Experience the rustic cabins of Haleakala Crater
Story by Kyle Ellison
Photo by Chris Archer
Standing on the steps of Kapalaoa Cabin, it’s hard to describe the relief you feel when you hear the padlock click open. Out here, in the mountainous backcountry, miles from cell service or roads, backup options are few and far between if you don’t get the door to unlock.
Sleeping here, inside Haleakala Crater, means you likely won’t see other humans for 14 more hours and the overnight temperature will hover near freezing. It’s just you and the stars, you and the silence, you and the thin mountain air. It’s isolation so immensely transcendental that Mark Twain, upon recounting his visit, admitted to his group that “there was little conversation, for the impressive scene overawed speech. I felt like the Last Man, neglected of the judgment, and pinnacled in mid-heaven, a forgotten relic of a vanished world.”
In other words, spend a night here inside Maui’s Haleakala Crater, and you definitely feel like you’re out there.
While most island visitors equate Haleakala with sunrise or sunset viewing, few are aware of (and even fewer visit), the two campgrounds and three rustic cabins that dot the volcanic landscape.
Yes, you can sleep inside Haleakala Crater, and if you’re lucky enough to snag a cabin (visit recreation.gov for reservations and wilderness permits), your reservation details include a code that not only opens the door to historic 12-bunk cabins, but also illumes a magical corner of the island unlike anywhere else on the planet.
That said, making the trek here — and camping overnight — isn’t easy. Spending a night in one of Haleakala’s cabins means 7.4 miles of hiking (minimum) at altitudes ranging from 6,300 to nearly 10,000 feet. It means loading up your pack with sleeping bags, socks, snacks, lighters, headlamps and jackets stuffed in with packets of oatmeal, hot cocoa and freeze-dried food.
It’s the feeling of carrying it all on your back as you crunch across multi-hued cinder — the weight digging into your shoulders and resting on slightly-chafed hips. It’s the feeling of altitude reaching inside and stealing air from your lungs, while simultaneously filling your soul with an empowering sense of freedom.
Once you do finally make it inside the cabin and kick off your cinder-filled boots, you can boil a pot of water using aging — but functional — pots and pans stocked in old wooden cupboards. Non-potable water is available for boiling, which comes out clear and cold from a tap that’s piped from an outdoor tank into the kitchen sink.
Photo by Kyle Ellison
After making dinner on a gas-burning stove (remember to bring your own lighter), burn a few logs in the small wood-burning stove to heat up the room for the night. Beds are bunk style — three high — and you’ll want to pack a sleeping bag that’s rated for areas with frost. The amenities are basic, but it’s all that you need; simplicity wins out over frills.
The three cabins inside Haleakala Crater retain much of the simple, historic charm as they did when the Civilian Conservation Corps constructed them in 1937. There’s no TV, no room service, no lobby — just the view of grandiose, ochre-hued cinder cones right outside your front door. The long, old wooden picnic table that serves as the cabins’ centerpiece invites leisurely games of cards, conversation and laughter best shared with family and friends as you gather by lantern and flashlight.
The least strenuous of adventures to the three primitive cabins is Holua Cabin. At 6,940 feet, getting there requires 3.7 miles of hiking down Halemauu Trail. In clear weather, the steep, slick switch-backing trail offers stunning views of Koolau Gap stretching all the way to the ocean. On many days, however, afternoon fog shrouds the trail in a drizzly mist.
The cabin itself rests on a border of sorts, where vast windswept stretches of grass give way to rocky volcanic terrain and the lunar landscape beyond. It’s also the busiest, most well-trafficked cabin as the midway point for intrepid hikers making the 12-mile trek across the crater in a single day.
At the outdoor table that fronts the cabin, groups of picnickers rehydrate and refuel while resting their legs in preparation for the zigzagging climb up Halemauu, which will test the fittest of hikers. There’s also a wilderness tent site here, which can accommodate up to a maximum of eight tents, although campers must be self-contained and don’t have access to the cabin.
Photo by Chris Archer
For an exclusive, private sleeping arrange-ment, Kapalaoa Cabin — at 7,250 feet — tucks into a peaceful corner of the crater with no neighboring campground. Evenings here are crisp and clear, and the stargazing is spectacular. For a morning meditation unlike anything else on Maui, wake up at sunrise, open the Kapalaoa Cabin door to those first rays of light and embrace the frosty air.
As the sun illuminates the crater floor, the peak of Hanakauhi along the north rim stoically faces you at an angle only a handful of people may ever see. In a theater of calm where silence reigns, the depths of solitude are arguably greatest here at Kapalaoa, where stillness envelops the landscape. At 5.6 miles down Keoneheehee Trail (Sliding Sands), Kapalaoa requires the second most mileage of the three different backcountry spots.
Paliku Cabin, on other hand, is loud in the most beautiful of ways as rare birds whistle and chirp. More than nine miles from the nearest trailhead, it is the farthest, most difficult cabin to reach. Set at the base of a verdant cliff among rolling dew-covered pastures, Paliku is its own unique world.
At Paliku, where endangered forest birds cling to existence in this mist-soaked mountain utopia, humans are an afterthought and nature is master. A distant corner of Haleakala National Park so far away and tough to reach, Paliku Cabin requires dedicated commitment and work to earn a spot in this exclusive mountaineering club.
And that’s the beauty of Paliku. It demands sweat, strained muscles, copious bottles of water and multiple breaks simply for the right to coexist in this space where time, cares, worries and troubles evaporate as quickly as the morning dew.
While camping at Haleakala can be hard, it’s doable and worth the effort. Reservations are competitive and available six months in advance. With no distractions, to-do lists or screens, you’re reminded of just how many hours of sunlight there are in a single day. Just put one foot in front of the other, rest often, and the next thing you know, you’re unlocking the cabin door with a sense of untethered calm many of us have long forgotten.
