Quiet days. Warm sun. Solitude. My husband and I wanted only to celebrate his birthday in a tropical paradise. With visions of red dirt and green palms dancing in our heads, we thought Hawaii was definitely in order. We wanted to explore somewhere new, maybe have an adventure. My husband suggested Molokai - we had never been. A quick Google search took us to the Molokai Ranch. They called themselves an “adventure resort.” We could stay in a tent-cabin on the beach, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic crashing of wave on shore. An entry in their guest book called it “the Ritz-Carleton of camping.” What a great selling point! We had our vacation; an October birthday celebration on Molokai, Hawaii’s friendliest island. Kaupoa Camp, at Molokai Ranch, was a grouping of about 40 tent-cabins on a green lawn planted with tall palm trees. The beachfront camp had a staff on duty all the time to answer questions and help arrange activities. Kaupoa was a 25-minute jeep ride from the main lodge down a bumpy, dusty, ranch trail, truly in the middle of nowhere. Our tent-cabin, or tentalow was actually two canvas tents on a raised wooden platform with very comfortable beds and a small private bathroom. All only about 25 yards from the sea. We congratulated ourselves on a well-chosen spot and began to explore the area. Strong ocean currents kept us from swimming or snorkeling, but there were plenty of tide pools to explore.

Meals were available on the canvas-covered patio lined with pots of tropical plants, looking out over the sea. The food was basic and plentiful; all-you-can-eat buffets, dinner featuring soup of the day, salad bar, and fresh fish, steaks, and chicken sizzled to order over an open fire. Lunchtime offerings were fresh grilled burgers, chicken, or mahi-mahi sandwiches, bowls of fruit, and a condiment bar.

Our first night set the precedent for all the rest. After watching the brilliant orange sun drop below the horizon from our tentalow, we wandered past the glowing tiki torches dotting the beach for a leisurely al fresco meal. Then back to our teak chaise lounges, sipping after-dinner drinks and counting shooting stars. The nights were so clear and so black we could watched satellites crossing the sky. And the night glow of Honolulu could be seen far out past the horizon line.

We felt adventurous our first morning, so we packed bottles of water and cameras and set out under a blazing October sun to explore a trail hugging the coast. The dusty red dirt trail was wide enough for a truck, and marred with small boulders and dried-up potholes. Thickly planted groves of gnarled mesquite lined both sides of the trail with long, patchy golden grasses underneath. Every now and then we saw small stacks of red stones carefully placed trailside - someone’s homage to ancient Pohaku stones. Native Hawaiians placed them near the shore to communicate with the fish spirits, hoping for good luck fishing.

After about a mile we found a break in the trail where the mesquite gave way to scrubby bushes. We ambled onto a path made of sand interspersed with patches of green dune grass that led us to a beach. Our hopes for swimming were dashed when we saw the sand gave way to a black lava-rock beach where large waves crashing. It was a fantastic place for beachcombing, though. Dozens of tiny ruffled conch-type shells with black polka dots and creamy concave puka shells in all different sizes were tucked around the rocks. A brown deer ambled down the same path we took for a nibble on the beach grass, then trotted away. Following him back to the trail, we stumbled across a makeshift hunting camp under a bush, complete with a card table, unopened Spam, and a deer skull.

We continued on, determined to reach the southwest tip of the island. We saw no one, but we passed washed up debris of all types, yards of netting, plastic bottles, dozens of smashed up surfboards, two boat hulls, and a smashed up crate. Two miles later, the mesquite stopped where the trail did, at a rocky point. Dripping with sweat, we climbed over some rocks, determined to cool off in the ocean. Reaching the cove, we stopped suddenly, reeling at a truly awful stink. Looking around for the source, we saw, at our feet, an eight foot long seal watching us, sharp white teeth glinting in the sun. Deciding the swim could wait, and not wanting to take a chance he had some friends with him, we got back to the trail in record time.

On our hike back to camp, we noticed some small boulders arranged in the general size and shape of a building. We realized we had stumbled across the footprint of an ancient Hawaiian structure - it was similar to one we noticed near Kaupoa Camp. I was amazed ant thankful to find it there untouched by graffiti or development, a connection to Hawaii’s distant past.

We decided to uncover a little more of that past and spent the next day on a “Grand Tour” of the island. I wanted to see the Halawa Valley, where the first Polynesians who crossed the Pacific landed. It is on the lush, mountainous east side of the island, where waterfalls dropping into rivers provided a perfect source of fresh water. These early inhabitants built fishponds and homes and brought their culture and folklore. We could see why Molokai is called “the most Hawaiian island.” It is a very rural island, with no electric traffic signals, and most of the residents have Hawaiian blood. There is very little development, and the ancient Hawaiian fishponds and structures are regarded as sacred places, and treated respectfully. Our guide drove us all over the 40 mile long island. We learned how macadamia nuts grow and looked down over the Kalaupapa Peninsula, Father Damien’s famous leper colony, from the top of a cliff. We walked around a cocoanut groves planted for King Kamehameha V in the 1880’s. It was all very interesting, and we didn’t feel like we were missing anything by going back to our tentalow life.

We fell into a pattern for the remaining days. Leisurely mornings over breakfast, which was another all you can eat extravaganza with full omelet bar, bowls of fresh fruit, cereal, and yogurt. Then we would set off to explore the coast. We a perfect sheltered cove, Dixie Maru, where we could swim and the strong current could never find us. We found a single battered wicker chair set up under the mesquite watching the water, inviting someone to join. Interesting rock sculptures were everywhere, some topped with animal skulls. Each day we saw only six or seven non-ranch employees.

The day came to return home. We left the island feeling that we really had discovered our own secret Molokai, a mesquite-filled Molokai of red dirt and deer skulls, and unexplored rocky beaches. We found our solitude as well as our adventure. We left feeling that Molokai had allowed a little of herself to be revealed to us, and we were left eager to discover more.