The trailhead lay in deep fog. I saw a boulder and a few feet of dirt. Beyond that, a wall of nothing. I stepped on the path and into the grey expanse, the air cool and wet. The trail descended gently but steadily. I’d have to conserve energy for the way back up. It’s easy to forget what it takes to ascend even a gradual slope when I’m distracted by the excitement of exploring further down. As we continued, more of the trail came into view, but the crater stayed invisible. Suddenly a movement caught my eye. A round bird, about the size of a cantaloupe, strutted up and down the path. I was amazed. It seemed unlikely this area could be home to any living being. So far, I hadn’t noticed any plants or bugs for it to consume, and the bird didn’t strike me as the type that flies to hunt. Within a few yards of it, we quietly sat on the ground to watch. The bird slowly meandered over to investigate. We spent a while with the partridge we later learned to call Chukar. When we moved on, the fog started to dissipate. Spread below us, the stunning view of Haleakalā crater.