A tall sandstone ridge runs through the forests, winding its way forward and branching off here and there, sending out tendrils of rock like tentacles into the undergrowth. A small footpath runs along the top of the ridge, at places barely wide enough for a person  to stand, the sides falling away steeply without so much as a hint of a safety rail; one wrong step here and you go tumbling over the precipice. The part I’m on now slopes steeply downwards, and a deep fissure has been cut through the soft material, presumably by streams of water in the wet season. I climb downwards, my feet on the bottom of the fissure and my hands keeping hold of the sides to keep myself from falling.