Into the Crater (Apparently): A Tale of Friendship and Hitchhiking in Haleakalā
August 2025 (477 Words, 3 Minutes)
It all started with a deal.
I really wanted to hike into the Haleakalā crater. My friend Bhavika did not. I don’t remember exactly how I pitched it, but the negotiation ended with her saying, “Fine, I’ll do it — but only if you agree to go on a horseback riding tour with me.” For context: I do not like horseback riding. Something about being voluntarily strapped to a large, unpredictable animal just doesn’t do it for me. But I agreed, thrilled she was willing to come along for the crater adventure, and thus, our pact was sealed. Two friends. Two activities neither of us wanted to do. Peak friendship.
The logistics? Questionable. It was December 2020, aka peak pandemic — masks, travel restrictions, and lots of sanitizing everything. To do the full trail, we had to park at the end of the hike, hitchhike to the starting point (because it’s a point-to-point trail), and hike back to the car. The plan was bold. The plan was shaky. The plan was born out of pure, stubborn determination.
And yet — we made it. We stood at the edge of the road, stuck out our thumbs like cartoon vagabonds, and somehow convinced a complete stranger with a pickup truck to let us hop in the back. We clutched our daypacks and bounced our way up the mountain like two kids sneaking into an adventure movie.
Once on the trail, we set off excitedly, fueled by granola bars, poor cell reception, and the vague idea that there was a giant crater waiting for us somewhere up ahead.
Somewhere along mile 3, still peering into the distance for this elusive “crater,” we stopped another hiker to ask, “Hey, do you know when we reach the crater?”
They looked at us, puzzled. “Uh…you’re in it.”
We thanked them and walked away in hysterics. Like, actual tears streaming down our faces laughter. Turns out, when you descend into a massive volcanic depression from the start of the hike, you don’t “reach the crater” — you are the crater. This was both humbling and excellent material for future roasting.
Despite our questionable geographical awareness, the hike was stunning. Alien landscapes, vibrant cinder cones, and the kind of silence that makes you realize how loud your brain usually is. We got up close and personal with a nēnē, the Hawaiian state bird, who seemed deeply unbothered by our presence and mildly judgmental of our snacks.
The hike starts off deceptively easy — all downhill into the crater (yes, yes, into it). But what goes down must painfully come back up. The final stretch was a grueling uphill climb that somehow included cliffs, volcanic scree, and rising above the clouds like we were being birthed into heaven. We were breathless — partially from the view, mostly from the cardio.
At the summit, everything slowed down. The sun dipped low, the sky caught fire, and we stood with a small crowd of strangers watching one of the most spectacular sunsets of our lives. A proposal even happened nearby, because of course it did. It was just that kind of moment.
We made friends on the trail. We made mistakes. We made terrible jokes. And at the end of it all, we made it back to the car, sunburned, sore, and wildly grateful. It was a perfect hike, made even better by the fact that we almost didn’t do it at all.
And yes, I did go on that horseback riding tour with Bhavika. And no, I didn’t fall off. But that’s another story.