Hawaii - Pele Pouring into the Ocean

Pele Pouring into the Ocean


In 1982, a fairly copious lava flow on the Big Island of Hawaii covered several miles of the road that used to go along the coast, and extended the coast line of the island by many acres. The same flow has continued almost un-interrupted since then, although considerably smaller, and often underground so that it’s not visible except where it exits into the ocean, and sometimes not even then. There are various spots along the coast where visitors can sometimes see it. You can approach those places from Volcano National Park, or from the other side, which is not part of the Park.
The local authorities want you to spend your money in the Park, so it’s not advertised that you don’t have to do so, but the other route is fairly easy to find - I went south from Pahoa for a few miles until I came to a road that veered off to the left. Although a little overgrown round the edges, it looked like it was going to be a good road until I suddenly reached the first lava flow, a solid black mound about two feet high. A sign told me: ‘Road Closed, Only Residents Allowed.’ Clearly people have been driving that way, though it’s very rough. I drove slowly for several yards and all of a sudden there was the paved road again. Quarter of a mile on, it once more disappeared under lava, then there was another nice paved section, and so on, until finally the paved road was buried forever. A large area of the lava had been flattened to create a parking lot. To the left is the dark blue line of the ocean. After dark is the best time to see the orange strips of flowing lava, or, on the hill to the right, the glow of Pu’u O’o itself, the vent which is giving birth to the lava flow. In daytime it is only distinguishable from the rest of the mountainside by clouds of smoke pouring upwards. There are frequently several cars carrying sightseers in the parking lot at dusk, but the first time I went, in the middle of the day, it was empty expect for another little Toyota Tercel, just like the one I was driving. The owner and I congratulated each other on having great cars, and I asked him, “Are you here to see the lava?”
He glowered, replying tersely, “No, I’ve seen enough of that, I’d just finished building my house when the eruption started in ’82.” He pointed up the hill, and I saw a tiny white square in the distance, in a patch of green, an island surrounded on all sides by fields of black lava. “I’m thinking of going there now, I’m just checking the weather. It’s a little wet.” A thick drizzle was falling.
“How do you get there?” I asked. It looked like a very long walk over this terrain. “Motorbike,” he answered.
“Motorbike!” I was appalled.
He nodded grimly. “Yes, it’s easy to get hurt, I don‘t go when it‘s wet. I’d have been much better off if my house had been burnt in the eruption, then I would have got insurance. As it is, I don‘t get a thing, I just own a useless piece of property. I probably wouldn‘t be able to sell it for $100. No one would want it.”
Motorbikes besides, the lava is not an ideal walking surface – lots of loose shale, ledges that catch your feet, and crevasses varying in size from one inch to several feet. It’s very uneven, with many hillocks, mounds, dips and holes. If you’re going to walk on the lava you should wear long pants and good hiking boots – but I have this problem that I hate my feet getting hot, so I was wearing shorts and sandals. The first time I tried walking out at night with only a flashlight, I miscalculated a little ridge, caught my toe, and fell flat. I guess Pele wanted some blood, although I got away with a few small cuts and grazes.
I had been told that the lava was flowing into the ocean along the coastline, so that evening I got there before dusk and walked for an hour or so, to a good viewing spot, on a little cliff overlooking a big wide ledge that fell straight to the sea, maybe fifty feet below. Huge clouds of steam, hundreds of feet high, were gushing from the lower part of the cliff, and I could see large red droplets forcing their way into the ocean, from underneath the older dry lava. A thin stream of steam came off the surface of the sea for about a hundred yards out, indicating that there was lava emerging all the way out there, at a depth we couldn’t see.
A few other sightseers were nearby, and a man on the edge of the ledge down below me was fiddling with a camera and a tripod. Looking at him, I decided it was safe to get closer, and negotiated my way down across loose lava, skirting around several places where steam was rising from cracks. The rocks were hot in places, and the breeze was distinctly warm. The ocean was busy with her usual theatrical drama: smashing onto the rocks and throwing spray around. I could clearly hear rocks tumbling over each other as they were dragged in and out. A little further along was a steep black sand beach. I’d heard that black sand sometimes forms instantly when the ocean hits hot lava, and it will erode away in a century or so. Real sand, which doesn’t erode away, is made by fish eating coral and spitting it out (I’d seen them do that, so I know that part is true), which is then washed up to form beaches by the action of waves. I’m not sure I believe that part.
A young couple wearing matching red T-shorts followed me down. It was certainly an adrenalin booster to be so close to such a splendid example of unbridled power. As the daylight faded, we could see a huge, vivid pink glow at the lower central part of the steam, fading and brightening alternately and irregularly. It started periodically spattering glowing pieces of rock into the air, less than a hundred feet away, and the photographer said, “We’re lucky, it’s just started heating up, it’s been low key all afternoon.”
I said, “It’s getting closer, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” he replied with a grin. I hid behind the woman in the red T-shirt, peering over her shoulder. Another woman, with long blonde hair tied back in a neat pony tail, clambered down to join us just as a particularly large piece of glowing rock was thrown into the air offshore, so that we all oohed and aahed, some of us stepping back nervously. The blonde woman said, “Isn’t this dangerous?”
The photographer, who had probably been here before, said, “Well, danger’s always relative, isn’t it? I mean, this ledge could fall into the sea any time.”
The woman in the red T-shirt said, “There’s safety in numbers.”
“Well, I think I might retreat to higher ground,” I declared, and made my way up the steep little ‘path,’ clambering over the sharp unstable black rocks, admiring other steeper spots where new lava, now black, had dripped over the cliff edge and then dried on the way down, just like streams of candle wax.
By this time, a couple of dozen people were gathered on the higher cliff to admire the thrilling scene. Some of them had brought picnics, even a bottle of wine. The photographer stayed down below until it was almost too dark to see his way back, then he packed his equipment and scrambled to join us. We all sat there a long time in the dark admiring the view, oohing and aahing as a particularly big spatter of lava was flung into the air, or the color at the base of the steam grew particularly lurid. Sometimes we could see chunks of red lava floating on the sea. Further along the coast we could see two other spots where clouds of steam gushed forth, glowing pink. Many smaller streams of steam, that disappeared as the darkness grew, issued from various cracks and vents inland. To our right, probably a mile away as the crow flies, three or four long irregular vents glowed red, constantly changing their shape and their course, but all of them going underground well before they reached the ocean. In the daylight, they only appear as faint red areas, with long bands of smoke issuing from them, but once darkness falls they are vivid gashes.
It was difficult to find comfortable places to sit, and the rock I had chosen was far from smooth. As I used my hands to lift myself up and shift my butt, I thought, this rock feels awfully warm. Behind us, where we had to walk to go back, a red fissure opened up. I was sitting next to the two red T-shirts, who were from Jersey, and we discussed how far away it was.
“It’s impossible to tell, isn’t it?“ he said thoughtfully.
“Yes, but if it was really close, we’d be able to feel the heat,” I replied comfortingly.
“I suppose we just have to trust that one is not going to open beneath us,” shrugged the woman with a sigh. “If I get back in one piece, I’ll certainly feel like it’s been worth it - this is incredible.”
Several other people were watching the latest fissure, and getting a little nervous. It was too dark for me to see anyone’s faces, but I heard one woman say, “I’m from New York, I don’t know about this natural stuff!” Going back to the car park was a good hour’s walk in the dark and I was probably the only person who would think of doing that alone. When I stood up, announcing my departure, several others also stood, and then it turned out that the blonde woman had come from the other direction, where we could see more red fissures to be negotiated, and more occasional fissures opening up.
“Isn’t anyone else going back that way?“ she asked the group. There were murmurs of dissent. Various people were full of advice for her.
“You’d be crazy to walk back there on there on your own.“
“I wouldn’t want to be walking back that way, look, you can see there is more activity in that direction.”
“You should give up the idea of getting back there tonight.”
But like many tourists, she was on a schedule. “I have to get back tonight, I have a plane to catch tomorrow morning. My car is parked over there.”
The discussion went on for a several minutes and I hung around to make sure she was OK. “If I walk back that way, would someone give me a ride back to the Park?“ she asked. None of the people who had been telling her she was doomed if she went back on her own spoke up. Someone said, “You could get a place to stay in Pahoa, I’ll give you a ride there.“
“No, I have to get back to the Park tonight. Isn’t there anyone who can give me a ride? I‘ll pay your gas.”
Another voice said, “You could probably hitchhike, there’s lots of traffic on that road.” I rolled my eyes at this suggestion - I figured she’d be much smarter to brave the lava on her own than hitchhike in the dark. Was I prepared to drive all that way? I really didn’t like driving in the dark. And maybe she would be a pain in the ass to hang out with. What if she walked really slowly? What if she talked too much?
“I’ll give you a ride,” I said. “We should leave now, because I don’t want to be up too late.”
I needn’t have worried about her walking slowly. Martha (a cartographer from DC) was a great hiker, zipping over the difficult terrain easily as fast as I did. A three quarter moon lighted our way, so we barely needed our flashlights. Someone had attached a tall pole with a flashing light to her car in the carpark, making it easy to find our way back. Without that signal to guide us, it would have been a different matter. I made a mental note to carry that kind of thing in my car in future, so that I wouldn’t be dependent on someone else being so smart.
At one point the breeze suddenly became very hot, which alerted us to an intense red glow about ten feet to our right, and another about fifteen feet to our left. We hastened our steps, then as we circumvented a large mound, we came upon a big vivid gash in the side of a band of rock. Veering away from it, we speeded up another notch, until the wind was suddenly cool again, and we could stop to admire the show now safely behind us.
One of the men from the group, who had tagged along with us, kept lagging behind, so we stopped to wait for him a couple of times - a little impatiently, I must admit. We hadn’t asked him to come with us, and he could have waited for some slower guides. But I would have felt bad if he had disappeared into a glowing crevasse.
Martha wasn’t just a good walker, she was also pretty quiet, so I didn’t regret driving her up the mountain. All in all, it was a great evening’s show - above and beyond even Pele’s usual high standard, and cheap at the price.