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After more than four months of being partially closed to trekkers, it was announced on Sept. 14 that Lombok’s Mount Rinjani National Park was fully reopened. At the beginning of May there were two minor eruptions from the baby volcano Gunung Barujari and hiking routes down to the lake and to the summit of the mountain were closed by national park authorities.

For several weeks prior to that announcement, Rinjani trekking Web sites reported that all routes would be opening soon. I booked a hiking trip there for the end of August, hoping that the park would indeed be open by then or that I would be able to reach the summit one way or another.

I didn’t get to the top, but I got onto the summit ridge above the baby volcano for a lovely sunrise. This, so my guide told me, was as far as anyone was allowed at present because of the danger. I pointed out that this particular spot was far closer to the source of the May eruptions than the summit itself and that there was absolutely no reason why the summit was still closed. He too found the logic of the situation somewhat puzzling. The peak glittered in the early morning sunshine as I agreed to forget about conquering the mountain and instead head back down to the campsite for breakfast.

After breakfast, I made my way back down to Sembalun and then to my lodging. Having not reached the highest point, it had been an unsatisfying trip. I began to ponder the ethics of closing a natural environment to the public and not crediting individuals with the ability to make informed and responsible decisions about their own actions. Surely the citizens of any decent society should be allowed free access to the natural environment. Advice and information is greatly appreciated, but it is surely a walker’s individual responsibility to decide how safe areas are, whether crossing a road in Jakarta or going hiking in Lombok. Nature is for everyone, and those who wish to explore its many wonders have to be aware of and accept the dangers.

When hiking in volcanic areas, there is always a far greater likelihood of accidents in no direct way related to the volcanic nature of the environment. Such accidents cannot be entirely prevented by any kind of authority and have to be seen as a fact of life, the risks of which can be reduced by careful planning and common sense. A ban on key routes in one of the most spectacular environments in Southeast Asia seems, at best, patronising to the intelligence of those wishing to explore at their own risk. Risk is, after all, a central and unavoidable component of life, and it could be argued that to limit risk is to diminish our enjoyment of life. I, for one, am happy to accept the risks.

I can certainly understand why areas of the national park were closed in May, but cannot comprehend why it has taken more than four months for those areas to be declared open again. There was no volcanic activity that would have made my summit attempt at the end of August any more dangerous a proposition than it is now. I believe that access was unreasonably restricted and am disappointed that, despite the relatively expensive Rp 150,000 ($15) entry fee, there was no ranger at the National Park office in Sembalun with whom I could talk, and no waiver I could sign.

I worry that as more and more people discover the incredible outdoor opportunities in Indonesia and as more and more national parks are formed, this could be a sign of things to come. If Rinjani was not a national park I would have had little trouble in reaching the summit. In this instance the existence of the national park was primarily an administrative hindrance to having a satisfactory hike and made me consider that the formation of such an organization was (almost literally) a step backward into murky bureaucratic waters.

There are other examples, too. At the Mount Gede-Pangrango National Park office, for instance, I was informed that you have to be accompanied by a guide in order to reach the summit of either Gede or Pangrango. I was able to simply ignore this particular piece of condescending regimentation rather more easily than attempting to make a run for the summit on Rinjani.

Many people will probably find it strange that I let a little thing like not reaching the highest point of Rinjani be such a cause for complaint. Many hikers are probably just as content reaching the campsite by the crater’s edge as undertaking the arduous scramble up to the peak. I will admit it was a worthwhile trip in itself, but to sit on the 3,726-meter-high summit and look westward to Bali’s Gunung Agung and eastward to Sumbawa’s Gunung Tambora, both appearing as islands above the clouds, is an experience I am sure is worth having. I will have to go back at some point to achieve what I was unjustifiably prevented from achieving at the end of August.