TO THE TOP OF HAWAII’S MATTERHORN
MidWeek’s intrepid reporter braves sheer faces and razor-thin trails to successfully reach the summits of the three peaks of Mount Olomana. The three peaks of Olomana are so daunting that they’re known around the island as The Matterhorn.
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The three peaks of Olomana are so daunting that they’re known around the island as The Matterhorn. Our informal guide for the day, Yeayin Saepae, refers to the triple gauntlet as K-1, K-2 and K-3, after K2, the second highest mountain in the world, known to be more lethal than Everest.
“I hike Olomana, all three peaks, every week - I’ve been doing it for eight years,” says Saepae, the president of Hawaii Expedition and Adventures Company, adding, “Even after all these years, there is one place where my legs still get a little shaky.”
He’s talking about the climb from peak two to peak three, which is so arduous that it’s only described in hyperbolic terms.
“I did it once many years ago,” said one experienced hiker. “It was so scary, I will never do it again.”
Another adventure seeker recounted how he had trained for Olomana for two months only to start up the first peak and turn back because rain from the night before had made the path too slippery.
With nervous anticipation, I joined a group of seven other newcomers who had banded together to join Saepae on his weekly climb. We were also accompanied by his friend Jean Tsukamoto, who also had conquered Olomana a few times already, bringing our group to 10. Like the wide, deceptively peaceful river that suddenly turns into a tumultuous maelstrom, we meandered along the manicured roads of Luana Hills Country Club and then ducked into the wild undergrowth to begin our ascent.
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Near the door of the path a tree trunk was pregnant with a busy swarm of bees - sinister keepers of the gate. Being that I’m allergic to bee stings, the hive increased a foreboding feeling that had been hanging over me. Already we had left our cars parked on the side of a road strewn with glass from broken car windows. Even worse, a steady rain had continued through the night. Since I live only about a mile from Olomana, I called Saepae first thing in the morning to confirm that the hike was off, but he hadn’t answered his phone.
“I’m concerned about that cloud,” he said pointing to an ominously dark sky just above the peaks. “We’ll keep our eye on it.”
Surprisingly the path was dry. In fact, the day was quite warm, and along with the steep ascent and our brisk pace a couple of us were overwhelmed by dizziness. Saepae took the helm and Tsukamoto hung back with us slowpokes.
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Born in the jungles of Thailand, Saepae is at home in the forest. He alerted us to various bird calls and pointed out indigenous flowers and plants, naming some that have medicinal uses. He pointed out patches of strawberry guava and at one point held up a papaya lilikoi. Adopting his best Crocodile Dundee accent, he announced, “That’s not a knife, this is a knife” as he pulled out a sizable hiking blade and sliced into the delicious tropical fruit, offering samples to a couple of grateful first-timers.
As we panted our way uphill, we were thankful for Saepae’s descriptive explanations, as they were both informative and gave us a chance to rest.
As a professional tour guide, he had come prepared - his equipment included a backpack full of climbing rope. That brutal-sounding third peak lingered menacingly in the back of my mind.
Forging on, we approached a group of fellow trekkers who were already returning. “Did you do all three peaks?” I asked. “No,” they chimed unanimously, and then chuckled patronizingly as though I had asked if they’d ever
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