Enlarge / The Kalalau Valley between sheer cliffs in the Na Pali Coast State Park on the western shore of the island of Kauai in Hawaii, United States. This view is from the Pihea Trail in the Kokee State Park. (credit: Getty | Jon G. Fuller)

The Hawaiian island of Kauai may not have any spewing lava, but hikers along the magnificent Napali coast have brought their own volcanic action recently, violently hollowing their innards amid the gushing waterfalls and deeply carved valleys.

Between August and early September, at least 50 hikers fell ill with norovirus along the famed Kalalau Trail, which has been closed since September 4 for a deep cleaning. The rugged 11-mile trail runs along the northwest coast of the island, giving adventurers breathtaking views of stunning sea cliffs and Kauai's lush valleys. It's situated just north of Waimea Canyon State Park, also known as the Grand Canyon of the Pacific.

"It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. I feel really fortunate to be able to be there, and appreciate and respect that land,” one hiker who fell ill in late August told The Washington Post. "My guts exploding all over that land was not what I wanted to do at all."

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Today’s newsletter was really an excuse to tell you about my vacation (and mess around with recall):

I’m adding the Windward Coast and North Shore of Oahu to my list of magical happy-making drives along the Pacific Ocean. Green mountains, palm trees, sunny beaches, swimming with sea turtles and dolphins, poke bowls, plate lunches, cold coconuts, shaved ice, McDonald’s drive-thrus that still do fried pies, lizards, mongooses, peacocks, horses, feral chickens, Banyan trees, ukulele shops, and watching every sunrise and every sunset. It was the best vacation we’ve ever been on.

I feel about Hawaii the way Mark Twain did:

No alien land in all the world has any deep, strong charm for me but that one; no other land could so longingly and so beseechingly haunt me, sleeping and waking, through half a lifetime, as that one has done. Other things leave me, but it abides; other things change, but it remains the same. For me its balmy airs are always blowing, its summer seas flashing in the sun, the pulsing of its surfbeat is in my ear; I can see its garlanded crags, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms drowsing by the shore, its remote summits floating like islands above the cloudrack; I can feel the spirit of its woodland solitudes; I can hear the plash of its brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breath of flowers that perished twenty years ago.

Read all about “The North Shore.”