The hike up El Cajon Mountain is a 5.65 mile trail, making for an 11.3 mile round trip. It took me 7 hours and 13 minutes.

I first hiked this trail Christmas 2012 with my son. Here is my report from then. I stand by every word, so I won’t be repeating some of the pictures and my lamenting. But I can’t help it. I just recently hiked the Haleakala Crater, and then down hiked Pikes Peak. Both were strenuous hikes in their own right, both were of similar length, both were at much higher altitudes, but in terms of exhaustion, El Caj0n takes the cake.

Two reasons:

I talked about the first reason when I hiked it 13 years ago that it’s uphill, both ways. How can that be? Let’s look at the elevation profile over time:

As you can see in the graph above, after you go up, have have do descend quite a bit, before you get to climb again. The trail is very step everywhere, so going downhill is hard on the knees, and it’s dangerous because it’s easy to slip, fall or trip. And then you get to climb again. This is bad on the way out, but twice as bad on the way back, when you just want to get to the car, and there are all these terrible hills to climb.

The second reason is because it was hot. The trail is exposed to the sun all day, and it was one of those high 80ies in November days with a blue sky.

In the photograph below taken at the beginning of the trip, you can see the peak in the distance. That’s where I am going, 5.6 miles uphill, both ways.

Here is a closeup, about 20 minutes before I reached the top. You click on the image and zoom in and you can make out the faint trail with some people on it. The white arrow points to a person, if you look very carefully. The rocks on the top are huge boulders. That’s the peak.

Finally, after 3.5 hours, I am there. In the background you can see the mountains of East County, San Diego.

Looking southwest from the peak is San Diego. You can’t make it out in this picture. It’s too far away in the haze, but the bright line in the distance is the Pacific Ocean.

I said earlier that it was hot. Uncharacteristically, I didn’t bring enough water for this hike. I had only packed two liters. I needed more. Lucky for me, the park service, or some trail angels, left caches of water. I refilled my bottles here on the way up, and on the way down. If it hadn’t been for these caches, I would not have been able to make the hike. I consumed at least four liters over the seven hours.

Thanks, trail angels!

In summary, when all the guide books for hikes in San Diego tell you El Cajon is a very strenuous hike, believe them. This is not for the casual hiker. You can get  yourself into serious trouble on this trail if you are not experienced, if you don’t have the right equipment or stamina, and if you don’t have enough water.

I was exhausted when I got home, but it was a good exhausted. Let’s see if I will want to do it again in 13 years.

Pikes Peak is the prominent mountain just west of Colorado Springs. The summit at 14,115 feet (4,302m) above sea level is higher than any point in the United States east of its longitude.

There are only 96 mountains in the United States that are over 14,000 feet tall. They are generally referred to as the Fourteeners. 53 of them are in Colorado.  There are 29 in Alaska, 12 in California and 2 in Washington.

Pikes Peak is only the second Fourteener I have been on. Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain outside of Alaska, being the first one.

The view at the summit of Pikes Peak is commonly believed to have inspired the songwriter and poet Katharine Lee Bates to write “America the Beautiful” in 1893.

I decided that I needed to get to know this mountain. It is fairly unique, since there is a road that allows cars to drive to the top. There is also a cog railway which takes tourists to the top in about 75 minutes. I took the cog railway to the top and then hiked down. I figured this was a safe way to “get to know the mountain” without taking any undue risks to my health and safety. I am glad I did.

The trip from the peak down back to the train depot was 12.5 miles long, descending through 7500 vertical feet from 14,115 to about 6,500 feet. I left the top at 10:30. It took me about 6.5 hours. My 69-year-old feet and knees were mush by the time I got to the bottom. But I did it, and I am glad for it. There are more hikes on Pikes Peak waiting for me, no doubt.

Below is the view from my hotel window in Colorado Springs the morning of my hike. The tall peak in the back is Pikes Peak. You can see it got a dusting of snow in the previous few days. I was equipped to deal with that. I had additional layers of clothes and my micro spikes for my boots, in case the trail was icy.

I took the famous cog railway to the top. The ticket is about $80 round trip. I had a round trip ticket since I didn’t know what the conditions at the top would be and I needed to be able to abort my quest, just in case. The train holds about 260 people, tourists of all ages. It takes about 75 minutes to get to the top, and then they allow you about an hour to tool around before going back down. Most people are not accustomed to 14,000 foot altitude. There is a noticeable lack of oxygen at the top of the mountain.

Below is a view from the parking lot. This is also eerie, seeing cars at that altitude in that environment. In the background you can see the visitor center on top of the mountain. It is a huge building, with restaurants, gift shops, museums, and all you might look for at a tourist attraction.

Here is a picture of the train we came up on. The trail starts on the other side of the tracks. I had to walk around the front of the train.

Here I am at a small set of wooden steps down from the train platform to my right, and the trail starts here. It was snowy, packed with about 6 – 12 inches of snow, but not icy, and I decided to just walk in my boots. I never used my spikes.

After a few minutes, the train station, and the tourists, and all of gross-national-product-land was left behind. I was utterly alone, on top of a huge mountain, on a snowy trail, with more than 12 miles of walking ahead of me.

Here is a photo of the trail in the snow.

As I descended the many switchbacks through the snow section, I was able to look down into the distant valley of Colorado Springs. Looking east to the horizon, that would be Kansas. I am about to leave the snow fields.

Another view down into the valley where I am going, from the edge of the snow.

From that point, I turned around and looked back from where I had just come from. On the top you can just see the roof of the giant visitor center at the top of the mountain.

Here is  the trail where I finally leave the snow behind.

On the upper sections, between 13,000 and 12,000 feet of elevation, the trail is actually quite easy, sandy and fairly level.

Again, with the trail in the foreground, we can see to summit ridge in the distant back.

After about an hour and a half of hiking, I finally entered the tree line at 12,000 feet.

Four miles down, looking back up, I saw this sign. It warns hikers going up that they are entering a danger zone. “Your life depends on your ability to hike back down.” This does not seem so bad when the weather is nice like it was for me, but it can be deadly for an unprepared hiker getting caught in inclement weather this high on the mountain.

There are sections at this altitude where the trail is quite easy and fairly level.

Further on down, there are planks that stabilize the trail, which make hiking a bit harder, as they require larger steps over them. There are hundreds and hundreds of those, making walking challenging.

About halfway down there are mile-long sections of trail that are almost flat. I made very good time in those. They are shown in red on the trail map above. Red indicates high hiking speed.

Here is a look back to the top of the mountain from where I came.

Below is the same view as the top, but zoomed in on the mountain. You can still make out the visitor center as a little nubby on the top. The ice field to the left of the center is where I hiked down through switchbacks.

Finally a good view of Colorado Springs.

In the lower sections, the boulders are gigantic, and the trail sometimes goes right under and through them.

The trail at this level is more maintained, with fences along the side, although the fences are often in a state of disrepair.

Here is a view of the bottom cog rail station from the trail. That’s where I need to go. When I took this picture, my legs were rubbery already, and my knees and feet screamed for relief.

At about 5:00pm I looked down and saw the train with tourists arrive. The last train leaves the top at 4:00pm, and it takes about an hour to come down.

And always with any hike, there are  the last steps. Here is the parking lot where anyone hiking up the mountain starts from.

Ahh, I have finally made it.

Ironically, I saw no wildlife on the entire trail. But this is what greeted me on the parking lot. Mule deer.

Hiking down Pikes Peak was an amazing experience and a great way to get to know the mountain. I loved every minute of it. My feet and knees were in pain in the last few hours, but that’s expected at my age. Now as I am writing this post about two days after the hike, my muscles are still sore, but it’s a good sore, and I am already wondering what my next big hike will be.

 

 

 

The Pīpīwai Trail is one of Maui’s most iconic rainforest hikes, located in the Kīpahulu district of Haleakalā National Park on the island’s south-east side. It is very remote and it takes over two and a half hours or more, depending on the route, to get there from the urban areas of Maui, like Kahului or Kihei. It is also the most spectacular bamboo forest hike on the island.

The hike starts at the Kipahulu Visitor Center in the Haleakala National Park. As usual, there is an entrance fee for the park. We got in for free, probably due to the government shutdown currently in force.

The trail is about 2 miles long, making for a moderately difficult 4-mile round trip. Unfortunately, you hike back out the same way you hiked in. The whole hike took us about two and a half hours, and there was plenty of time for picture stops at the more scenic places. The trailhead is at about 130 feet of elevation, and the end point is at 750 feet. So there is some climbing involved.

Be prepared to get wet from sweat and muddy from the trail.

The hike begins with a climb to Makahiku Falls. This waterfall was completely dry when we got there, due to the dry season this year.

I might note here that I need to give photo credit for all the photos below to my wife.

Along the way there is a large Banyan tree where there is usually a small crowd of people resting and taking pictures. So did we:

At about one mile into the hike, the bamboo forest starts:

The path is often narrow and more like a tunnel than a hiking trail. From time to time, when the wind is stronger, the bamboo trunks bump into each other and a clackety-clack ruckus permeates the forest. I tried to take some videos when this was happening, but the sound quality I got was not close to doing it justice to what it was in real life. Noise from wind in a bamboo forest is unlike anything else in nature.

Here you have me under a bamboo canopy. I am wearing camouflage, so you can hardly see me!

Good portions of the trail are built up by plank ways to avoid having hikers slip and slide in the permanent mud below.

There are also many bridges that span over gorges or pools below.

Here is one such pool that was visible below one of the bridges.

Of course, looking to the side of the trail, often unnoticed, are many treasures of nature. This one might end up in a painting one day.

At the end, the highlight of the trail, is Waimoku Falls. This is a 400-foot waterfall that looks absolutely spectacular, even with just the trickle that we saw. After rains, this must be a truly roaring waterfall.

Overall, this is a truly memorable hike in a tropical forest. The only challenge is how long it takes to get there. It’s two to three hours or more away from the urban centers of Maui, so doing this hike takes an entire day out of your schedule. However, I might add that the drive, whether you take the northern “road to Hana” or the southern road, is an entire adventure of its own. I don’t recommend either if you easily get car sickness, or you are scared of driving along sheer cliffs with no guardrails.

’nuff said.

I strongly recommend the Pipiwai Trail hike.

 

Last year I hiked Haleakalā crater, and here is my report from that trip. At the end I said I was going to do this again, but the other way around. Well, I didn’t go the other way around, but I added about 2.5 miles inside the crater, going all the way to Kapalaoa hut, and then looping around through the heart of the crater on the way out. This extended the trip to 13.87 miles and the hike took me 7 hours and 4 minutes. The total descent was 3,454 feet, and the total ascent was 1,804 feet, pretty much all of that during the last 90 minutes on the way out, what I call “the switchbacks.” The high point at the top of the mountain was 9,771 feet (2,978 meters). The low point, at the bottom of the switchbacks, was 6,715 feet.

My pictures and my narration of this trip is somewhat repetitive of what I showed in May 2024, but I can’t help it. The absolutely stunning beauty of this landscape, and the epic-ness of the hike just overwhelms me, and I can’t help myself. I have to show it off. So forgive the repetitive information – it’s new every time for me.

Here is the map of the hike. Red colors are indicative of fast hiking, blue are slow. I started at the green arrow and ended after the switchbacks at the red bubble. The Kapalaoa hut was at the rightmost point.

Trisha dropped me off at the top of the mountain and she took a selfie for the good-bye. She’d pick me up 7 hours later at the Halemau’u Trailhead.

Before I left, she took one more picture of me at the start. The shortest way to Halemau’u is 11.2 miles, but I’d take a 14 mile route.

Looking down into the crater from the rim is always breathtaking. The crater is gigantic. If you look to the left of the picture, you see clouds below, and in the distance, the blue is the Pacific Ocean, 10000 feet below us.

Here is another view looking east over the crater. The morning sun is reflected in the distant ocean. On the right side you can see the start of the Sliding Sands trail as it makes its way down.

An hour and a half later, I am in the bottom of the crater. It’s at about 7,200 feet elevation, and it’s basically completely flat, surrounded by the rim 2,500 feet higher, in all directions.

The state bird of Hawai’i, the Nene, originally came to the islands many thousands of years ago from Canada. They are related to Canadian geese, but have evolved to thrive in the Hawai’ian environment. They are surprisingly unafraid of humans, probably because hikers have fed them occasionally (even though they should not).

Much of the interior of the crater reminds me of a moonscape. However, there are some hardy survivors here and there, growing out of sheer gravel.

The Haleakalā silversword is a strikingly beautiful plant which is only found on the island of Maui at elevations above 6,900 feet on the summit depression, the rim summits, and surrounding slopes of the Haleakalā crater. It has been a threatened species since it was classified on May 15, 1992. Prior to that time, excessive grazing by cattle and goats, and vandalism inflicted by people in the 1920s, had caused its near extinction. Since strict monitoring and governmental protection took effect, the species’ recovery is considered a successful conservation story.

The plant has white leaves which feel rubbery to the touch. They eventually grow a stalk, bloom, and then die. This is the only place in the world where these plants exist.

Hiking in the crater, I am awestruck by the harsh beauty.

The cinder cones in the middle of the crater often show many different colors, very reminiscent of our hike in Iceland in 2024. The only difference between Iceland and here is that in Iceland, there are geysers of hot water, bubbles of popping mud, and pungent sulfur smells along with the colors. Here on Haleakalā, it’s only the colors. The most recent volcanic activity on Haleakalā is estimated to have occurred sometime between AD 1480 and 1600.

Here is another view of the colors in the crater. Note the red box in the distance and then look at the next photograph below, where I enlarged that view.

Here you can see where I came from. The red arrow points to one of the telescopes visible on the summit. The blue arrow points to the beginning of the Sliding Sands trail, the point where I took one of the pictures above. And on the right by the green arrow, that nubby is the visitor center on the rim. That’s how far most visitors to Haleakalā get.

Around the cones, we can find some interesting shapes. For instance, this is a huge gravel funnel, probably a hundred yards across. One of the strange things in the crater is that distances and sizes of features are hard to estimate, since there are no reference points.

Not far from the funnel there was this area with a sturdy steel fence around it. I wondered what it was. It is known as the “bottomless pit.” It used to be thought as bottomless, but they now know it’s 65 feet deep. In Hawaiian legend, the bottomless pit is associated with tales of Pele, the volcano goddess, and her siblings. Some stories say that her sister attempted to use that opening to reach down and cool or put out Pele’s fires below. Some older legends said that Hawaiians placed umbilical cords of Kaupo babies in this bottomless pit as a sacred custom.

I was in awe standing in front of a feature that has been part of the local legends for centuries, doubtless visited by generations of Hawaiians, throwing in their umbilical cords. And here I was alone, the only person in the universe at that time, nobody else around for many miles, staring down.

I leaned over the fence and pointed my phone down, afraid it might slip out of my hands, and took this picture. This gaping hole is about 10 feet across and there is no way to see the bottom. This is how close I dared to get.

As I crossed the crater, the moonscape kept my attention, or shall we call it the “mars scape” since the picture below looks like something we see on YouTube taken by the panoramic camera on the rover on Mars. The rocks in the foreground, the untouched sand, the dunes, the colors. The only thing that reminds me I am on Earth is the blue sky.

Finally, after about 10 miles of hiking, I arrived at the Holua hut and I took a selfie to honor my friends Mike and Susan, who where here last fall per my recommendation. They hiked down the switchbacks, arrived at this hut at the 4-mile point, and then turned around from this spot. Here’s to Mike and Susan.

I stopped here to eat my last sandwich before the final ascent back out up the switchbacks.

During this entire trip, I saw very, very few people. It’s almost scary, but there is nobody in the crater. I was mostly alone, except for one other hiker who I ran into early on the way down. We exchanged a few words while I was sitting on a log having my breakfast, and then he went ahead of me. I didn’t see him again for hours, and I thought he’d be way ahead of me.

Well, he wasn’t, and when he caught up with me just before the switchbacks he took several videos of me hiking in front of him, as he caught up to me. I didn’t know this was going on.

Here is a video he shot of the surrounding landscape, and about halfway through you can see that he hesitated when he spotted me and then zoomed in. That’s when he realized I was in front of him.

Here is the video he took just before he caught up with me.

Of course, since I mostly hike alone, I am not used to having pictures, or even videos of me during a hike.

As we clambered up the switchbacks, there was plenty of time to chat and get to know each other. To protect his privacy, I shall call him J.R. here:

Note the flipflops. This guy is a “badass hiker” and therefore just my kind.

In the following few pages there are a few pictures of me, all credit to J.R.

Here I am on one of the exposed ridges, with sheer drops of hundreds of feet on both sides.

Here you can see how rocky and steep the trail is up the switchbacks.

Looking out, the clouds that enshroud the mountain are below us.

Sometimes they reach right up to us and feel like fog.

Here you see some of the switchbacks, and if you look carefully you can see tiny me about in the middle of the picture towards the right. You can click on the photo to zoom in.

And finally, after 7 hours and 14 miles, we arrived at the Halemau’u trailhead where Trisha waited for me and took this picture. It was beer’o’clock.

Thanks for sharing your pictures, J.R. and may we meet up for another awesome hike one day!