August 20th, Kaua’i, Hawaii, United States

I went on a 12 mile hike today. I figured, if little Ellen can do it, so can I. It was a loop with a long section along the beautiful cliffs of the Na Pali coast. About 3 hours into the hike I saw a feral goat. It was all black. I wondered in how many cultures this would be considered a sign of bad luck. Good thing I'm not superstitious. A few minutes later the trail abruptly ended. The landslide to blame looked about 100 feet wide but I thought I could see where the trail resumed on the other side. At this point the cliff was very steep but faced with a 7 mile backtrack I decided to take my chances. As I hopped from one outcrop to the next I tried not to think about the fact that should I slip there was nothing to break my slide down. The trail on the other end was very narrow and in many places virtually invisible in the 4 foot tall grasses. With every step it got steeper and narrower and, oddly, in several places abruptly changed elevation by several feet requiring some serious scrambling. My thoughts went back to the goat. It was a trail alright, just not one made by humans. And then it disappeared. I was standing on a tiny ledge of an almost sheer cliff. I couldn’t see where I came from. The gravity of the situation finally dawned on me. I stopped to consider my options. My first thought was that this would be a dumb way to go and besides, I haven’t even reached Australia. Below me was a 3000 foot drop off. To continue or to go back not being able to see where I'm placing my feet was suicide. The only way was up. The tree line started about 30 feet above me. I figured that if I can reach it I’ll be safe. I started the very slow ascend sweating profusely in the mid morning sun. Every few feet I would slip an inch or two and my heart would stop for an instant. I wondered if the sight of my body plunging 3000 feet down would traumatize an unsuspecting tourist in one of the sightseeing helicopters that circled the valley every few minutes a thousand feet below me. The twenty or so minutes it took me to scramble up were easily the longest of my life. When I finally reached the tree line I became aware that every inch of clothes I was wearing was completely soaked through with sweat. Including the quarter inch thick leather belt I was wearing. I kept on going for another 10 feet or so before I stood up using a strong looking tree for support. Then I saw it, the real trail, some six feet wide.
Exhausted I dragged myself back the remaining five miles back to the parking lot in front of the park restaurant and decided that I deserve a reward for making it back. I collapsed into a chair at an empty table and ordered two bottles of their cheapest beer. The waitress looked around trying to figure out who would be joining me. Not finding a likely suspect in the nearly empty room she frowned with disapproval (I seem to get this a lot) and brought me a single bottle of Bud Light. Bad beer never tasted so good...
Later that day I made a mental note just below 'Don't tease saltwater crocodiles'. 'You're not a mountain goat'.