A trip to Maui would not be complete without a trip to its highest point, Haleakala Volcano, topping out at 10,023 feet and crowning a national park and international biosphere reserve. It is one of the few places in the world where you can drive right to the top of a towering extinct volcano, providing easy access even to those with challenging mobility issues (though the thin atmosphere may be troublesome to some with respiratory or circulatory problems, and it is not recommended for those who have scuba dived within the previous 24 hours).  Most visitors choose to time their arrival at the summit to coincide either with sunrise or sunset, affording views (weather permitting, of course) that stretch hundreds of miles in all directions and encompass most of the major islands in the Hawai’ian chain. Those choosing the sunrise option may want to connect with tour operators who offer biking excursions down the mountain. They pick up participants at their hotel or cruise ship, drive them to the top in time for sunrise, provide the equipment and support for the bike ride back down to sea level and conclude with breakfast. We opted for the — in our minds — rarer opportunity of arriving before sunset and staying on until the sky darkened and we could stargaze in the thin atmosphere and low-light pollution setting. We contacted Jan Roberson, a professional astronomer, of Maui Stargazing to guide us on our tour of the galaxies, and she met us about 2 hours before sunset at the Kula Lodge at the 3,200-foot level of the mountain. This rustic boutique hotel and restaurant, once a 1940s private residence and surrounded by lovely gardens     stepping down a mountainside, begs for a return visit to enjoy dinner looking out over West Maui. This day, however, Jan provided us with information about when and where to meet her after sunset; the $15 park entrance fee; and warm fleece jackets, hats and gloves. (The temperature at sea level that day was 86 degrees; when we arrived at the summit, it was a brisk 55, dropping to 48 by the time we left at 9 p.m.) The drive up the mountain took us through a variety of vegetation and terrain. We began in fields of produce and flowers, rose up into forests of pine, wound through rocky pastures and finally climbed a switchbacked road up slopes of rough volcanic boulders of rusty red. We drove in and out of banks of cloud, thankful for a well-maintained road with clearly painted center and fog lines, wondering what the journey back down would be like in pitch-black night. The parking lot was nearly full when we reached the top about 45 minutes before sunset, and we donned our warm clothes and dispersed to snap pictures as the sun quickly descended,   its light changing the color and complexion of the clouds minute by minute. To the southeast we could spy the Big Island and the peaks of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, 80 and 100 miles distant, respectively. The buildings of the Haleakala Observatory, operated by the University of Hawaii Institute of Astronomy and perched on the western edge of the mountaintop, provided interesting silhouettes against the brilliant colors of sunset. As the skies continued to darken as the sun retreated, we jumped in our car to drive down to the Upper Visitors Center parking lot (9,700-foot elevation) where Jan would meet us after finishing up with an earlier tour group. Even with our warm outerwear, we retreated to the car after watching the thinnest sliver of a moon set, chasing the sun below the horizon. About 30 minutes later, with full dark, we stepped out of the vehicle, each of us audibly gasping at the vastness of the sky and the Milky Way pouring over us from northeast to southwest, a hazy flood surrounded and punctuated by innumerable brilliant pinpricks of light. Jan enthusiastically guided us through the heavens, pointing out asterisms (a recognized pattern of stars, such as the Big and Little dippers and the Northern Cross) and constellations (Cassiopeia, Capricorn, Hercules) with a laser pointer and then moving to her 12-inch-aperture telescope to view Saturn (a perfect little sombrero); the Milky Way and Andromeda; and nebulae of the super nova, planetary and dark varieties. It was very helpful that Jan pulled up pictures of these objects on her iPad so we would know what to look for before we stepped to the eyepiece. We finished with views of open and globular star clusters (like diamonds scattered on black velvet) and took time to look through binoculars at the Pleiades as the Seven Sisters rose above the eastern edge of the world. We all agreed it was the most magical, awe-inspiring hour of our trip, and we held its glow all the way back down the dark mountain to return to sea level . . . if not, yet, to Earth. — Patty Vanikiotis, associate editor/copy editor