A full moon is about to rise over Hawaii’s longest, spookiest beach, and three of my fingers are dripping blood. Note to self: Don’t reach through broken windows to help people retrieve the keys they locked inside.

As my blood pools in the fine, vanilla sands of Polihale Beach, I consider the significance of this place for Native Hawaiians. Bones of their ancestors are interred in the coastal dunes, and this is also the sacred site of ancient temple ruins, where souls of the dead are thought to depart for “Po” — the underworld. If I bled out here, I reason while putting on Band-Aids, my soul wouldn’t have far to go. Of course, it’s been quite an ordeal getting to this wild, remote beach in the first place.

The first time I heard about Hawaii’s longest stretch of sand — 17 miles of Kauai’s western side, to be exact — it was from a local who told me to be careful. The road is full of potholes, she explained, and when it rains, it can flood and become impassable. Rental companies often don’t allow customers to drive vehicles to Polihale, she said, and the rip currents can be deadly. Also, big tiger sharks are known to frequent the area, and at least one swimmer has simply disappeared. 

Cellphones probably won’t work, she continued, and sometimes vagrants harass visitors or break into vehicles. If I was planning on camping alone, she recommended sleeping in a vehicle rather than in a tent and “feeling it out” before going to bed. 

It’s also important to know that the beach park has been a sore subject lately. 

Visitation has been on the rise, and locals who grew up camping, swimming and fishing at Polihale have become concerned for the natural and cultural resources, according to a recent survey conducted by the Hawaii Department of Land and Natural Resources’ Division of State Parks. During the pandemic, as many as 1,000 people showed up at once to camp, and officials closed the beach for two years. Visitors must now pay $30 per night for a permit (it’s $20 for Hawaii residents), and the park website warns park users to “behave as expected or we will be forced to close Polihale again.”

Just a day before my trip, I secured the permit and set out with my partner, Jonah, for the isolated, 130-acre beach park with a vehicle full of camping supplies. We drove by the entrance to the Pacific Missile Range Facility at the end of the paved road and also the site of Mana Camp, a once-thriving sugarcane plantation town where only a cemetery remains. Soon after our vehicle began bouncing along the heavily rutted dirt road, I lost cell service. Our rickety SUV — which I picked up through a carshare app — somehow survived the half-hour journey out to the beach. 

When we weren’t gritting our teeth, we were enjoying the sights: a large monkeypod tree welcomed us to Polihale State Park, and we also stopped to admire the Queen’s Pond, a series of tide pools where swimmers can enjoy the protection of a fringing reef. We drove to the very end of the dirt road, where just a few vehicles and tents dotted the coastline, and facilities included picnic areas, bathrooms and showers.

We selected a sandy campsite with views of the expansive ocean and the faraway island of Niihau in one direction and the soaring cliffs of the Napali Coast in the other. After setting up our tent, we frolicked beside the wide, soft dunes reaching 100 feet high. We swam in the rough surf as the sun sank behind some thin clouds on the horizon, ducking under big waves and watching carefully for rip currents. Coming in, I made the mistake of turning my back on the sea. Before Jonah could warn me, a giant wave snuck up and slammed me face-first into the sand. I was OK, so we were able to laugh it off.

As the day’s light faded, a few more visitors trickled in. Some drove on the beach, which is illegal because it threatens the natural and cultural resources. A new master plan for the park is in the works, with priorities that include a new preservation area encompassing the entire dune system. The idea is to protect the beach’s endangered lauehu and ohai plants, as well as the sacred skeletal remains of Hawaiian ancestors buried in the sand, which are known as iwi kupuna. 

One truck got temporarily stuck in the sand near our campsite, and the driver had to let air out of the tires to escape. Normally, he would park and sleep down closer to the water, he said, but tonight there would be both a full moon and a king tide, and it was hard to say how high up the water might come. He said he’d lived on the island for 53 years, and it was his favorite spot. 

Later that night, as the full moon rises from behind cliffs and illuminates the beach, we cook steaks by headlamp with our toes in the sand. The sound of the waves and the wind eventually lull us to sleep, and in the morning, we swim again and hike along the shore, where crabs scuttle over the rocks. 

As we’re getting ready to drive out, a woman camped nearby tells us she was paddling her surfboard around that morning when a Hawaiian monk seal swam up to hang out. These endangered creatures are regularly spotted in the area, and during the two years the park was closed to the public, two monk seal pups were born on the beach. 

We scanned the coastline, hoping to catch a glimpse of one ourselves but didn’t have any luck. On the next trip to Polihale Beach, we’ll definitely have to stay longer.

Editor’s note: SFGATE recognizes the importance of diacritical marks in the Hawaiian language. We are unable to use them due to the limitations of our publishing platform.