We had arrived on Pentecost on the weekly supply plane. Pentecost is one of the larger islands of Vanuatu. I was travelling with Wendy Raptigh, a tireless quietly spoken Ni-Vanuatu lawyer working in the courts who had volunteered as my guide. It was a relief to see the densely forested flank of its mountainous spine emerge over the horizon. We had flown from the picturesque capital, Port Vila, in a single engine plane which had been buffeted through clouds 1500 m above the churning ocean. Had its engine failed, we would surely have vanished as others had into the vast depths below, beyond any prospect of rescue. Thankfully, the plane glided across the radiant coral fringe, over the palm canopy, landing bumpily on the dirt runway.