Rain. A recurrent theme of Megan and Paul's visit. This is what it looked like in Oahu when we departed on a Friday morning. Gloom Central. And you know what? It looked almost exactly the same when we landed in Hilo less than an hour later. Hilo is on the East side of Hawaii's Big Island. It gets an average of 200 inches of rain a year, so it wasn't a complete surprise that it was raining when we landed. (For the record, Kailua-Kona on the West side of the island only gets about 10 inches per year.) So we left rain to go to rain. Great. Also when we went to pick up our rental we found that they had given us a PT Cruiser. Zac wasn't pleased.
We headed towards Volcanoes National Park to see what there was to see. I was really amped up for this. I think we all were. We wanted to see volcanoes, in action, doing whatever it is that volcanoes do. Steam, crackle, fizz, erupt, etc. Kilauea is one of the most active, and most accessible, volcanoes on the planet so we had high hopes for this part of the trip. Once we got to the park we learned that there were two parts of the volcano worth investigating: 1. the crater, which has been releasing plumes of toxic fumes for months and, 2. the lava flow, which had actually flowed beyond the borders of the Park. More on that later. Here's Kilauea, powered by the goddess Pele, blowing off some steam:
And a friendly reminder from your Park Service:
A phenomenally cool Park Ranger named Jason (the trip to the park is worth his tour alone) told us that in order to see the lava flow we would have to go back out of the park towards Hilo. Here's the thing: You can't tell a volcano where to erupt or flow her lava. Yes, it would be nice if she'd do it within in the confines of the park, but Kilauea flows where she wants to flow. And for the last few years Kilauea has decided to flow beyond the park to the sea. (Don't argue with molten rock. It always wins.)View Larger Map
Maybe this map helps a little with the narrative. You see the black flow with orange stripes culminating at the ocean? That's the current lava flow. It wiped out the road that used to run along the coastline there. You can drive up to where the road now ends (indicated by the letter A), park your car, and then hike the rest of the way to the lava. Sort of. Park Ranger Jason advised to go to the lava flow at sunset, because the fading light made it easier to see the glow. We arrived about 30 minutes before sunset and headed out across the older lava flow to get our look at Pele doing her thing.
Notice the reflective paint on the lava put there by the county to help people find their way back to their cars when it got dark out. Flashlights were a must on this hike.
So tantalizingly close. But so far away. Alas, whereas you used to be able to almost walk right up to the lava people are now kept away. Maybe a half-mile away. I cannot adequately describe how frustrated and disappointed the four of us were. We could see the plume of steam that the lava created when it hit the ocean. We could even see up the mountain where some peaks of red-hot molten rock occasionally peeked out of their lava tunnels. But we couldn't get near it. (Neither could the 100 other people who were there, but I was wallowing in self-pity at the time and couldn't muster sympathy.) The four of us sat there until the sun went down, staring into the black, waiting for the occasional surge of orange haze to light up the plume. We tried taking pictures, but we knew that without a super-duper zoom lens, a tripod, and greater knowledge of camera settings that our photos wouldn't be much.
This is looking up the side of the gentle slope of the mountain. A faint glimpse of the lava making its way to the sea. Most of the lava travels in tunnels that have formed. A lava super-highway of sorts, making it a nice and toasty flow downhill. The tunnels also mean that most of the lava isn't visible. I was grateful that I got to see something.
Ever 90-120 seconds there would be a splash of orange that lit up the plume of steam. It was mesmerizing. Soothing. At that point we were resigned to our fate that night. No fireworks from Pele. No up-close-and-personal with 1000 degree rock. Sigh.On the way out Zac, who had been to the Big Island before and had been able to walk right up to the lava last time, asked a County employee why were kept so far away from the lava. The woman sighed, smiled sympathetically, and explained that yes, you used to be able to go almost right up to it. [I'm already cringing remembering her story. Not because it's gruesome, but because it's so damn frustrating.] When the lava flow used to be inside the park there were no issues with access, she explained. When the lava flow moved outside the park, i.e. onto privately owned property, for a time access wasn't a problem either. It was at that moment that a light bulb went on for the four of us. Privately owned property. For some reason when you are sitting there, looking at nature doing what nature does, watching the lava from a volcano create NEW EARTH before your very eyes, you don't even stop to consider that it could belong to anyone.
The County employee continued: For a while the landowners didn't have any problems letting sight-seers come up to the lava, but then someone got injured while visiting the lava flow. And sued. Yup, they sued the landowner. And WON. A jury actually awarded them damages. Now, I don't know the details of the suit, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. If I have ever, EVER, thought of a good "assumption of risk" case WALKING ON A VOLCANO WITH LAVA FLOWING UNDER YOUR FEET IS IT. I was well aware as we walked around on the Big Island that at any time Pele could command Kilauea to blow her top. And I would have haunted my family from the grave if they had sued. Seriously??? You got hurt at a volcano! I'm pissed at the Plaintiff, and I'm pissed at the jury that let this happen.
The County employee said that soon after that lawsuit the County (or maybe the State) passed a law limiting the liability of property owners with lava flow on their property from personal injury cases. But landowners were still wary and they all started prohibiting people from crossing their property to get close to the lava. So, in the interest of preventing lawsuits, we all now were stopped .5 miles short of one of the most spectacular natural occurrences on the planet.
In some way we all felt better for knowing why, but alternatively we also had a new thing/person/event to be mad at. So we made our way back to the car and decided to get a late supper before heading to our cabin. As we drove back towards Hilo a warning light lit up with a 'BING!' in the car. Megan and Paul scoured the owner's manual to discover that it was a tire air pressure sensor. At a stoplight we all got out and looked at our respective tires. Mine looked a little low, but I couldn't be sure in the poor lighting. We got to town and stopped at a bar/restaurant only to find that they had stopped serving dinner for the day. We got back into the car to go to the next restaurant where we finally got to decompress and eat dinner at 9:00pm.
We piled into the car after an adequate-at-best meal and Zac started driving out of the lot. Grinding. Lots of grinding. Zac: "Shit. That's a flat." We pulled into the 76 station and up to the air pump. We all got out and looked at the tires. The right front was REALLY flat. Paul looked at the station's air pump and announced: "The air pump is broken too." At this point, we started to curse. And laugh. And curse more. I was so beyond pissed, so beyond beaten, so BEYOND irritation that I thought I was going to lose it. Paul and Zac put the donut on while I called the 24 hour road-side assistance from our rental company.
The first guy we talked to told us to just change it ourselves. Gee. Thank buddy. I called back and got a gal who was much, much more empathetic and helpful. She said that because we were in Hilo (which is really just a big, small town and not the best place to break down at 10:15 at night) there was no road-side assistance available. Also, despite the fact we were only 1.5 miles from the airport and the rental car lot and could have easily swapped out cars, the airport closed at 10:00 and we couldn't get a new car til morning.
Needless to say, it was a quiet car ride back to the cabin. We were all defeated. Utterly defeated. And cranky. We all said a quick good night to each other when we got back and then we went to bed. The sooner the day ended, the better.
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