passing. It was fairly safe. I ran with my lights out, the moon a large half disk with a glowing white ring around it and flooded the road with enough light to see all but the smallest bumps and holes. As the road wound into the lee of Pu’u Ahumoa, a cinder cone on Mauna Kea’s southwestern flank, the winds dropped and it warmed and dried out. It was still chilly but nowhere like it had been coming up out of Kawaihae. Mauna Kea had cloaked herself in a veil of clouds for the night but Hualalai lay to the south glowing in the shimmery moonlight. It is funny, I have run the road a couple of times and I always have to stop and tell myself it's Hualalai and not Mauna Loa I am looking at. If you are not from the Kona area you don't realize how gigantic Hualalai is. A run along the Saddle road changes that perception. It may be the little sister but she is big none-the-less.

Looking back down on Waimea I was surprised to find the cloud cover glowing pink. The fires were burning again. Later the sky began to glow along the coast near Hualalai, and I knew another was burning there as well. From high up on the hillsides it was all very pretty and the fury of the fires was far from my mind.
The episode of chilling had taken a lot out of me and I was moving slowly, but it didn't really matter as it is not often that one gets to enjoy the quiet beauty of upper Kona. I pushed when I had it in me and walked hard when I didn't. I was mostly one long hard climb. But the night was to enjoy and I made myself aware of all that was around me as I ate and drank as much as I could and prepared for the real climb ahead. There are two ranch stations far up on the ridge. Coming up on them it seemed natural to imagine the cowboys coming out of the bunk houses in the early morning light and heading to the cook house. It is easy to feel the still warm glow of the hard paniolo country life that has slowly disappeared from the soul of the Big Island. Up in the grass lands of the high country the old cowboys still ride the night, the shadowy images of their past lives glowing softly in the moon light. I moved slowly by the cattle stations, the high ancient rows of cedar wind breaks darkening the road and adding a rich scent to the chilled night air.

I came out of the lee past Waiki’I (26, 8:00, 5400) and the winds were blowing a good 25 miles an hour into my face and it suddenly got a bit tougher to move up the road. The air chilled and a misty rain fell for a while, and I was once again running with the zipper of my fleece jacket zipped all the way to the top. The high country quickly lost its quiet charm; the ragged moan of the wind through the power wires replacing the quiet singing of the breezes through the trees. It stayed harsh through the high windy grass and scrub sections, all the way up past Kilohana and did not really let up until I hit Pohakuloa and descended down the line of small hills that give way to the central plain.

Something big died up there in the bumpy hills at the top of the western Saddle Road and the smell plagued me for miles. It was a strange juxtaposition to the beauty of the night having this deep earthy stench in the air. Every time I thought I'd hustled past it reappeared around the next bend. Pigs perhaps. The place is alive with pigs and they are everywhere along the verges of the road and hunters may have been up here just shooting them and not taking the carcasses. Or a dead cow, or many cows for the level and extent of the stench. Night Marchers I thought. But they are spirits and not prone to come out in the moonlight. The night of the New Moon is theirs not when a three quarter moon is aglow. Whatever it was I'm glad I didn't come up on it. I ran on through the darkness, trying to outpace the smell, occasionally hearing the loud snorts of a startled cow or bull in the range along the road. The smell had put everything on edge, and even the cattle were uneasy.

Just before you make the Girl Scout Camp at Kilohana you come over a the final high ridge and there is Mauna Loa. It is a surprising sight if you are not expecting it; hard to believe that the biggest mountain in the world, by some measures, can hide from view. But that is the game she plays as you make your way up and around the outstretched toes of Mauna Kea. Suddenly there she is, broad and long and high, glowing in the moonlight, the wide rivers of recent lava flows brightly reflective. I took a few moments and greeted her. She would be my constant companion for the rest of the journey. Every step I took I would find her at my shoulder. Every achievement I made she would be there at my side. My goal was Mauna Kea's summit, but one of my greatest rewards would be to look out on Mauna Loa and truly appreciate her magnificence. One can not climb one of the sisters, without being very much involved with others. They are among the greatest volcanoes in the world and side by side they are one of the most spectacular displays of volcanic power the world has given us.

Mauna Kea Squared—From Sea to Summit (II)

(MK)2-- Mauna Kea Squared—From Sea to Summit
Part II


The Pohakuloa Road: A tank crossing. Note the ‘one lane plus+’ style. Mauna Loa in back ground.

I descended the road onto the plain of Pohakuloa making my way over the last of the hillocks that ripple along the edges of the great southern ridge of Mauna Kea. (30, 9:00, 5500). The winds subsided as I dropped down into the low protective bowl of the western part of the plain. It warmed and I occasionally felt a wisp of day heat emanating from the cooling roadside. The road through Pohakuloa is nasty. It’s deceptively rolling hills hide the constant climb, and despite the few hundred feet of drop from the high ridge one is gaining altitude. The only saving grace is there is a lot of room off to the side where you can flee when the crazy mad Hilo drivers blitzkrieg their way toward their jobs in Kona. It is about seven miles through the military camp and another seven or eight to gain the Mauna Kea access road. The first seven is nasty; a dry and scrubby land devoid of charm, an ugly area with only redeeming feature that it offers a point from which to appreciate the beauty of the mountains that dominate. There is not much that the military can do to ruin the land that nature has not already achieved on her own. The best bet is to just keep pace through the long climb.

Stomach cramps harassed and slowed me as I climbed to the eastern edge of the plain and I just made it to the Mauna Kea State Park at the end of the Pohakuloa road (37, 10:30,6300) where there is a toilet. I wasn't so lucky the next time somewhere down the new road that leads to the eastern section of the saddle, and after another delay moved on up that boring but safer section of new road. After a long slow hard hike I made the turn near the base of Mauna Kea Road (50,14,6600) and felt escorted to the access road by the massive 1984 Mauna Loa flow. Mauna Loa, still growing, continues to redefine the landscape and here she appears to have flowed up the lower slopes of Mauna Kea. Once on the access road one can look out to the left and see the flow pacing you up the first stages of the rise. Yet there is a distinct upward slope to the lava, and as much as 100 feet drop back to the low point; as if the slow motion momentum of the lava down Mauna Loa carried over the saddle and up the slopes of Mauna Kea before it found a shallower path toward Hilo.

Looking up the Mauna Kea Observatory Road. Note lava fields in foreground.

Once on the access road the real test of the run began--the steep accent of Mauna Kea's final 7700 feet to the summit at Pu’u Kukahau’ula, which occurs in a distance of about 12 miles. I felt better after a bag of Doritos and a red bull at the drop bag, one of the few that I could find or hadn't been raided by the pigs, and I began the 6 mile jaunt to the Visitors Center. The grade of the road can be deceptive as the mountain is so steep, so even the easiest slope the road can find is hard. In the first mile I looked back and found that I was at least 500 feet above the saddle plain, the road and the cars already looking quite small. When the road took a turn I was faced with some of the more impressive climbs. Just picture six miles of Concretes stretching out before you, or the Peacock flats road running far, far up into the distance, and you have a picture of the road. Some of the posted grades are upwards to 17%. But hills are my forte and David was still almost two hours ahead of me so I pushed up that section making the Center in about 2:30. (56, 16:30, 9000). Charles and Stella were there to greet me. The rangers were aware of our venture, and did not hassle us, though they made it clear that the road was not safe and the trail was the only real option to a hiker. The road is steep and unpaved and cars are prone to go too fast and then plane along the loose gravel as the drivers fight to control the vehicles. It is not a great place to be walking. Don't get paranoid about talking your plans over with the rangers. It is a nasty place up-slope and it can get a lot worse very quickly. You are in snow and high wind country at anytime of year. If it gets ugly up there they will have to come and find you.

Steep grades along access road are daunting.

I headed up the Humu’ula trail with about 17:00 showing on my watch. It is posted as 4.5 miles but they don't count the meanderings it makes up the hill sides or the detours through some of the outer circles of hell. Count them and it has to be at least 6, maybe a few hundred miles. The trail is up, there is no other way, a steep slope of sliding sand, gravel, and rock. The scree is endless, and the only method is to look for the freshest foot steps of those who went before you and put one foot in front of the other. I quickly learned that one can not look up without getting dizzy, or down with out suffering mild vertigo. The only answer is to keep your eyes on your next step. It is the zen of the pace. One step at a time and not thinking about the long, long slope that you know is above you. Occasionally in a pocket of less steep ground I would allow myself a moment to look around. Stunning; Mauna Loa so close you feel you can reach out and touch her; and eon of lava flows visible down her sides and large cinder cones disturbing her long seemingly gentle slope, far below the saddle road winding tiny through the lowest pu’u of Mauna Kea. The upper slopes of Mauna Kea reaching high above you. The scree and lava kaleidoscopic in its variations; everywhere there are changing colors and everywhere it is different yet unchanging. Vegetation was left far behind almost at the beginning of the trail, and nothing seems interested or capable of setting its roots in the higher altitude lava flows. The trail wanders up the mauka edges of the Waikahalulu Gulch which I had last seen cutting a ragged gash down the slope and emptying out into to Pohakuloa Plain. Now it was a large steep trough in the land the bottom of its cliffs lost over the edges of the ridges and flows of ancient lava. The gulch added to the steepness of the terrain but at the same time provided a path up through the rugged landscape.

In the midst of ascending the trail the altitude began to get to me a bit. Long sections were interspersed with periods of putting my hands on my knees and breathing hard just to catch my breath. Mild hallucinations became common but not endangering. I saw many people sitting in caves in the cliffs above me, heard voices in the winds, saw a score of people wandering lost ahead of me, passed a junkyard worth of old farm and mining equipment, and there was the woman in white robes and long flowing hair who would appear on the high ridges or standing at the mouth of a cave and then disappear as I finally approached. Perhaps it was the goddess Lilinoe, goddess of mists, who had tested me so severely in the first hours of the run. It is said that in her earthly form she was a chiefess who wandered the slopes of the mountain and upon her death was buried in a cave near the summit. Now nearing the end of my climb she looked down on me and let me pass apparently satisfied that I had proved my strong will to finish my quest.

Along the Humu’ula Trail: Ahu, stone markers placed to mark the trails to the traditional adz quarries. Mauna Loa at our shoulders.

Sometimes my surroundings were so powerfully beautiful I had to stop and acknowledge it, had to just stand there in the sun shine and open my arms to the power of mountain. It could have been the altitude, or the long trek, but everything from the rocks at my feet to the long slopes of Mauna Loa, was clear and sharp before me. The world had a crispness that I could remember only in childhood memories. I wanted to enjoy this and I was tempted to crawl into one of the caves like the others and just sit there and stare out at the magnificence. And that is the problem. It is so easy to get side tracked, to wander from the trail to look at things, real or otherwise. It is easy to stop and rest, to sit and stare out at Mauna Loa, or up at the peaks of the many pu'u, cinder cones, of Mauna Kea. It is easy to forget that the sun sets quickly and it gets cold, or that the winds come up quickly. But I had a guardian angel with me who kept whispering in my ear. 'Stay on the path, and don't stop Mike.', she said again and again. I did as I was advised, and soon realized that the peace and calm I felt could be transitory if I lost the way or forgot the goal. Hell has many forms and this high land of stunning scenery could be one of them if you don't heed your angels.


...Like many rolls of giant toilet paper and debris, observatories litter the summit peaks.

Hours later and totally drained of energy I managed to make the last ridge of the lava fields, pass around the steep slopes of Pu’u Waiau and down into the lake that shares its name. Then around the slopes of Pu’u Hau Kea and down into the last of the upper valleys where one can stare up at Pu’u Poliahu, named for the mist goddess, and up at Kukahau’ula the highest peaks that make up the summit. As I made my way to the road I was euphoric, but almost totally tapped out. Observatories lay scattered across the landscape like giant piles of discarded soiled toilet paper. There are at least a dozen buildings spread over the upper reaches of Mauna Kea, some truly ugly and lacking any particular architectural merit. The quest for knowledge can occasionally be unclean, and the highest few hundred feet of Mauna Kea give proof to that. But they might just as well have been illusions, hallucinations that I saw. I was stumbling drunk from lack of oxygen and the long hard climb. I made the road that leads up the final five hundred feet and was happy to find Charles, Stella and David waiting for me. David had finished an half hour ahead of me and had waited to do the final few hundred feet with me.


David and I hike the last five hundred feet, the last half mile, the last bit of strength. Pu’u Poliahu in the back ground.


The final switchback road started out as a was walk ten paces, rest for a minute, walk ten paces affair. I hardly had the energy to take ten steps. After a few hundred feet I finally realized that if I hyperventilated I could get enough oxygen into my system to keep moving. So, huffing like the little engine that could I just kept pushing up the road. Finally, my head swimming, and the world shimmering about me I made it to the observatory where I could look out on the highest of the pu'u, the true summit of Mauna Kea, ka piko kaulana o ka ‘aina, the famous summit of the land. David and I stumbled down the trail and crossed over for the final climb. We reached to top together (57, 21:00, 13900) and gave thanks to the great goddess of Mauna Kea for allowing us entry into her realm. I left my pebble there in memory of Keoua, the fallen king. We had completed our pilgrimage from sea to summit. We had walked in the footsteps of our passed Hawaiian brethren and learned a bit more of them and ourselves.
The journey is complete.

David completed the longest run of his career and did so over some of the most brutal and intense ground I have traversed. If he can do this he can do any run, distance is no barrier. It is the first time he has beaten me in an ultra and he has my greatest respect for it. I'm proud of him and honor the incredible maturity and perseverance he displayed in reaching the summit.

This run was the most difficult I have ever completed. The weather was nasty, the traffic was insane, the roads were bad, my body gave me problems, and the climb was just devastatingly endless. I am grateful for the chance to complete this venture. For all the things that went wrong there were always Charles and Stella somewhere near by to give me a bottle of water or a hot sandwich when I really needed it. I don't think either David or I could have made it without their help as our drop bag system failed miserably and the weather was so funky. They have my deepest thanks and appreciation for their help and support.
I doubt I will attempt this venture again from the Kona side. In the end the traffic is the most negative factor. Hilo beckons and the Lady Mauna Loa, has entranced me. Perhaps it's a Mauna Loa squared, or another version of the sands to summit, but she calls and I am going to get ready...just as soon as I visit Death Valley, and help Don complete his greatest adventure.
Aloha!