Pele, the goddess of fire, is both creator and destroyer--creator of islands, destroyer of land. To say this ancient goddess is moody is an understatement. It is this very temperament that commands respect and all those visiting her home should show some. Whether one believes in the old religion, in the Christianity that replaced it, or neither of the above, there is no denying the awesome power and spontaneous acts of the geological forces at work on Hawaii. Indeed, nature is spectacular!
I visited Pele's current playground, a.k.a. Volcanoes National Park, almost immediately after arriving on the Big Island. I didn't even notice the gradual gain in elevation from Kona to the park's entrance, but when I arrived at the Visitor's Center I found myself at 4,000 feet above sea level in cooler and drier 70 degree weather. I went on an informational hike with a ranger and learned of the area's flora, fauna, and geological intricacies. Armed with some background information, I went off on my own and walked through a lava tube situated in the middle of a fern forest--all next to the most active volcano on earth.
I saw the mouth of the Kilauea Caldera, one of the island's two active volcanoes (the other is Mauna Loa) which lies near the Visitor's Center at 4,000 feet. Kilauea, with all its power, is quite humble in appearance. Its opening appears as a vast plateau, dry and desert-like, sunk below its unobtrusive rim rather than a steep, towering mound with a distinctive mouth at the top. Smoke smolders from spots here and there and vegetation keeps its distance, stopping abruptly at the edge of the rim. Below the crusted surface lies molten lava directly linked to the center of the earth...and Madame Pele's residence.
As legend goes, the union of the Earth and the Sky produced two daughters--Pele and her sister Na Maka O Kahai, goddess of the seas. Pele once made her home farther to the northeast until her sister became jealous and kicked her out. Pele simply moved to the southeast, made a new island, Niihau, and took up residence. Her stay was short, however, and she continued to flee from her sister and make islands along the way--Kauai, Oahu, Molokai, Lanai, Kahoolawe, Maui. Finally, she firmly entrenched herself and created the Big Island of Hawaii, which is still undergoing expansion and remodeling by lava. However, Na Maka O Kahai is still on her heels, washing against the islands, causing erosion and changing lava rocks to sand.
The old religion accurately describes the order of which the islands rose above the sea. For 25 million years, a crack in the earth's mantle has been releasing igneous rock. While this hot spot remains stationary, the Pacific Plate (of plate tectonics fame) moves to the northwest. As mainlanders who live by the San Andreas fault (the plate's eastern side) know, the rate of movement is approximately three inches per year. Over eons, the Hawaiian chain was formed by this volcanic process. When enough lava built up to poke above the surface, an island was born, followed by the continual movement of the plate below it. The hot spot now lies below the Big Island; and it's no surprise this is the biggest island. It simply hasn't been around as long to face the processes of erosion the other islands have. In the geological future, its fate could be much like the once mountainous islands far to the northwest, which are now atolls. In the meantime, new islands will continue to be formed. Loihi, a build-up of molten rock reaching 15,000 feet above the sea floor, is a mere 30 miles southeast of the Big Island and is expected to break the surface in a few centuries (if Pele really gets busy) or up to10,000 years from now.
As I set up camp that night at Namakani Paio campground, I had yet to catch a glimpse of the towering Mauna Loa, one of two enormous volcanoes reaching nearly 14,000 feet above the sea. Despite the sun's presence, there was much cloud build-up and I hoped the temporary cloud cover would soon dissipate for a view. I had tried to imagine what it would be like standing 5,000 feet below the front range of the Rockies looking up at Long's Peak, nearly the same elevation gain from Hawaii's coast to the top of Mauna Loa. I had an exaggerated expectation in my mind; nevertheless, at 4,000 feet I still expected quite an impressive sight.
I awoke the next morning to a beautiful, clear blue sky and the sound of birds--my chance to see Mauna Loa was at hand. I walked over the knoll between my campsite and the volcano and saw a very gently sloping mound before me. Mauna Loa? Yes, Mauna Loa! It was definitely Mauna Loa, rising ever so gradually from the sides to form a rounded off mound over 9,000 feet above my viewing spot. My expectation of a steep peak jutting high in the sky was shattered, and reality confirmed the knowledge I had previously gathered about shield volcanoes. Despite looking at a three dimensional relief map of the Big Island the day before, I had to see it with my own eyes to believe that a mountain of its height could be so massive and gently sloping rather than a rugged, sharp peak.
Later that day, I drove up the narrow and winding Mauna Loa road. Not only was the thirteen-mile road narrow to start off, but it astutely changed to a one-lane road about halfway up. After climbing 2,600 feet in thirteen miles, Mauna Loa road ended at the trailhead for the Mauna Loa trail. From the trailhead, surrounded by ohia trees and low-lying shrubs, the trail ascends 6,600 feet over an 18-mile stretch of rugged lava rocks. Three to four days is recommended for the hike to the top and back, where winter conditions dictate preventative measures against hypothermia and water scarcity creates another obstacle to deal with. There are a few cabins along the way, which can be used for shelter. Unprepared and with a triathlon in Kona on my agenda in just over a week, I could only admire the views and vowed to return again for the hike to the summit. It seemed a little mind boggling to me as I walked around the mountainside that winter conditions and snow are hazards on this volcano situated below the Tropic of Cancer.
My astonishment was inspired by my earlier experiences that day. As I stood at 6,600 feet above sea level in the dry mountain air with a sweatshirt on, I thought about the weather over a mile below, where I stood that morning, dripping with sweat.
I began the day with a bike ride to the coast. I started at Devastation Parking Lot, near the rim of Kilauea Caldera. From there, I proceeded along Chain of Craters Road, passing by trees (only at the beginning), lava fields, craters, more lava fields, and steam vents. I flew by the barren landscapes as I lost 4,000 feet in elevation over 20 miles of road. The stench of sulfur filled the air the closer I got to the sea; vents became more numerous, pouring from holes in the lavascape. I arrived on a flat stretch of concrete that paralleled the sea with the smell of salt and feeling of humidity in the air. The road came to an abrupt stop before crashing into a hardened lava flow from one of Kilauea's rifts. Dead-end!
The warm, moist air formed a noticeable impetus to the build-up of puffy white clouds to the east and over the ocean. On the other side of the dead-end a huge plume of smoke billowed into the air. This smoky beacon marked the point of entry into the sea for an ongoing flow of molten lava. When the lava hit the water, a gaseous release of hydrochloric acid and silica (glass) particles was released to the heavens. Although pretty to watch, it would be noxious, or more appropriately, deadly to breathe.
The temperature was noticeably warmer, but the truth didn't fully hit until mid-way through the ascent. Before starting the climb back up, I received a puncture in one of my tires and deemed it a necessary sacrifice to Pele. Finished repairing the flat and concluding the sacrificial ceremonies, I began the journey back to Devastation Parking Lot, 4,000 feet above and 22 miles away.
As I started the ascent, the heat made itself apparent. The sun came out from behind the clouds and roared down at me while the wind-turned-to-breeze-turned-to-still-air made the humidity hang on me like a cloud as I passed through a barren lava field. My skin proceeded to cover itself with perspiration and water dripped from various areas to the ground below. I continued on past vents of rotten eggs and was hit head on by high winds in other spots. All in all, the ascent took about twice as long as the descent, which allowed twice as much time to take in the sights--barren lava fields, venting craters, charred fields, and finally the forests.
I returned to the noticeably cooler (more appropriately, I should say not as hot) Devastation Parking Lot where I stowed away my bike and put on my running shoes. I took off down a trail that wound its way, in succession, through a forest, over lava rocks, and then across barren fields. I passed by several craters while running on a surface that felt like crunchy sand. Observatory detecting wires were strewn along the ground in various places to monitor seismic activity. The surreal and serene landscape was peaceful and quiet. As I ran across the ground and passed the detecting sensors, I laughed to myself after wondering if some guy back at the research station was picking up the vibrations from my run. The ranger did say they were very hypersensitive!
Then again, I would hardly be mistaken for Pele. Pele--creator and destroyer. She created some beautiful islands and her entrenched presence in Kilauea makes them all the more beautiful. I enjoyed every minute of my play in Pele's playground those few days!