Pele is a Capricious Goddess...Part Three, a Precious Gift from a Mysterious Woman

One of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life

I've been celebrating my impending return to the Hawaiian Islands by revising and expanded a few posts I did in 2009 about the volcano goddess Pele, and my experiences with the ongoing eruption of Kilauea.  My third chance to see Pele's beauty came about in 2006 as a result of a family reunion that included a cruise of four of the Hawaiian islands. We arrived a few days early on the off-chance that there would be something to see on the Pu'u O'o flow that continued to erupt over the years. It had been a mostly quiet year, with lava flowing through tubes for seven miles before spilling into the sea.

The 2006 lava flow ocean entry from 3,000 feet above and 20 miles away on Chain of Craters Road

I was not really expecting to see much. The problem is that the coastal cliffs around a lava entry are dangerously unstable. As the lava hits the water, it shatters and forms thick layers of unstable cinders while being covered by lava flows. Every so often, the cinders slide downward, and the lava bench suddenly collapses into the sea. A number of people have been killed because they were standing on the benches when they collapsed. So, the national park service had erected a rope barrier to keep people from the most dangerous areas. Unfortunately, there was no view possible of the lava itself, according to reports. Just the bright orange glow of the steam rising from the turmoil below the coastal cliff.

The glow of moonlight on the ocean, and the glow of lava on the steam.

Still, it was worth a try. I told my wife and son and nephews that I would hike out, be safe, look at the glow of the invisible lava, and be back to the hotel by 9 PM or so. I took water, a flashlight, extra batteries, and my brand-new camera that I had bought that morning, and was just beginning to learn to use.

The hike was longer than I expected. There were so many people parked at the end of Chain of Craters Road that I literally had to walk an extra mile just to reach the trailhead. The flows were entering the sea two miles away, over trail-less pahoehoe flows. The sun set way too quickly and for route-finding I was down to my flashlight, and flashing beacons set up every quarter mile or so. Plenty of people were walking back with their flashlights, so the route was clearly evident. Most of the people I talked to expressed disappointment. Nothing to see but glowing steam. There were a few idiots who crossed the barriers, but even they couldn't get close enough to see anything. I was getting very tired. Pahoehoe may be smooth, but is still very uneven, and it only takes a single misstep to twist or break an ankle. I made it to the rope barrier, and could now see the glow and the steam. It was actually an awe-inspiring moment, as the moon had risen and was reflecting off the ocean behind the steam plumes. But no lava.

And then things got different in a hurry

I realized that it had become very lonely. The only others about were four people in a party, and a single flashlight off in the distance headed back to the road. I hung with the four people and a lady appeared out of the darkness (it only occurred to me later that she didn't have a flashlight). She hinted that we might want to walk to the far eastern end of the rope barrier, another quarter mile away. And then she disappeared into the darkness again. I looked at my watch. Already 9:00 PM. I was going to be way overdue. But, what was out there? What was the lady talking about?

Curiosity got the best of me, and I set off for the far end of the barrier. After 20 minutes or so, I surmounted a small cliff and looked down, and saw one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.

I was standing at the top of a thirty-foot cliff that marked the edge of the latest bench collapse (The safe edge, if you are wondering). No more than 30 minutes earlier, a lava tube had broken through, and lava was starting to pour across the bench to the 15-foot high beach cliff a mere hundred yards away. I stood entranced as the lava flowed like syrup across the slope below me. The finger of lava flowed slowly to the edge of the cliff and spilled over into the surf.

The five of us were the only people out of hundreds of visitors that day who saw the glorious scene before us. Except that mysterious woman...Needless to say, I was in a heap o' trouble when I walked into the hotel lobby after midnight. But I can never forget the incredible gift of that magical sight of lava pouring into the sea. And that mysterious woman in the darkness.

PS: I found a USGS photograph of the coast taken on the same day I was there. The parking was in the distant brown area, the black is recent lava flows, and the gray foreground area is the active lava delta. The rope barrier is hard to see, but it was uphill from the lava delta. The new lava breakout that I saw happened at the bottom of the picture at the edge of the gray delta.

PSS: I did manage to figure out the video function on the new camera, but of course I should have taken more.

Pele is a Capricious Goddess (reprised)...Part Two

Continuing the story from the previous post, I had a second chance to see a volcano in action in 2004. I was the newly elected president of the Far West Section of the National Association of Geoscience Teachers, and for my first conference, I had persuaded someone to sponsor a meeting in Hilo, Hawaii. The volcano on the Big Island at Pu'u O'o had continued to be active over the previous two years and was still going strong as the date of the conference approached. Lava was still traveling from the cinder cone on the east rift zone of Kilauea and traveling through lava tubes to the ocean. I was thrilled that a bunch of fellow teachers would be able to see an active lava flow!

Except (and there always seems to be some kind of terrible "except" to stories like this)...as the final days approached, the flow activity started to wane. The HVO reported that blockages had started to occur in the upper reaches of the lava tubes that were feeding the ocean entries, and the lava flows were slowing considerably, declining to almost nothing. Every morning I went online to check on the latest HVO reports, and got a sinking feeling.

My daughter arrived on the island a day before me, and hiked out to see the lava flows. It was down to a single dribble, no wider than a pencil, falling into the sea. No wider than a pencil. And then it stopped...

The next day, I hiked out to the flow as fast as I could, and saw...well, I saw what you can see in the picture above: steam from a recently ended flow. I searched desperately for any kind of small break out, any sign of active lava, but all there was was steam rising from cracks here and there. All I got for my trouble was a badly scraped arm and palm when I slipped and fell onto a day-old lava flow. I was not aware until that day that fresh basalt flows are usually covered with a thin veneer of obsidian (volcanic glass) that gives the lava flow a silvery metallic appearance. The glass starts to break up right away, forming jagged shards that are like small razors lying about the surface.

Still, there is great beauty in new rock. The patterns in the pahoehoe lava surfaces are endlessly fascinating, and there is a grandeur in the barren surfaces of a day old lava flow. It is an absolutely sterile surface that has never before existed. A new beginning...

Lava flowing into seawater has a tendency to explode on contact, forming fine sand-sized particles. Kilauea had already destroyed one of the most cherished black sand beaches in Hawaii, but a new beach, however impermanent, had appeared to replace it.

Pele had given the gift of new land on the island, but I was not privileged in this instance to see it happen. But patience is a virtue. It would be another two years before I made it to the islands, but it was worth the wait. That story will have to wait for the next post!

This is an expanded version of a 2009 blog post that preceded the first field studies course that I ever taught on the Hawaiian Islands. We're leaving in a week for the islands for our second-ever course, so I'm thinking volcanic subjects these days.

Where are the Ten Most Incredible Places You've Ever Stood? My Number 6: I stood in a place no one else can ever stand, at Pu'u O'o

Yes, Hawai'i gets two spots on my top ten list of the most incredible places I've ever stood. A few days ago I talked about my wonderful adventure in the swamps of the Alaka'i Plateau on Kaua'i, but today we'll hear about the Big Island, and the rather incredible volcano there that has been erupting continuously now for thirty-one years, since 1983. The ongoing eruption of Kilauea and its satellite vent Pu'u O'o is the longest known period of activity in the history of the volcanoes of Hawai'i.

It was June of 2002 when I reached the Hawaiian Islands for the first time in my life. I had spent the first fifteen years of my academic career learning to teach and ignoring any kind of writing or research, but I finally decided to submit an abstract and give a presentation at a meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science on the Big Island. I anxiously watched the lava flow reports for months ahead of time, but little was happening with the volcano. It was essentially a time of simmering around the summit region of Pu'u O'o, and any chance of seeing active lava flows would require miles of hiking over practically impenetrable forest and rock exposures.

Then, in an incredible moment of good timing, the May 12th Mother's Day Flow began, and a huge river of lava began to make its way down the south flank of Kilauea. In a matter of weeks it was approaching the final pali (gigantic fault scarp/cliff) before reaching the coastal plain. On the day my flight landed in Hawai'i, the U.S. Geological Survey posted the picture you can see below (in case you have trouble with the perspective, the cliff in the photo is several hundred feet high. I was beside myself with anticipation. The lava was only a mile away from the end of the highway!

Source: U.S. Geological Survey

The timing was unique for several reasons. Because the flow was advancing towards the sea and making a new path, it had not yet formed a system of lava tubes which often hide the flow from sight. And as unintuitive as it sounds, the lava was not as hazardous as one might think. The advancing flow was so slow that the National Park Service was comfortable with park visitors walking right up to the edge of the lava.

Still, one has to be careful. One never knows when a fault might suddenly appear on a park highway (note the sign above). And strangely, in the way that all signs have a story, this was a place where a lava flow once burst out right onto the highway, in front of a very surprised vulcanologist!

I was in for a crushing disappointment, though. The advancing lava flow had started the biggest forest fire in Hawaii's history. The road providing access to the lava flow was closed for firefighting operations. I was devastated to say the least. Here I was, on the island for the first time in my life, the lava was easily accessible, and I wasn't going to get to see it...

I didn't know about Hawaiian attitudes towards fighting forest fires, though. Here in California fires are a serious business with an "all hands on deck" approach that has firefighters working night and day until the fire is out. Since this fire was not threatening homes or structures, the firefighting teams knocked off at five o'clock and went home for a beer or something. They opened the road! We joined the long traffic jam in a headlong rush down Chain of Craters Road to the beginning of the "trail" to the lava flow. I was wondering what kind of parking lot they had down there on the old lava flows. I soon found out. There wasn't one.

What happened instead is that one drove to the end of the road, did a U-turn, and then drove back up the road until a space appeared to park in. As we drove back up the road, my hike went from one mile, to two, to three. At least those extra miles weren't on rugged lava flows. I got out and quickly started down the road, filled with a sense of anticipation that I suspect only a fellow geologist can understand.

The "trail" was a set of yellow markers glued to the surface of the lava flow. It was something of a relief that the flows were of the smooth pahoehoe lava instead of the very rugged a'a type. I made good time running (yes, running; don't tell my wife about this) towards the lava flows. I was quickly becoming aware of the reason Hawaiian lava flows are best seen in dusk or at night. The incandescent rock is easily obscured in bright sunlight. At night, it turns into a light show.

I soon realized that I had active lava flows on three sides of me, and small fires were burning where the lava was engulfing shrubs. And then I was there at the leading active edge of the flow. It was one of the most unusual moments of my life. There just isn't anything that quite prepares you for standing inches away from molten basalt. It wasn't scary so much as it was hypnotic. I couldn't help staring at it in wonderment. This might be hard for some of you to believe, but for a few moments I forgot I was holding a camera and a video recorder. That didn't last long, because in mere minutes I was snapping away.

This was one of my first journeys with a digital camera, so I had a bit of trouble getting sharp pictures in the dim light from sheer ignorance of the capabilities of my camera. I got a few half decent shots of one of the most awesome events I had ever witnessed. Oh, but how I wish I had been carrying the camera I have today. I guess I'll just have to wait for the next big eruption!

When I was younger, I had a preoccupation with the idea of being the only human ever to stand in a particular place. I knew that most inhabited parts of the world had been trod by generation after generation of people, so I wondered how many times in my life I had actually put my feet on a spot that no other person had ever stepped. After my adventure in June of 2002, I know that I was the only person in all of human existence who ever stepped on a small plot of rock at the leading edge of an active lava flow. The rock had only existed for a few minutes when I stepped onto it while preparing for a picture. It was engulfed a few short moments later by the advancing basalt.

The lava began pouring into the sea just a few weeks later, in July of 2002. Soon most of the flow was hidden in lava tubes, visible only through a few skylights or breakouts, or along the coast where the lava met the waters of the Pacific Ocean.

Dispatches from the Road: 90 Seconds on a Lava Flow

I really had no idea what to expect. Pu'u o'o vent on the east rift zone of Kilauea on the Big Island of Hawai'i has been putting out vast amounts of lava for most of the last 27 years, and day to day the location of the flows can change. For months at a time the active flows can remain high on the palis, far from any trailhead, and other times the lava can flow almost entirely through tubes, emerging for only a few seconds at the coastline before being consumed by waves. Unfortunately the flows can suddenly break out in new directions, leading to destruction of homes, roads and sacred archaeological sites. Scheduling a trip hoping to see active lava flows is always a crapshoot, and I have learned not to expect great conditions. Sometimes it just isn't gonna happen.

My trip to the Big Island this week was no exception. Over the last few weeks the volcano goddess Pele has been unusually active, and a huge flow threatened homes in what remains of Kalapana (most of the town was overrun by lava in 1990). One home was destroyed, and lava came within a hundred feet or so of several other houses.

Such spectacles bring spectators, and there have been complaints from property owners of tourists (and tourons) crossing property lines and leaving messes. The county responded by establishing a viewing area, but the view is often limited. I was one of those tourists who showed up, and I respect the needs of the homeowners, but the desire to see active lava is a powerful impulse in a geologist. So I arrived at road's end not knowing what to expect.
Sometimes the stars line up just right, and sometimes there is the small print. I arrived at the viewing area early in the day, and just a few people were walking down the road. The lava was mostly at a distance, but I had read of a new breakout near the end of the road, and when I arrived, I was given a very brief chance to cross the lines and check out the leading edge of the flow just as it started to consume some of the old highway. The deal was that I move back behind the lines when someone else showed, and that lasted all of 90 seconds. I didn't complain. It was enough to stand four feet away from the blazing hot rock and snap off a few photographs. Enjoy!

Even had I not seen the lava up close, the other sights were fascinating. Above, on the pali, I could see the pathway of the lavas as a wall of steam and smoke along the tubing system that was bring the lava from the vent at Pu'u o'o six or seven miles away.Visitors at night would see the glow of incandescent lavas on the slopes.
Towards the coast, I could see the steam rising from where the lava was pouring into the sea (this ocean entry was saving homes in Kalapana by draining lava away from the village). At night the steam will glow orange. That's fresh lava from the last week in the foreground; the brown plants were burned by the passage of the flow.

Lest we forget, there are actually two areas where volcanism is occurring on the Kilauea shield. In 2008, a vent opened in Halemaumau below the park visitor center and laboratories, and lava has been simmering in a 600 foot deep hole ever since, with the occasional explosive outburst. The shot above is how it appeared this morning.

It was a great day! My pictures hardly do justice to the lava, by the way. To see some great photography and get some on-site descriptions from someone who lives there, check out Leigh's sight, Hawaiian Lava Daily.

Post #300! A Pahoehoe Party!

It's my 300th post! In celebration, I am throwing a pahoehoe party with some pictures from our recent Hawaii field studies journey (and one older picture from the pre-blogging days). If you have been following my last few posts, you have learned a bit about the current ongoing eruption of Pu'u O'o on the flank of the Kilauea volcano on the Big Island of Hawai'i. The flows have continued unabated for more than two decades, starting in 1983.

Pahoehoe is a term used by the Hawaiians to describe lavas with a smooth shiny surface, that reminded them of shark skin. We were lucky enough on this trip to witness a number of breakouts from the lava tube system that were forming pahoehoe surfaces. They were far up on the pali, and best viewed in the evening twilight, as can be seen in the top photo. Our view the next day was astounding, as our helicopter flew right over the breakouts just 1,500 feet above.

The center photo shows the active breakouts, with the main lava flow snaking along the right side of the picture, and two breakouts at the top and bottom. Despite the bright sunlight, the orange glow of the lava can be seen in places. The shiny, silvery appearance results from the thin coating of glass on the surface of the lava where it cools first. It is a blasted hellish surface.

We didn't have a chance to stand next to an advancing flow, but in 2002 I was able to get a photo of the front of a lava stream on the coastal plain. The lumpy surfaces expand as they fill with the hot basalt and then the lava squeezes out the edge of the bulbous masses. It is hypnotic to watch, and there is little to fear, since the only way it will get you is if you stand really still and let it surround you (for all I know, this is how some photographers I know will buy the farm!).

Pele is a Capricious Goddess...Part Three, a Precious Gift

My third chance to see Pele's beauty came about in 2006 as a result of a family reunion that included a cruise of four of the Hawaiian islands. We arrived a few days early on the off-chance that there would be something to see on the Pu'u O'o flow that continued to erupt over the years. It had been a mostly quiet year, with lava flowing through tubes for seven miles before spilling into the sea.

I was not really expecting to see much. The problem is that the coastal cliffs around a lava entry are dangerously unstable. As the lava hits the water, it shatters and forms thick layers of unstable cinders, while being covered by lava flows. Every so often, the cinders slide downward, and the lava bench suddenly collapses into the sea. A number of people have been killed because they were standing on the benches when they collapsed. So, the national park service had erected a rope barrier to keep people from the most dangerous areas. Unfortunately, there was no view possible of the lava itself, according to reports. Just the bright orange glow of the steam rising from the turmoil below the coastal cliff.

Still, it was worth a try. I told my wife and son and nephews that I would hike out, be safe, look at the glow of the invisible lava, and be back to the hotel by 9 PM or so. I took water, a flashlight, extra batteries, and my brand-new camera that I had bought that morning, and was just beginning to learn to use.

The hike was longer than I expected. There were so many people parked at the end of Chain of Craters Road that I literally had to walk an extra mile just to reach the trailhead. The flows were entering the sea two miles away, over trail-less pahoehoe flows. The sun set way too quickly and for route-finding I was down to my flashlight, and flashing beacons set up every quarter mile or so. Plenty of people were walking back with their flashlights, so the route was clearly evident. Most of the people I talked to expressed disappointment. Nothing to see but glowing steam. A few idiots who crossed the barriers. I was getting very tired. Pahoehoe may be smooth, but is still very uneven, and it only takes a single misstep to twist or break an ankle. I made it to the rope barrier, and could now see the glow and the steam. It was actually an awe-inspiring moment, as the moon had risen and was reflecting off the ocean behind the steam plumes. But no lava.

I realized that it had become very lonely. The only others about were four people in a party, and a flashlight off in the distance. I hung with the four people and a lady appeared out of the darkness. She suggested that we might want to walk to the far end of the rope barrier, another quarter mile away. And then she disappeared into the darkness again. I looked at my watch. Already 9:00 PM. I was going to be overdue. But, what was out there?

Curiosity got me, and I set off for the far end of the barrier. After 20 minutes or so, I surmounted a small cliff and looked down, and saw one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.

I was standing at the top of a thirty-foot cliff that marked the edge of the latest bench collapse. No more than 30 minutes earlier, a lava tube had broken through, and lava was starting to pour across the bench, to the 15-foot high beach cliff a mere hundred yards away. I stood entranced as the lava flowed like syrup across the slope below me. The five of us were the only people out of hundreds of visitors that day who saw the glorious scene before us. Except that mysterious woman...

Needless to say, I was in a heap o' trouble when I walked into the hotel lobby at midnight. But I can never forget the incredible gift of that magical sight of lava pouring into the sea.

Pele is a Capricious Goddess...Part Two

Continuing the story from the previous post, I had a second chance to see a volcano in action in 2004. I was the newly elected president of the Far West Section of the National Association of Geoscience Teachers, and for my first conference, I had persuaded someone to sponsor a meeting in Hilo. The volcano had continued to be active over the previous two years and was still going strong as the date of the conference approached. I was thrilled that a bunch of fellow teachers would be able to see an active lava flow!

Except...

As the final days approached, the activity started to wane. The HVO reported that blockages had started to occur in the upper reaches of the lava tubes that were feeding the ocean entries, and the lava flows were slowing to a trickle.

My daughter arrived on the island a day before me, and hiked to see the lava. It was down to a single dribble, no thicker than a pencil, falling into the sea.

The next day, I hiked out to the flow as fast as I could, and saw...well, I saw what you can see in the first picture above: steam from a recently ended flow. I searched desperately for any kind of small break out, any sign of active lava, but all there was was steam rising from cracks here and there. All I got for my trouble was a badly scraped arm and palm when I slipped and fell onto a day old lava flow. I was not aware until that day that fresh basalt flows are usually covered with a thin veneer of obsidian (volcanic glass) that gives the lava flow a silvery metallic appearance. The glass starts to break up right away, forming jagged shards that are like small razors lying about the surface.

Still, there is great beauty in new rock. The patterns in the pahoehoe lava surfaces are endlessly fascinating, and there is a grandeur in the barren surfaces of a day old lava flow. And absolutely sterile surface that has never before existed. A new beginning...

Next: Pele's gift