The oceanic valley below appears like ripples of water, a motionless refrain in stone to the turbulent waves that stretch past the horizon. The family hikes—the father, the mother, the two daughters, and the eldest son at least—while the youngest dangles off the mother’s back. As they reach the crest of the next curve, the mother sets the youngest down, little feet kicking up bright red dust from the dry iron-rich dirt of the path.
The Kalalau trail opens at the tip of the Kuhio Highway in North Kauai. They parked their rental van in the Ke’e Beach overflow lot and walked down to the trailhead, passing outgrowths of plantain and hala and noni. Fervent green tops that bristled and clattered in the humid breeze. The trail wound them down through thick jungles, stepped them over hunks of dark grey basalt and past towering stands of bamboo in variegated greens and dying browns, before rising back up to the overlook where they now rest.
The father has in his hand a plastic army surplus canteen, dark green enough to disappear into the foliage, that he uncaps and sips from. They pass the water around until it reaches the youngest, who guzzles at the rim, water dripping from cheek to chin to ground.
“Just sips,” the father growls, “You just take sips. Enough to wet the lips.”
From here, it’s not far further down a switchback to Hanakāpīʻai Beach. Near the base of this leg of the trail shifts a stream, also named Hanakāpīʻai. It leaks between a swath of wet, eroded stones and out onto the sand. Later that day they’ll hike up along the stream to the falls. Also named Hanakāpīʻai.
They unpack camp at a site just up the hill from the beach, the tents perched aside the stream so close that at night the youngest will dream that they landslide into the current and wash out to sea. The mother pours canteen water into a packet of powdered milk, which the youngest greedily drinks from, remarking on bursts of flavor from the little pockets of unmixed powder.
After lunch, the family puts on their swimsuits and heads to the beach. The tide is out, leaving a long freshwater pool fed from the stream replete with little black tadpoles. The youngest and youngest daughter splash about in these waters, cupping their hands to try to lift up handfuls with as many tadpoles as they can. Playing a game at it. The eldest son slips across the lapping ocean edge of the surf on a skim board.
The freshwater pool curves around the sandbar and tucks under an overhang, where the youngest eventually ends up alone. The water here is cooler from the shade of a nook formed where the rock and sand has hollowed inward. The tadpoles are ever more plentiful, tens of thousands of them swarming the darkened pool.
Astonished and enchanted by these myriad little ones, blacker than the stone and slicker than the brackish water, the youngest stays long and alone in admiration. Until the eldest son swoops in, dunking the head of the youngest down under the surface. Mouth agape in surprise, hundreds of the dark tadpoles like oversized sperms spilling onto the tongue and down the throat. The youngest comes back up to air, gasps and chokes and swallows all the children; sobs and scrambles from the hidden place back out into the fine beach sand and the daylight.
No one else has seen. The youngest earns the hardship solely; lacks open complaint. Instead shuddering on the sand until the last of the threat self-depletes, then returning to the quiet tidepool and the towels; receding from curiosity.
Later they hike up to the falls, where the father and eldest sister have already gone. As they press past the reedy grasses that block sight of the broad basin where the fall waters collect, a giant red dragonfly sweeps past the youngest’s face. Bigger than any ever seen before. The youngest turns to watch it zig-zag away down the trail, light catching on the translucent webbing of its wings. Then, turning back, coming over the crest of the hill to spy the massive pool of fresh water that feeds the stream. That fresh water which, too, cascades down in a turbulent white sheet off the sun-greyed and greenly vegetated rock wall above.
They all wade at the edge, where a semi-circle of rocks has formed around the basin. The eldest two and the father climb down further into the cloudy, algae-filled waters and swim across the deep bowl to where the water surges down on them. The youngest wants to swim over, too. Wants to hug the striated interior wall, to join them in looking out through the barrier of translucent falls. But those that go are far older, more able. They would not need to be minded or saved.
The family stays here until dinner, then they make the short trek along the path for camp. By meal’s end, dusk has begun to spread at the edges of the horizon, so they all gather on the beach to watch the sky fade to a dark ochre and violet gradient.
As they stand there at the edge of the tide, a darting shape emerges around the forested edge of the beach. Followed by another. Large toads, hundreds of them, bulbous and brown, hopping up the sand toward the family. Swarming over the small crescent of Hanakāpīʻai. Their movements are tedious, and make easy catch for the hands of the youngest, who lifts them up to dry mouth and plants a hearty kiss on their leathery skin.
“I want to kiss them!” The youngest cries, hands out to reach for another of the enormous toads. Grasping it in small fingers, bringing it to pursed lips. “I want to kiss them all!” None of the toads turn into royalty, though not without effort.
The mother has to lure the child away from the beach. The sunset has ended, only a few final wisps of light remaining in the sky, and there are far too many toads to kiss without knowing which have already met with their fate.
Tomorrow the family will pack up the tents and hike back to their rental van at Ke’e Beach. The romance will have to wait for another day, another beach, another lifetime. The story of the toads will continue to be told for years, until the embarrassment of the moment wanes. Until the sorrow of all those lost loves at last recedes.
There will be more toads, little one. You may kiss as many as you can stand to.