December 6, 2004:

Hike in hard rain through tropical growth which is most of the time taller than we are. There's a network of thin trails, often over smooth-worn volcanic stones which may or may not be ancient. Destination is only a few hundred yards, but it can't be seen from below and the criss-crossing, dead-ending trails are slippery and difficult to understand. We're alone out here, no voices or footprints; inevitably we become separated and then we're really alone.

It's worth it. Magical place. Benches of black rock around a nearly-level clearing carved into the spectacular hillside. Trickling waterfall to the west; jungle to the east; cliffs to the south; sea to the north. Fifty generations used this little school.

Why are we alone here? Granted there's effort required but the payoff is brilliant. So that we spend our first breathless minutes wondering aloud if one has to be personally called here; or if the zillions of other visitors are simply too lame.