We pulled off the highway and followed a winding road into the hills—red dirt, scrubby trees, and the kind of golden light that photographers chase. At the top, the trailhead felt more like a tucked-away ranch than a tourist setup. No crowds, no plastic leis. Just a corral of polo ponies and a few people quietly brushing them down. One of the guides handed us helmets and saddle bags. “We ride at sunset,” he said, and that was that.

Once we were mounted up, we headed straight into open terrain. The horses knew the way—slow, deliberate steps over lava rock and dried grasses. As we climbed higher, the ocean opened up below. You could see clear to the curve of the island. No houses. No highways. Just slope, sky, and salt air. Our guide called out place names in Hawaiian, pointed to old lava flows, and gave each horse a quick intro like they were old friends.