The filtered sunlight through the fog-enshrouded trees drew us irresistibly upward along the split-rail fence that initially bordered the trail and served as a safeguard from the rocks below.
This protection, perched at the edge of the cliff, soon gave way to a sign warning of slippery trails and ever-increasing heights, and yet the hope of a break in the fog that had appeared suddenly kept us climbing.
Other than our labored breathing, the only sounds were that of the breakers now far distant, the cry of gulls soaring somewhere, and the occasional snap of a twig beneath our feet.
As if painted by a seascape artist purposefully obscuring details, craggy rocks and somehow- surviving windswept trees appeared indistinct in pastels; an island offshore appeared, then disappeared, beckoning, inviting, suggesting that there lay buried pirate treasure.
Mystery was all around us.
Later, shoreside once again, exhilarated from the adventure, we paused for our picture.
We had found our treasure.
