The Mānoa Falls Trail is one of Oʻahu’s most beloved hikes, leading through lush rainforest to a 150-foot waterfall at the back of Mānoa Valley. Managed by the state’s Nā Ala Hele trail system since 1988, the path is maintained as part of the Honolulu Mauka Trail System, which links multiple routes across the ridges and valleys above Honolulu. In recent years, the trail underwent significant improvements to better accommodate the many visitors who explore the valley each day.
While a popular attraction, the trail has also seen its share of challenges. The Honolulu Fire Department regularly responds to rescues for lost or injured hikers, with some requiring helicopter evacuations. In rare but serious cases, hikers have suffered fatal accidents near the waterfall itself. Temporary closures are also not uncommon, especially after heavy rain or storm damage, when fallen trees and slippery terrain make conditions dangerous.
By day, the Mānoa Falls Trail feels like a living postcard. Its lush forest and idyllic scenery draw countless visitors to its famous water cascade. But as with many places in Hawaiʻi, the beauty of the landscape holds a deeper layer of stories passed down through generations. Long after the hikers have gone home and the valley quiets under the canopy of trees, Mānoa takes on an entirely different presence that locals whisper about with caution, and visitors sometimes stumble upon when they least expect it. It is in these hushed moments, after dark, that the trail reveals its other side.
One weekend night in the early 1970s, Vance went on a double date with a friend. His girlfriend was beside him in the front seat, while the second couple sat in the back. On a whim, the group decided to drive up toward Mānoa Falls. They reached the chain that blocked cars from going farther and parked beneath the trees. It was late, and the valley was wrapped in silence and heavy darkness. The two couples sat for a while talking inside the car. That was when Vance noticed something strange: two eyes, suspended in the air in front of them.
At first, he didn’t understand what he was looking at. But the longer he stared, the more dread crept in.
Grabbing his date’s arm, he blurted out, “Look! Eyes!”
She followed his gaze and screamed, as did his friend’s date when she looked up. In the back seat, Vance’s friend kept his head down, refusing to see for himself.
“No! No! I’m not looking!” he shouted when Vance demanded to know if he could see it too.
The hair rose on Vance’s neck, chicken skin running down his arms. In a rush of panic, he started the engine, threw the car in reverse, and sped down the road, not slowing until they were safely back in the residential streets of the valley.
Years later, Vance shared the story with a younger co-worker who had graduated from Roosevelt High School. The co-worker grew animated and hurried off to fetch an old yearbook. Flipping through the pages, he pointed out a photograph of students standing at the same chain that blocked the Mānoa Falls trail. In the picture, clear as day, were a pair of eyes. This time, they were not high up in the trees, but close to the ground. It wasn’t a trick of light or imagination. That picture, he said, is still in that old Roosevelt High School yearbook. Vance was shaken all over again.
His unease deepened when, on a tour years later, he listened to storyteller Glen Grant describe disembodied eyes seen across the island with warnings not to follow, for they beckoned people to the other side. Standing there listening to Glen’s stories, Vance’s wife turned to him, eyes wide, and whispered, “That’s exactly what you’ve been telling me all these years.”
Those strange encounters in the 1970s weren’t the last time someone would see something unusual there. Just a few years ago, while the trail was officially closed for maintenance, four friends decided to visit at night, hoping to capture evidence of something paranormal on video. They had already made stops at Morgan’s Corner and Tantalus Drive when one of them suggested the Mānoa Falls Trail.
It was a moonless night, so he joked, “Guarantee get night marchers!”
The group’s excitement overrode any hesitation that an individual might have had. Around midnight, they parked in the middle of the dark road, headlights shining on the closed gate. One man stayed behind in the car to take a call from his girlfriend, while the other three stepped out with their phones set to record. A cool breeze moved through the valley, carrying the damp scent of mud and rotting vegetation. Mosquitoes buzzed in their ears. One man held an EMF meter, but its lights stayed still and dark.
Then came the first sign that something wasn’t right.
“Aw man, my phone died!” one of them shouted, and seconds later another man’s phone went black.
Confused, they huddled by the car, trying to make sense of the sudden power loss, while the fourth man inside continued his call without interruption. Out of the corner of his eye, one of the men caught movement by the trail. His blood went cold; not from thoughts of ghosts but of feral pigs. He grabbed a flashlight from the car, but the beam was weak, and the shadows at the gate were impenetrable. Uneasy, he climbed back inside the car and called to his friends, who had moved closer to the gate.
Several long minutes passed before the pair suddenly ran back and jumped into the vehicle. The driver started the engine and tore down the rough road, potholes rattling the tires, not slowing until they reached the residential neighborhood.
After they’d finally calmed down, the two men explained what happened. As they approached the gate, they saw a pair of white lights floating about four feet off the ground. They looked like two eyes. It was weird and confusing, and neither of them could figure out what they were looking at—two lights, about the same distance apart as a pair of eyes on someone’s face. But there was no face, no head, no body. The lights slowly seemed to drift closer toward them, and when they got about a foot in front of the gate, they blinked. That’s when the men took off running. I asked if they got it on video, but they did not.
“I wasn’t aiming the camera right at the lights, so all I got was bushes and then the blurry road as we were running back to the car. But seriously, we saw what we saw.”
I then asked if they would ever return to try to get whatever they saw on video, and he laughed and said, “Maybe. Probably not for a long time, but maybe.”
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