Judy and I were descending into a ravine where we would cross one of the twelve streams intersecting the Muliwai Trail between Waipi’o Valley to Waimanu Valley when I said, “There’s something about the sound of running water that speaks to the human soul.” We were on vacation earlier this month on the Big Island of Hawai’i, and rather than sitting in a lounge chair sipping Mai Tais we chose to make an overnight hike to Waimanu Valley.
The Waimanu Valley is the largest of a string of remote valleys along the north-eastern coast of Hawai’i. Uninihabited since a destructive tsunami in 1946, the valley once supported a large population of Hawaiians and was an important site for the cultivation of taro, a staple of the Hawaiian diet. It is also where some say the bones of King Kamehameha I, the first king of a unified Hawai’i, are buried. It’s not an easy place to visit: Except for the few who risk the strong currents and heavy surf to come in by boat or kayak, the only way in is by a 10 mile hike on the Muliwai Trail. The trail itself is not for the faint of heart, as it involves 7000 feet of elevation gain (1200 feet in the first mile), fording two fast-flowing rivers in waist deep water, and 12 or 13 other stream crossings. The narrow hiking trail often hangs on steep hillsides with 500 foot drop-offs below, signs warning of “Steep Cliffs”, “Falling Rocks” and “Flash Floods” punctuating the trek uphill and down. But, once we reached the crest of the cliff overlooking Waimanu Valley—just before we began a descent as steep and even more treacherous than the climb out of Waipi’o Valley—we caught our first view of our destination, one of the most alluring camping locations we’ve ever seen. The lush green valley is fronted by a black sand beach and surrounded by 2000 foot cliffs over which cascade more than a dozen waterfalls, among them Waihulu Falls, the 13th highest continuous waterfall in the world at 2,600 feet. All this beauty and we had it to ourselves, except for half a dozen other campers spread along the beach.
As enticing as the destination was, the adventure began long before we arrived at Waimanu Valley. Hawai’i is home to ten of the world’s 14 climate sub-zones, and we were now in the “Tropical Continuously Wet” (Koppen Af) climate sub-zone. Over the course of the hike from Waipi’o to Waimanu, we marvelled at the incredible diversity of tree and plant species—giant Cook pines, ohi’a trees with their fiery red flowers, hala trees with their aerial roots, trees festooned with bromeliads growing epiphytically on the their branches. At times, the trail was carpeted with the soft pine-like needles of ironwood trees; at other times, with the razor-sharp fronds of hala trees. I wished we could have done the hike in the company of a botanist who could give me names for what we were seeing; what I learned later is that many of the species we observed are non-native; some like the fast-growing Albizia tree are invasive and destructive.
The diversity of biomes was accentuated by our constantly changing elevation: between Waipi’o and Waimanu we descended by switchbacks twelve times into a ravine, crossed a stream by stepping from boulder to boulder, and twelve times ascended the other side. Often, even before we began to descend, we could hear the sound of running water, alerting us to the presence of a stream below, pouring over rocks and boulders and running over a bed of volcanic soil on its way to the ocean. It was at one of those points on our return trip that I said to Judy, “There’s something about the sound of running water that speaks to the human soul.”
“There’s something about the sound of running water that speaks to the human soul.”
And what is that something? Do a search for “running water” on YouTube and you will find dozens of videos (some several hours long) of white noise created by running water or rainfall or waterfalls with captions like “You can’t beat the sound of running water to relax your mind and cover-up distracting sounds.” I suspect the sound soothes us firstly because in a fundamental way it represents life. Water—particularly clean water—is essential for drinking, cooking and sanitation. The United Nations has recognized access to clean water and sanitation as a human right, even though close to a billion people still live without access to safe water and nearly a million die each year from water, sanitation and hygiene-related diseases—making the work of organizations like WaterSchool and One Drop so vital. We were warned to filter the water from the streams we encountered before drinking it because of the potential presence of dangerous bacteria, but the sight and sound of abundant fresh, running water still brought joy to our souls as we hiked the Muliwai Trail.
But I think there’s more. The sound of running water evokes a response from our soul because we associate the sound with the beauty we see in water as it makes its way from one level to another. Do a search for “waterfall” on Flickr and 2,145,385 images turn up. Search for “still water” and you get 22,684. But what is it that creates this beauty in our mind and eye? It is the way that water responds to obstacles. Boulders, fallen trees, precipitous changes in elevation, time-worn channels through rock and soil, all work together with water to create a uniquely beautiful scenario that would not exist if there were not some resistance to the progress of the stream. As Wendell Berry says, “The impeded stream is the one that sings.”
Mr. Berry, in the same essay, also says “It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed.” There are so many things in life that can baffle us: job transitions, social conventions, religious tradition, political movements, community mores, family obligations, health concerns, aging, death. But, just as water finds a way around every obstacle and continues its inevitable journey to the sea—and sings to us on the way—we need to believe that the force of life at work in us (you may call it the spirit of God) will find a way to transcend those things that baffle us. And in so doing, an internal, enduring personal beauty will be formed. Kristin Swenson writes, “Pain denigrates a person, driving a wedge between a person’s body and self, and fracturing relationships, too; but it can also catalyze a process of integration whereby the whole of a person and his or her life comes together in an unprecedented manner.”
The sound of running water speaks to the human soul because we know in our heart (if not in our mind) that beauty is created through the overcoming of obstacles.
All text and photos © 2019 Edwin Wilson
