Late in the day we head down to South Point – the southernmost coast in the United States.
The narrow road takes us through windswept meadows and past windmills (both functioning and defunct) before bringing us to the edge of the rugged coast line.
This is a popular fishing area because deep sea fish come near enough to be caught using lines floated out from the shore with the aid of inflated garbage bags. However, despite the large number of people camping out on the cliffs this weekend, the area still feels desolate, isolated, and lonely.
It is hard to believe that the ancient Hawaiians would land their canoes in this raw and rough place. Impressive.
As the clouds thicken, it is clear there will be no actual sunset tonight, although the changing light is still beautiful.
The presence of those ancient Hawaiians seems close, carried ashore by wind and waves. Now, as darkness begins to fall, I feel like an intruder here.
It is time to leave this place to the ancient spirits and the local fishermen.