Inga Brennan

When others come to your paradise to find solitude, where do you find yours? This longing has taken me from my hometown on Oahu into the jungles of Central America and to islands in Southeast Asia. A few years ago, I finally found what I was looking for—a mere island hop from where I started. The place was Kauai's Na Pali Coast.

My first trip was four years ago. I'd found it by way of the Kalalau Trail: a grueling, 11-mile trek along rocky ledges best traversed by wild goats. Two summers ago my friends and I decided to return by kayak. The upside: not carrying a heavy pack filled with food, clothes, and camping supplies. The downside: By sea, the trip can be a peaceful float or a wrestle against the elements, all depending on the whims of nature.

We'd planned a four-day kayak and camping trip along the Na Pali Coast—a 17-mile ocean voyage past wild, uninhabited valleys, sea caves, and the most remote beaches in the Hawaiian Islands. Because the long stretch of coast is mostly lava rock cliffs, for more than ten miles there is no easy place to stop. The one-way sweep of the current means there's no way to turn back.

Our destination was a valley named Kalalau, which means "wanderer." Because it is accessible only by a narrow, rocky trail and by sea, Kalalau resembles a primeval Eden. There is no plumbing, no running water (except streams), and no electricity. If you get hurt, you pray for a passing tour boat or helicopter, or send for help by foot or kayak, which could take a whole day. The valley is verdant with guavas, mangos, oranges, bananas, and taro.

After launching from the north shore's Haena Beach, we rounded the reef, then skirted the base of the steep cliffs. The ocean was frisky that day, and waves crashed against the rocks, showering us with sea spray and foam. We passed a few sea caves, dark gaping holes in the lava where waves gushed in and out. I could see valleys tucked a hundred feet above the cliffs—buzzing with wet, green wilderness. I remembered edging along the narrow, cliffside trails, a heavy backpack weighing me down. Paddling along in my kayak, I was free as a fish. The rhythm of the waves slapping against the boat and our paddles dipping simultaneously into the water soon began to lull me into a daze.

Stephan Hoerold

After 2-1/2 hours of paddling, I spotted the golden stretch of Kalalau Beach ahead.

Kalalau has the kind of energy that makes you shiver. Along with Nualolo Kai, a valley farther down the coast, archaeologists believe Kalalau was one of the last inhabited Native Hawaiian subsistence- based settlements in the Islands. In 1893, the same year the Hawaiian monarchy was overthrown by the U.S. military, it became the site of a tragic love story. Koolau, a local cowboy, and his wife Piilani, fled to Kalalau with their young son after Koolau contracted leprosy. At that time, the disease was widespread in the Islands, and those showing signs of it were taken from their families and quarantined in a leper colony on Molokai. To stay together, the couple hid out for four years in the wilds of Kalalau. When her husband and son died from the disease, Piilani emerged from the valley, heartbroken. The last Native Hawaiian family to live in Kalalau left for the west side of Kauai in 1919. Today, the entire Na Pali Coast is a state park.

We set up camp in a shady spot beneath the milo trees, then wandered down to the west end of the beach to the "public shower"—a 20-foot waterfall that spills from a rocky shelf into a small pool. We filled our bottles in the waterfall and treated the water with iodine tablets.

On our way back, I turned a corner on the trail and found myself face-to-chest with a large, tan, bald man sporting a frizzy gray beard and nothing else. We stepped aside and he sauntered barefoot down the trail with the kind of regal air that told us he’d been in Kalalau for quite some time. Another group of campers later informed us we had indeed brushed up against royalty. The man’s name was Ron—he was known as the "Mayor of Kalalau"—and he'd been living in the valley for about 20 years.

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