Mauna Loa: A Snowy Trek to a 13,000 Foot Hawai'i Volcano
- Stephen Warner
- Aug 15
- 6 min read
Wait what? Snow in Hawaii? Did I read that title correctly? Yes, you did. And while Mauna Loa, the volcanic mountain located on the Big Island isn't always snow covered, it is sure to test you regardless of the season. Towering 13,679feet / 4,170 m above the ocean, the "Long Mountain" is without a doubt one of Hawai'i's iconic summits.
Trail Info
Trailhead Name | TRAIL NAME |
Distance | 13 miles / 21 km (out and back) |
Estimated time | 7+ hours |
Elevation gain | 2,700 ft / 820 m |
Highest point | 13,679 ft / 4,170 m (Mauna Loa) |
Permits / fees | None |
Parking | Small paved lot |
Toilets? | No |
Dog friendly? | No (technically within a National Park) |
Note at the time of writing this, the trail is inaccessible due to a blocked road from the 2022 lava flow. You can still reach the Mauna Loa summit via the ʻĀinapō Trail, but that is a significantly longer journey (30+ miles) and requires a 4WD car and permits to access the trailhead. Latest updates can be found here.
Know before you go
This is a high altitude hike. Be aware of altitude sickness and start early
The terrain is rough and consists mostly of sharp, uneven lava rock. A slip here can hurt. Sturdy, high-traction footwear is a must.
Navigation is cairn-based, with occasional signs. However, visibility can be low in snow or fog, and markers can be hard to spot. Bring a GPS and download offline maps.
This is an active volcano. While eruptions are closely monitored and typically predictable, always check the latest alerts before hiking. The most recent eruption occurred in November 2022.
Other trails nearby
Mauna Kea
Distance: 13.4 miles (21.6 km) out and back
Elevation gain: 4,800 ft (1,450 m) gain
Details: Another challenging high alpine hike to the highest peak in all of the Hawaiian islands. This one will test you
The Trail
The adventure begins where the paved road ends. You follow a short dirt road before taking a sharp left, and from there, it’s game on.
This is what most of the trail feels like — a rugged, uneven path across lava rock fields, guided by rock cairns. Unlike a typical dirt trail, there's not much visible tread. You may only notice a slight discoloration in the lava. Navigation here is very different, and definitely more mentally taxing.
There are a few more clearly defined rocky trail sections. These feel like a break for your feet compared to the jagged lava.
On a clear day, your main view would be Mauna Kea, standing just across the saddle. Unfortunately for me, the entire peak was socked in with clouds and stayed hidden the whole time :(.
That said, the real challenge for my hike was the snow.
Once I hit the snowfields, they were present the remainder of the hike. I found myself hiking through snow-covered lava rock all the way to the summit. It made every step more cautious and forced me to be constantly alert for trail markers.
Here’s a great example of why GPS is so important on this trail: one of the major junctions had signage… but not a single indication of direction. Without a map, it’d be anyone’s guess which way to go.
Thankfully, after checking my GPS, I found the correct route. Here I could just barely make out one of those distinctive rocky trail sections.
And then — it started snowing.
Snow. In Hawai‘i.
It was surreal… and also, honestly, kind of brutal. Visibility dropped fast, and my route-finding became a game of connect-the-cairns using GPS. The usual visual cues — like tread lines or subtle rock color changes — were completely gone.
At one point, I considered turning around. But the snowfall paused just long enough for me to spot this reassuring sign:
And really… anybody can hike two miles, right?
So I kept going.
Even though the skies started to clear a bit, the terrain continued to push me. The depth of the snow was wildly inconsistent — ankle-deep in one spot, then suddenly dropping to my waist or chest in the next. I wasn’t prepared for that. My boots were only semi-waterproof, I didn’t have gaiters, and I was missing a proper puffy jacket.
But then, a flash of blue sky peeked through. And just like that, the summit caldera came into view.
I hiked along the crater rim toward the actual summit of Mauna Loa, and finally I made it.
A volcanic summit, blanketed in snow. A literal meeting of fire and ice. There’s something incredible about seeing this place — a geologic powerhouse born of eruptions — wearing a coat of snow. It’s rare, harsh, and beautiful all at once.
Reaching the summit of Hawai‘i’s second-highest peak felt like a true accomplishment — but in many ways, it was only half the story.
The hike had already delivered a surreal mix of snow, altitude, and volcanic terrain, but what came before and after the summit pushed me even harder. From an unexpectedly chaotic morning to a descent that tested every bit of focus and endurance I had left, this was one of those hikes where the story went far beyond the summit sign.
Post Script (The Rest of the Story)
This was one of those hikes that instantly earned a spot in my personal adventure hall of fame, not just because of the snow or the summit, but because of everything that led up to it (and everything that followed).
From the moment I woke up, it felt like the universe was telling me “you will not summit Mauna Loa today.” And honestly, in hindsight, with the way I had prepped (or hadn’t), maybe I shouldn’t have even tried.
I had spent the night at one of the Namakanipaio Cabins, around 2 hours from the trailhead. Around 5 a.m., I stepped out to use the bathroom and when I came back, my keycard had deactivated. I was locked out of my room, phoneless, car keyless, and totally stuck. The main lodge was about four miles away along a highway, and in the pitch black of early morning, I had no way to reach anyone.
By pure luck, I spotted a couple who happened to be loading up their car. I approached them and explained the situation, and thankfully, they agreed to drive me to the lodge so I could get a new key. After helping me out, they went on their way, which left me stranded again, this time needing to find a way back to the cabin.
Fortunately, a National Park worker was heading in that direction and let me hitch a ride in the back of his truck, but not without hesitation. Apparently it was against policy. I think when I half-jokingly offered to sign a waiver saying “I won’t sue the government if something happens during this 7-minute ride,” he realized how ridiculous it would be to leave me stranded and let me in
Finally, I got back into my cabin, gathered my gear, and hit the road. But thanks to the delay, I didn’t reach the trailhead until about 10 a.m.. Not exactly the alpine start I’d envisioned. Still, the skies looked mostly clear, and I convinced myself it would be fine.
And it was… until the descent.
By the time I turned around at the summit, darkness was already creeping in. I found myself relying on my iPhone flashlight to find the next cairn, stumbling through lava rock and snow. Then the sky lit up — lightning in the distance. Thunderstorms in Hawai‘i, especially are rare, but incredibly dangerous at altitude.. That was the first moment I started to feel genuine concern.
Eventually, I gave up on following the cairns and instead just navigated by general direction, aiming to reach the NOAA observatory, knowing that from there I could follow the road back to my car. I stumbled my way toward the road, only to find myself below the observatory, facing a steep rock scramble up to reach it.
No big deal, just free-climbing my way into federal property in the dark. Totally normal.
As soon as I hit the road and began walking, a voice called out — “Hey, what are you doing up here? You’re on government property.” It was a NOAA employee, and he looked just as surprised to see me as I was to hear him. I explained my story, and once he realized I wasn’t some lunatic trying to break in, he pointed me toward the parking area. Relieved, I finally got back to my car and made the long drive to my lodging for the night.
And you’d think that would be the end of the story.
But no.
I woke up the next morning and my eyes were on fire — easily the worst burning sensation I’ve ever felt. What happened? I had hiked the entire trail, in snow and high-altitude sun, without sunglasses. I was experiencing snow blindness, a condition caused by UV rays reflecting off snow and essentially burning your corneas. I had no idea what was going on, and started panicking about permanent damage. A call to a family friend who’s an ophthalmologist calmed me down. He told me to get some eye drops, rest my eyes, and I’d likely recover in a day or two.
Lesson learned the hard way. Worth it? 100%
Other helpful resources
Big Island Hikes writeup of this trail
