How she spends her summer vacation--but don't expect a stilted schoolgirl essay. Since 1962, Sutherland has traveled to Moloka'i, a remote coastal area of Hawaii where she roughs it, solo, among exquisitely eroded chasms and thousand-foot waterfalls. On her first two trips, she swam the distance, equipment in tow; since 1967, when an inflatable kayak increased her carrying power, she's been able to add refinements--wine jugs, signal flares, a down sleeping bag (""like sleeping in a cheese soufflÃ‰""). It's a rugged seven-day route along beachless slopes and beckoning caves, but a patched-up cabin (which she calls the Pelekunu Plaza) greets her each season for several-day stopovers. Sutherland cherishes her ""finsmaskandsnorkel,"" admits her early mistakes and close calls, and includes just enough of her mother-of-four existence back home to persuade readers of her 52-week competence: long ago she posted a list of 20 things every kid should be able to do by age 16 (fix a meal, change a tire or a baby, etc.), and there's no doubting they all complied. For mainlanders, a pleasant, friendly introduction to lush new scenery and a one-of-a-kind sensibility.