A Long-Awaited Date with a Volcano

The Childhood Dream

When I was 9, my family and I visited Hawaii for the first time. On the very last day, we hiked two miles across a lava field to see a caldera filled with molten lava, only to have the wind shift and be told we had to turn around and walk swiftly back to the tour bus. I had my foot on the bottom of about 5 steps to the viewing platform – I still say I could’ve held my breath and run. Across what I now realize was a very thermally active lava field full of fumaroles.

But no. My father tried to explain how sulfur dioxide and water in my lungs would turn to sulfuric acid while I argued that the oxygen we breathed and SO2 did not make sulfuric acid in our lungs. I suppose I forgot that our bodies are largely made of water. What did I know at age nine? More importantly, I did not care. I was on swim team. I could run and hold my breath long enough to swim several lengths of the pool underwater. I noticed that a park ranger, who someone had referred to as a “volcanologist,” donned a gas mask and did not have to leave. I decided then and there that I wanted his job!

My dad promised me a return trip later – but the next time we went, we were told that “tourists aren’t allowed there,” when my dad asked for directions. They swore no one had EVER gone there, then asked what year it was. Shortly after we were there, an eruption occurred in that very spot, and destroyed the platform. That was part of the 1969-1974 Maunaulu Eruption.

I love geology, but after a few decades I realized that maybe I loved it in a more poetic and artistic way – and that my desire to be a volcanologist might have been largely due to a stubborn streak and being a budding control freak. (Surprise, surprise!)

If you ever watched the documentary The Fire Within: A Requiem for Katia and Maurice Krafft, you may understand. As a teen, I watched documentaries (much of the same footage used in “The Fire Within”) on them and on Haroun Tazieff. I wanted to don a flame-retardant suit and walk the rim of an erupting volcano, though my musical choice would’ve been Tschaikovsky, not Mozart.

Maybe I’m Afraid

Mt. St. Helens taught me that I was, in fact, a coward. Lava fountains at night? YES, please! Whole mountains exploding in my face? No. I learned, then, that perhaps I was not quite crazy enough to climb to the rim of Nyiragongo. Still… I wouldn’t mind braving a few sulfur fumes to see the blue flames of Kawa Ijen.

The only time I’ve ever gushed like a total fangirl was over a photographer in Iceland, Chris Lund, who graciously gave me one of his eruption photos to use as my screensaver, years ago.

SO Close, Yet Still Not Quite…

Four years ago, my husband and I were planning a trip to Gran Canaria (to a city called “Las Palmas”). My dad called a day before we were to leave and asked if “the eruption on Las Palmas would interfere with our trip.” You have no idea how excited I got at that, though I hasten to add that “volcanic eruption” is not high on my husband’s list of ways he’d choose to die. Of course, it was the island of La Palma – about as far from the city of “Las Palmas” as you can get and still be in the Canary Islands. But my husband got me close – we went to Tenerife and drove to the top of Mt. Teide, where we had a view of the smoke plume pumping gas and ash up into the sky from the eruption of La Palma. To be in a place where the 24/7 news was lava, lava, and more lava – not politics, genocide, corruption, crime, or war – was strangely soothing. I feel bad to this day for the homes and banana crops lost, and relief that no one died – thanks to early warnings from scientists studying the volcano.

On other trips, we have walked across long dormant lava fields and gazed at the stars the top of Haleakala (where I cried to realize “they’re all still there!” – driving home the point that we live with way too much light pollution on a daily basis). I told my husband in 2018 that if Kilauea erupted, we might go bankrupt – because I would wipe out our savings hiring a helicopter to take me over to the Big Island – as if the news channels and all the other crazies wouldn’t have beat me to it!

My Husband, Santa Claus

When my husband asked me, at Christmas, if I wanted to chance a spur-of-the-moment trip to Hawaii – with no guarantees we’d be there for the next eruption, but he had been looking at all the data and felt pretty confident in the timing – I got as excited as a little kid looking at a hundred brightly wrapped packages under the tree!

The man has perfect timing.

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This is the start of the trail we walked in 1972. It is open again. We did not hike it; it’s marked by cairns, but no clear signage or path.

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Our first glimpse of what Hawaii Volcanos Observatory was calling “precursory overflow.” Nope – not an eruption, yet. Pretty spectacular, though.

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A lava dome spilling over to flood Halema’uma’u with lava. This will be over 7.1 million cubic yards of lava before episode 40 concludes in a few days. Still not an eruption – yet.

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NOW we have an eruption! Fountaining reached over 800 feet. Isn’t it beautiful? We were still about a mile away. Completely safe!

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Someone noticed how the light had changed, and how their hands appeared to glow. It was similar to a partial eclipse of the sun, as the volcanic ash and gasses passed high overhead – too far to even smell them, let alone be in any danger.

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And just like that, 9.5 hours later, it was over. But you might catch episode 40 – they’re predicting January 20-25.