I think we’ve all been on some pretty ridiculous adventures in one way or another. Sometimes it’s because of the people we’re with, or the events that happen, or maybe they’re ridiculous because of the way we remember them. For me, the primary reason my adventures are so crazy is my general desire to push myself to new limits. This causes me to end up in some pretty interesting (read stupid) scenarios.
My first crazy adventure is also my most recent, and probably one of the funniest times, in retrospect. I want to preface this story with a statement...I wasn’t always adventurous. I was always crazy, but as a kid I was more of the cautious, paranoid spaz than the super cool daredevil. It wasn’t until I was in highschool that I found my “spirit of adventure”, but once I found it, I ran with it. I began travelling, and in doing so, I found it easier to step out of my comfort zone and into some amazing experiences.
Now, for the actual story...On a rainy day in March of 2015, I found myself in Hawaii, wandering through a forest of bamboo with some friends, in the pouring down rain. Our goal was to get to a “secret” waterfall, but the secret was that everyone knows about it. Situated off the Pali highway on Oahu, Lulumahu Falls is one of the most spectacular hikes I’ve ever been on, and also one of the most insane hikes I’ve ever been on. I’d been on it before, and this particular time, I brought some friends along who wanted to see the waterfall. We were out in an open field, early on in the hike when it started pouring rain. Against our better judgement, we decided to press on because “a little rain never hurt anyone right”?
We crossed the little dam and bounced back and forth across the stream as I had done before, following the path of others who had come before us. We made it up the trail decently until we came to an impasse. The stream had risen up past its banks, turning quickly into a flash flood. We began to panic as we scrambled back down the path, trying to beat the water to our only way out of the forest. As we reached the dam, we noticed that the trickle of water that had been there when we first crossed had turned into a steady flow that spilled over the top. No way to get across.
At this point the two girls I was with became angry. It was mostly my fault that we were in that particular predicament, although, as I justified to them, it had been raining the last time I was there and we had no issues. Apparently, this wasn’t too helpful.
One of the girls with me decided to keep going downstream to try to find a place to cross, and tromped off into the bush. Only a few moments later, she came running back screaming, saying there was a boar that was going to come kill us. After a few terrifying moments, we realized that no boar was coming. She said there was a big one that she almost stepped on, so I walked back into the bush to see what it was.
Sure enough, there was a big black boar lying on the ground. One feature stuck out to me immediately about this particular boar...its insides were outside. The pig had been eviscerated and its internal organs laid in a neat-ish pile next to it. At this point, I was fairly certain the boar wasn’t going to attack us, but my friend needed some convincing.
Long story short, we made it across the stream in ankle high water and no one died. Still, for the next two months, I wasn’t allowed to pick out any of our hikes. Looking back on this little adventure, I should probably listen to the little voice in my head used to guide me when I was young. “That looks dangerous”. “You know you aren’t supposed to go in there”. “Stay in your bed, it’s safer there”. I have to ask though, where is the adventure in that?
