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Sierra Club Bulletin 



cones and along the crater-walls of this inferno we reached the gi- 

 gantic opening of the Kaupo Gap through which continental masses 

 of lava left the crater and flowed fan-shape down to the sea. We 

 were now edging toward the windward side of Maui where the trade- 

 winds, cooled by the upper reaches of the mountain, condense their 

 moisture into clouds that drench the slopes with a constant succes- 

 sion of showers. As we entered the gateway of the gap cloud-masses 

 closed down over us, leaving to view nothing but vertical precipices 

 on either side, reaching up mysteriously into the white mist, while 

 the opening in front revealed, far down, shimmering patches of the 

 Pacific. Many of the precipices were festooned with long slender 

 waterfalls which came and went with cloudburst-like showers that 

 fell on plateaus to the windward of us. Here and there were encoun- 

 tered flocks of wild goats which have learned the art of tripping 

 lightly over the roughest lava-fields. They are a pest to the cattlemen 

 and generally play the part of hoofed locusts. This explains why 

 sometimes part of a flock was found massacred without attempt to 

 use meat or hide. 



All afternoon we kept going down over lava-benches, down over 

 sand-fans and terraced meadows, down through watercourses and 

 gullies walled with lava. The trail itself was incredibly rough and 

 difficult — and deadly for pack-animals, as an occasional bleaching 

 skeleton testified. Eight thousand feet of continuous descent of this 

 type in twenty miles is a severe test of leg-muscles, and the walker 

 who accomplishes it successfully between sunrise and sunset is en- 

 titled to regard himself as fit. 



As we emerged about sunset from dense lantana thickets into 

 grassy openings whence scattered ranch-houses could be seen far 

 down along the seashore, we experienced a sense of satisfaction and 

 relief. The scattering of native houses could hardly be called a set- 

 tlement, but it was Kaupo, the namesake of the volcanic gap and 

 the goal of our striving. With my field-glasses I descried a cottage 

 that was not far below us and that seemed to hold promise of shelter 

 for the night. Upon making known our needs to the owners, we met 

 with a hospitable reception — and an abundant supply of cold water 

 to slake our burning thirst. The Marciel family proved interesting 

 from several points of view. Its founder, a white-haired Portuguese 

 patriarch of more than fourscore years, was still living and filling 

 his place at the head of the long family table. Thirty-six years ago 



