Kīlauea Update, June 26, 2018, Tuesday, Māluhiluhi

mā.luhi.luhi
vs. Tired, weary; worn out; tiresome, wearisome, fatiguing. hoʻo.mā.luhi.luhi To cause fatigue, exhaust, tire; tiresome, exhausting, toilsome. ʻAʻohe waiwai o ka hele ʻana, he hoʻomāluhiluhi, there's no use going, it wears one out.


Morning...
Last night I heard nothing, felt nothing, recall no dreams, just slept.  Kuʻuhoa HK reminded me this morning of the noe uahi-immersed luhi, the weary tiredness, brought on by vog blanketing Kona nei.  And yes, that weariness is felt here in the uplands of Kīlauea nei too, with a disquieting edge, itʻs true.  Not only me, but Iʻd guess most in the region surrounding Kaluapele are weary.  The many hours of near-constant shaking take a toll.  The waiting for ʻōniu pele takes a toll.  The wondering, when we take time to wonder, takes a toll.  We are thankful and grateful for our crispclean air and lehu-cleansing rains.  We are thankful for our sturdy homes and their sheltering roofs.  We are most grateful for the kind and compassionate support of friends and family.  I wonʻt belabor the point, but if you arenʻt here, or down in Keahialaka or Kapoho, or elsewhere on Hawaiʻi Nei affected by the works of Pelehonuamea, you canʻt understand.

So Iʻll take a break for a few days.  Iʻll be reading, making notes, keeping track, but shall be mostly unplugged, there in the land of Kīpuʻupuʻu.

Perhaps you noted, above, my use of ʻōniu pele?  A friend on Oʻahu and I chatted last night.  We talked about sound and sounds.  About how observing and listening are integral in informing perceptions.  When I woke this morning, consciousness arrived, and in that time when eyes are still closed, when I seem to think best, I thought about sound.  And the sound of words.  We know that words have power.  And I think that the ways in which words are spoken have power too.

Those "explosions" and "exploquakes", and all that floaty queasiness experienced during those events (you gotta be here), require new phrases, because those movements have not, in our lifetimes been felt or recognized.  So I talked with Mrs Kanahele.  I explained, as best I could, the sensations felt when Pele clears her throat during those events.  And we agreed that ʻōniu is a good word to use.  Many understand it, and when defined as a figure-eighting of ones hips, most get it.  

So because theyʻre a kind of earthquake, I started calling them ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu.  I liked the symmetry and appearance of the written words, and they were descriptive, after a fashion.  Then.  Then this morning I thought that the ending, as in reality, should have a soft closing.  After the disorganized initial shaking and noise, the event finishes with an almost-levitating floaty queasy wobbling.  Soft.  Like when you whisper "pele".  So for now Iʻll call them ʻōniu pele. The ʻŌ...Exclaims!, then pele finishes softly.  I like that.  Perhaps you do too?

Here, then a couple of pictures from the HVO KEcam, illustrating, I think, the continuing work of Pele.

MALUNA (Above):  340p yesterday.  MALALO (Below):  740a today

Might be just me, but is the sag saggier?  Are the dark lines of broken rock more pronounced?  Or are they just rainsteamwet on the bottom image?  

An exercise for you:  Look up "sag" in the Hawaiian Dictionary.  Get plenny words for "sag" in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi.  Look up each of them and try figure out the one that best fits what weʻre observing.

Below, a panorama from HVO Photos & Video, yesterday, geologists in the field at the Keanakākoʻi Overlook, view west toward Halemaʻumaʻu and Mauna Loa.  Might be best to look at the original so you can zoom for excellent detail.  This is where eb and I walked several times a week for five years.  We dearly miss it and hope to return.  Someday.

NOTE: on the horizon, directly above the orange-shirted figure, that little bluff is Akanikōlea (cry of the plover).  That is where Kamapuaʻa stood and taunted Pele.

And at Keahialaka...oia mau nō:

And on the HVO site is a video of "Lava boats".  I thought to look up "waʻa":

waʻa
n.
1. Canoe, rough-hewn canoe, canoemen, paddlers; a chant in praise of a chief's canoe. Waʻa kome (Puk. 2.3), basket [RSV], ark [KJV] of bulrushes. hoʻo.waʻa To make or shape a canoe. (PPN waka.)
2. Trench, furrow, receptacle. Fig., a woman. (PCP waka-.)

3. Moving masses of liquid lava, so called because of similarity to a moving canoe. Rare.

Try watch video of kahawai pele...does she look like a moving canoe?

OK.  I was JUST going to sign off, and did a last check, and... Oh. My. Goodness!!!

You going get dizzy.  Guarantee!

Drone footage of Kaluapele, June 24, 2018

For those with slow internet, older e-vices, etc., some screen shots.  Couldnʻt figure out how to get rid of the middle arrow thing...

Kīlauea Overlook in foreground.  LOOK at the arc-shaped faultcrack to left of the center arrow!

The drone flies closer.  That dark squiggle is also on the photos at the top of this edition.  The white line to right of center nearer the top is the Halemaʻumaʻu Trail.  VHouse to left, Halemaʻumaʻu to right.

The Sag.  View to the south.  Ka Lua is now 1,300 feet deep. 
One thousand three hundred feet deep.  Used to be 280 feet deep.

Wow.

A hui hou (till next time).  As always, with aloha.

be outside...listen...pay attention

BobbyC

Kīlauea Update, Monday, June 25, 2018, of Rainbows and Rockfalls

Itʻs a misty rainy morning here, the dripping falling waters recharging our aquifers and topping off my pahu wai (water tank), even as the ground and my hale trembles... weʻll get to that shortly.  

At Keahialaka, unabated is the tireless work of Pelehonuamea.  Māwae ʻEwalu, kahawai pele (lava river), ocean entry, plumes of noe uahi...all are active...

 

And again we acknowledge the peoples whose lives have been turned upside down by the varied and sundry works of Pele.  We do the best we can to cope, handle, and live, and importantly, kōkua how and when we can.  No act of kindness and compassion is too small.  They all matter.

Ahhhh...Deeep breath...exhale slooowly...

kaluapele

convulsing shakes collapsing

lua hou forming

Weʻve read books and articles, seen pictures, and thought we empathized with those of the past who experienced what weʻre experiencing now.  Of course there are degrees and interpretations of how "bad" situations are, and yes, theyʻre all dependent on our outlook and perceptions.  Some panic, wail, and tear their hair, others take it in stride, and most, Iʻd wager, are in between.  I vacillate, but try really really hard to be calm and optimistic.  I can hear friends:  Bobby?  Calm??? Harumph!  But these days, gotta try even harder to remain calm, lest we lose it completely.  Like I nearly did the first Saturday in May when we had 18 felt ʻōlaʻi in the 4 hours between 4p and 8p.  They were really shallow, very brief, but instantly violent, loud, and terrifying.  Not so much the first few, but as they went on and on and on, more and more scared I got.  Made a call to someone who knows about these things, and they explained what was going on.

All those ʻōlaʻi surrounding "Volcano" above on May 5, were the result of mostly-buried caldera-bounding faults adjusting to the subsidence of the summit region as magma withdrew from under Halemaʻumaʻu.  Once I understood and was reassured, I coped a bit better.  Jaw still clenched, heart rate accelerated, but it became a little more bearable.

And.  Now.  Subsidence, sinking, collapse of the floor of Kaluapele continues.  Constantly, incrementally.  Summit tilt on the Deformation chart on the HVO page looks like the slope of hōlua, the DOWN hill sledding course.  Unnerving.  But its constant slope is reassuring too.  As long as the slide is steady, at least in my mind, I feel OK.  Sink here, sink there, a little bit at a time, new kaulu (ledges) there and here, all part of Her process.  I can handle.  For now.

Yesterday afternoon, at 408p, literally, as I was typing a note to a friend, had a biggish ʻōlaʻi.  Turned out to be a M3.9.  Noisy shaky back and forth.  Heart rate up there.  I thought (silly me) that that was the ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu (exploquake) for the day.  Those happen when gas pressure builds in Her throat because of a rubble plug.  Eventually Pele clears her conduit in a paroxysm of vibration and release of gas and rock dust.  Those are the M5.3 or so "Explosions" "No tsunami generated" things.  I wanted, really really wanted it to be the ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu, but like the not-whole-pig in the imu, I kinda ignored the lack of ʻōniu amidst the racket.

Above, note that quakes seem to be centered on the north and east sides of Kaluapele.

Then at 412p, came the ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu, the "different" as if youʻre on a boat, almost levitating, figure-eighting of the hips motion.  Double the excitement, arriving as it did four minutes after the 3.9.  Try an ʻōniu:  stand straight, good posture, finger tips on shoulders, knees bent, then move your hips, as best you can, in a figure eight.  Shoulders and upper body should remain still (fingers on shoulders help achieve that), whilst hips rotate.  Thatʻs kinda what an ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu feels like.  At least to those of us fortunate enough to feel them.  And yes, "fortunate" IS the correct word.  Whatever we can feel and see of the phemomena of Pele helps us understand her work.  Subtleties matter.  Texture, sound, color, aroma, feel...all of it matters.  Just gotta pay attention.  

Like to the texture and color of the floor of Kaluapele.  This, from the KEcam.  Look closely in the middle.  See that "small" broken dark area to the right of the arcs of steam?  Look to the right (ignore the reflection).  See that Big Sag?  Iʻll hazard a guess, partially based on the pattern of earthquakes shown above.  If tilt continues to decline, if subsidence and accompanying ʻōlaʻi will continue, maybe the rim of Halemaʻumaʻu will reach that dark pali iki (small pali).  Itʻs a guess.  Not a prediction.  And of course, We Shall See.  Who woulda thought?  

And closing with the Pretty Picture of the Day (thanks jm):

Again, a reminder...Iʻll be away from WED to FRI.  You folks should have tools to explore and wonder.  Till tomorrow morning...

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

Kīlauea Update, Sunday, June 24, 2018, Subside, Shake, repeat

Trying to figure out what to write today...

The weather up here is nice - scattered clouds, gentle trades, coolish, as it usually is during morning.

At Keahialaka, puaʻi pele (lava fountain) is active at Māwae ʻEwalu (Fissure 8), river continues to flow into the ocean, noe uahi rises voluminously, like that...

From Hawaiʻi County Civil Defense yesterday at 430p:  637 homes gone, 6,144 acres covered by pele.  Numbers continue to increase.

And up here...  Shake Subside or maybe more accurately Subside Shake, repeat...  The continued withdrawal of magma from beneath Kaluapele (the summit caldera), as evidenced by the still-declining tilt chart,

is manifested by our cycles of steady ground for 10 hours or so, then an increasing number of smallish ʻōlaʻi for 10 hours or so, then the ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu (exploquake) during the collapse explosion at Halemaʻumaʻu.

The smallish earthquakes are queasy-making high M2ʻs, and clearly felt but short, low M3ʻs.  Too many to count.  For real.  Too many.  The Subside Shake pretty much happens concurrently, though yes, the Subside causes the Shake.  And please note, Oh Reader, that the exploquakes are not Subside Shake related, but rather are the vibratory effects of steamgas as they are emitted from The Conduit.  Those vibratory effects are VERY clearly announced as M5.3 "Equivalent Earthquake Magnitude" events.  Iʻll try find out why theyʻre M5.3.  Maybe thatʻs the vibratory range of Peleʻs voice.  Or something.  And something odd:  The last two ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu, Friday at 652p and Saturday at 434p felt very close to an actual M5.3, rather than the squishy smaller-feeling-than-stated EEM.  Wonder why?

Nevertheless, the shaking can be alarming.  Note that the entire summit is subsiding, thus we see the scattered dots.  And please, Dear Reader, note too, that unless you are at or near the summit region of Kīlauea, You Have No Idea...

Above, are earthquakes for the last month, magnitude 3.0 and higher.  Those are in the feel-able range.  Especially if theyʻre shallow and youʻre close.  Below are those of the last day, of all magnitudes.

And yes, I am very grateful, because Her schedule at the moment allows for several hours of restful slumber every night in the subdivision just to the right of "Volcano" above.  I pray that continues to be so.

Rockfalls in Halemaʻumaʻu stir the pot, and rockdust rises into the sky.  There is apparently very little ash, if any, being emitted these days.  The ascending clouds, after an ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu, are mostly brownish rockdust, then turn whitish with vapor.

From yesterday, A Sequence.  The first is pre-ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu (M5.2 exploquake at 434p), note the ash storm at the right.  Tradewinds (moaʻe) blow left-to-right at 320p:

Then at nearly 435p the brownish reddish rock dust rises:

Steam more noticeable at lower left at 438p:

Then at 440p, the cloud is whiter:

And here, is what I think is a VERY cool thing.  If you go look at the Live Stream cam at

Live Stream Kīlauea Volcano USGS

and can manage to hover your mouse cursor just above the red line, you can re-wind and re-play 4 hours of the view by moving back and forth.  

And the good folks at USGS HVO have installed different cameras for our viewing pleasure.  URL address:

HVO Webcams

I regularly use and share with you folks [KIcam], and now the [KEcam], as well as the [PGcam], seventh down on the East Rift Zone list.

Below is from the [KEcam]...Kīlauea East cam.  Note that it faces east, the rising place of the sunmoon, and that there are reflections on the glass of the tower at HVO.  And also, FYI, because Kaluapele is not lit with floodlights at night, the scene will be dark then.  Except for when ka pā kōnane a ka mahina (the moonlight shines brightly).  [How I miss dancing "Kuʻuhoa"...].

Above, please note the VERY substantial sag, center of image, on the left edge of Halemaʻumaʻu.  That sag is partially encircled by steaming cracks, circumferential to Halemaʻumaʻu.  Not particularly reassuring, especially if magma continues to be withdrawn, tilt continues to decline, and subsidence continues... The little bump on the horizon, right of center, is Maunaulu, built by Pele from 1969 to 1974.

OK?  Good?  

And, if you are or become a fan of the USGS Live Stream, sometimes get koaʻe (tropicbirds) flying, puahiohio (whirlwinds), and rainbows in the steamdust...try look good, lower left.

I going eat and go walk!

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC
maniniowali@gmail.com

Kīlauea Update, Saturday, June 23, 2018, Rocking and Rolling yesterday, and...

Eō Pelehonuamea!

Starting at 5 yesterday morning, and continuing till 7p, shakeshakeshake.  And seems that a similar sequence is happening today.  Kinda tiring.  But Iʻll be headed to Hilo for the closing of Ka ʻAha Hula ʻO Hālauaola, and pray that the ground there will be stable.

Observation:

Kaluapele (Kīlauea Caldera) is in settling mode.  The whole thing.  And areas adjacent, like the communities up here in Volcano...we all shake to varying degrees.  Think plopping down on waterbed (they still make those?) and waiting for the waves to subside.  Takes awhile.  And itʻs taking awhile for Pele (and us) to become accustomed to her new home and surroundings as her remodeling project continues.  Whew.

I look at the HVO Seismic page to try to make sense of all the various ʻōlaʻi, and too, for reassurance that all will, in fact, be fine.

HVO ʻŌlaʻi (earthquakes)

Yesterday was one of busyness.  It seemed that the entire floor of Kaluapele was groaning, reverberating, settling...it went on and on and on.   That "pattern" of ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu (exploquakes) some had come to recognize, seemed to be off schedule.  And we waited and  waited and waited.  And kept looking at the red dots, scattershot on the floor of Her house.  And, finally, at 652p, ka rattle nui!  Was biggish.  And a "real" ʻōlaʻi, it seemed.  Not the relief of soft squishy ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu, but a good shake.  It took awhile for the info to be posted.  This from this morning.  The ohhhhh....OK.  An actual 5.3 earthquake.  No wonder was big and shaky.  And please note, for The Record, again, that orange dots are for the last two days, and red, the last two hours. Screen Shot below at 625a today.  Try imagine...

And this one from 745a today...and they continue. 3.5, 3.5, 3.7, 3.what-la...

And weʻre enjoying the cool drizzles and mists in the forest.  A relief after the heat of the last few days.

And at Keahialaka, she still going...black and white, or living color...you choose...bright white areas to right of Māwae ʻĒwalu in b/w pic is sun shining on mostly leafless forest.

and the river to and into the Pacific continues unabated.

I wonder...should I throw this out there???  Someone asked about names and naming, and I kinda went off.  Too much coffee, tired, general crankiness...

QUESTION from reader:

I was wondering if you could share with us how places and features get their names.  I've seen recently that Paradise Helicopters is floating the idea of fissure 8 being named Pu'u 'Ai La'au in reference to 'Ai La'au the forest eater driven out by Pele.  It got me wondering how did Pu'u O'o get its name, and whether or not calling fissure 8 was culturally relevant or
even appropriate.

ANSWER from Bob:

Great questions.

Itʻs like naming a child.  Names are given based on characteristics of the feature or its surroundings.  Naming anything while the eruption is active is not a good idea, because we donʻt know what itʻll be like when the activity there ends.  I know that these days many like naming babies, having parties, etc., before the kid is even born.  How can you name something you havenʻt met?  Unless, of course you dream the name.

ʻAilāʻau was the "forest eater" and fled when Pele and her clan arrived.  On the island of Hawaiʻi, Pele mā first stopped at Keahialaka and one of her sisters, Laka, stayed there.  There are many many chants describing their activities in the region.  Iʻm not aware of any
traditions about the activities of ʻAilāʻau down there, or anywhere.

"Fissure 8" is a practical name.  If folks need a Hawaiian name, "Māwae ʻEwalu" is the same thing.  Building houses, roads, etc., on the rift wasnʻt particularly culturally relevant or appropriate.  Mining and destroying Puʻu Laimana wasnʻt culturally appropriate either.

People need to give it a rest, be patient, and wait to see what happens.

Puʻuʻōʻō:  Eruption started in the letter "o" of "Lava Flow..." on the topo map.  It became the "O vent".  Someone said we need a Hawaiian name.  I said Puʻu Ō (to continue or endure).  Later, some got upset and said that the kūpuna of Kalapana should name it.  They decided on Puʻuʻōʻō.

Whatʻs inappropriate too is not using or acknowledging the names Keahialaka (site of Leilani Estates), Waiapele (a.k.a. Kapoho Crater, Green Lake, Green Mountain), Mālama (where MacKenzie SRA is), Kaluapele (Kīlauea Caldera...a scientific descriptor), etc...and, not reading and trying to understand the histories of these places found in the chants.  Itʻs as though folks think that "Pele and Hiʻiaka", compiled by Emerson, is a made up fairy tale.  In fact, itʻs a collection of histories transmitted orally, then written down, describing volcanic phenomena hundreds of years ago.  An amazing work, naming names, and places, and describing in quite some detail, events.  And itʻs happening again today!  History repeating itself.

Go read and be amazed.

OK.  I think I had a little too much coffee...

Bobby

BobbyC here again...a source at Paradise Helicopters said that the idea "they" wanted to name it isnʻt true...

And in case some of you missed the Don Swanson paper posted awhile ago on the "Pele and Hiʻiaka" topic, here it is again:

Swanson Kīlauea Myths

Thatʻs it for Saturday morning.  Iʻll be taking off several days next week, but will be here tomorrow.  Iʻll be taking deep breaths, eating good foods, and generally trying to relax and keep it together.

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

Kīlauea Update, Friday, June 22, 2018, Terminological Variances

First, Mahalo piha to the many of you who responded to my tender-hearted post yesterday.  Iʻm gratified by your reminiscences and positive comments.  These are all processes...    

wake up call at five

more structural adjustments

her bed sinking still

And so it continues...life for those of us here at the summit region of Kīlauea includes daily doses of ʻōlaʻi of various sorts.  Today it seems that the floor of Kaluapele is resettling itself. Itʻs one thing to look at the pretty red dots (ʻōlaʻi the last 2 hours) on an image, and quite another to feel each of the bigger ones.  Lots in the M3+ish (the "M" is Magnitude) range this morning, depicted as the slightly bigger dots, while mists and light rains give way to morning sun...

And at Kumukahi, perhaps the same phenomena...structural adjustments.  When fresh pele, nearly 400 heavy acres of it, is loaded onto a small area, what going happen?  Maybe a little adjustment at Kumukahi, the east tip of Hawaiʻi nei.  And to re-state:  Iʻm not a seismologist, just an observer, so perhaps there are other explanations to the ʻōlaʻi today.  If so, Iʻll let you know.

And yes, Māwae ʻEwalu (Fissure 8) remains active with 150+ foot fountains, and her river continues to flow into the ocean Pacific.

And Deformation:

We havenʻt shared this in awhile.  The Summit tiltmeter at Uēkahuna continues its unabated downward trend, 

but the East Rift Zone seems to have flattened?

These are simply observations...

And the unabated downward trend of Summit Deflation is demonstrated by the disappearance of the Halemaʻumaʻu Parking Lot into the Lua.  The "Road to Nowhere" is the HVO caption, but itʻs the Road to the Lua...with the gentle slope of Mauna Loa in the hazylehu distance, Kaʻū Desert to the left.  [Note shaking of head].

Onward to those aforementioned Terminological Variances:

Yesterdays Post was titled

Ka māuikiʻikiʻi o ke kauwela.  The Summer Solstice.  

Something like "Māui (the demigod) seizing or stopping (the sun) at (or of) summer".  The thing he did to help his mom Hina out when her kapa wouldnʻt dry. 

And after, when I gratefully received captioned photos of the Solstice sunrise from a friend taken at his ʻāina aloha, I noted with interest HIS caption:

Ke Ao Polohiwa a Kāne, VERY roughly and unpoetically translated as "the dawn light when Kāne is at the Tropic of Cancer".

Obviously my Hawaiian is very rudimentary, but I enjoy playing with the Dictionary to see what turns up.  And of course thereʻs our friend Google, which this morning gave us

Hawaiian Astronomical Concepts

See especially #6 on page number 375.  And because I was on Raiatea in 1985, I enjoy images conjured by the second to the last paragraph.

Onward further:

When I was small, had the 1960 tsunami in Hilo.  It destroyed, among many many other buildings and lives, Motoʻs Inn.  Was on the ma uka side of Kamehameha Avenue.  I think a 1950ʻs modern building with a tall, cut and fitted pāhoehoe wall at the entrance, the architectural fashion of the time, and big outward-slanting plateglass windows.  And Ma took us there sometimes after my physical therapy at Easter Seals on Kaʻiulani Street (I had had polio in May 1955), and I always had the Motoʻs Inn tomato soup, which, as I recall, tasted like hot V8.  And then sometimes we had the burger basket at the lunch counter in the back of Kress.  In the red plastic lattice basket.   And sometimes the coldflaky creamhorns coated with powered sugar at Robertʻs Bakery.  [Get to the point, Bob...]  

So.  After the tsunami, the County made the (I think) Kaikoʻo Redevelopment Agency.  It was decided NOT to rebuild along Kamehameha Avenue (giving us the big parks at Bayfront), and to make kind of a plateau above the ma uka-most reach of the waves, ma uka of the Waiolama Canal.  There, was built the County Building (also featuring cut and fitted pāhoehoe [but The Best is at the Pāhoa Post Office.  Go look.]), and across the street, the Kaikoʻo Mall.

But "kai koʻo" is "rough, strong sea".  "Tsunami" might be Kai eʻe, or Kai a Pele (!), or Kahinaliʻi, or...  And of course I wasnʻt in the meetings when they decided the name, so who knows why???

And then, also in Hilo, get Ka Waena Lapaau.  The Medical Center.  Ummm...go look in the dictionary, especially for "waena":

Hawaiian Dictionary

All of which goes to show and demonstrate that there are many ways of interpreting phenomena, words, thoughts, etc.  As long as thereʻs rationale and thinking involved, Iʻve come to appreciate differences.  Different strokes for different folks, befitting rich language traditions of different families and regions.  As someone told me not that long ago:  Bobby, you no need be right all the time...

And my head is full and my house is shaking every 30 seconds, and I gotta go eat and go Hilo again...

Go.  Read.  Browse.  Learn.

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Kīlauea Update, Thursday, June 21, 2018, Ka māuikiʻikiʻi o ke kauwela

Ka māuikiʻikiʻi o ke kauwela.  The Summer Solstice.  

Iʻd often go beach, or go walk, or be outside and pay attention someplace unpeopled, as is often my wont.  This sunrise, Iʻll be glancing outside, then going Hilo.

But yesterday, yesterday...

A field trip to a nearby ranch to visit, observe, learn, and share with the kahu of the lands, a hardworking couple who are deeply appreciated for their works.  We went to a place Iʻd never been.  Some friends, especially malihini from the continent, sometimes ask:  Donʻt you ever get bored, living on that little rock in the ocean?  I pricklebristle and then reply, How can I get bored?  There are SOOO many places I havenʻt been yet.  And of course, "Place", in my mind, isnʻt The State, The Island, The District, The Ahupuaʻa, The Town... Itʻs the bay, the cove, the puʻu, the stream, the pond, the small portion of lava flow, the kīpuka, the tree... Itʻs the little things that matter.  The unexpected, the surprising.  The Oh!!!  Look at this!  Or wooowww... catch the scent of ʻaiea wafting oʻer the lavalands...(nānā, hk).

And yesterday, the unexpected and surprising thing was my reaction to a simple, but deeply felt and firmly believed quiet statement from the kahu:

I am honored to be chosen to be here...

And of course they werenʻt talking about the field trip.  They were talking about place and livelihood and kuleana
[a wakeup shake!!!]
and most importantly, that often unspoken aloha ʻāina for their ʻāina aloha.

And, going with the flow, I started sharing about my feelings about the topic, and out of nowhere I got choked up.  Pause.  Breathe.  Wait.  Look at ground.  Try talk.  Look at ground some more while breathing deeply.  Sip water.  Breathe.  Hemo glasses.  Wipe eyes.

The images of ʻāina aloha lost were flashing through my mind, all the way back to 1987, when, giving an orientation talk onstage in the Kīlauea Visitor Center, I nearly lost it when talking about the pond at Punaluʻu, or Queenʻs Bath as we called it then.

I was honored to be there, and watched and filmed as it was being filled with pele.  Everyone else left shortly after the photo below was taken by Jim Griggs of HVO, March 31, 1987.  Third from left in yellow shirt, video camera on shoulder, I stayed all night, mostly alone, though f/z checked in occasionally.

And by morning, Pele had had enough to drink, the loko (pond) emptied of water and filled with pele.  Sound familiar?

On stage, a few weeks later, I was taken by surprise, as I was yesterday, by the raw emotion of...all of it...

Beloved and cherished places gone, buried, save for memories, replaced by the beautiful intricacies of the handiwork of Pelehonuamea.  While in the midst of An Event, we kick kick kick, treading water to stay afloat, then when The Crisis passes, we tentatively breathe, assess, and try to move on.  That moving on involves grieving for loss.  And itʻs not like we say, OK, itʻs 1030 on Tuesday, time to grieve.  Itʻs a process, of course...  

And yesterday, at the ranch, I began my grieving process.

Our wake-up call, as noted above:

This Summer Solstice morning, Pelehonuamea continues to work.  ʻŌlaʻi are frequent, lehu emissions thin, Māwae ʻEwalu fountains, and the newshore steams.

My main thing, the last five years, was walking, several times a week, from the Devastation Trail Parking Lot, on the closed-to-traffic portion of Crater Rim Drive, to Keanakākoʻi.  Most of the time with eb, but once in awhile Iʻd holosolo.  After one of those once-in-awhiles, I wrote something.  And Iʻll simply leave you with this...with the hope of returning...some day...

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

Kīlauea Update, Wednesday, June 20, 2018, Shaken, not stirred

And here we be...noe uahi enshrouded stillness, ikiiki icky humid, but still I write.

I mentioned complacency yesterday, then became umcomplacent over the course of the day.  Weʻve shared about the rolling, swiveling motions of the exploquakes, which, if youʻve not felt them, are likely unfathomable.  And weʻve shared about the sharp jolts and jabs of "real" ʻōlaʻi.  And we became complacent and used to the almost-friendly nature of Her ʻami ʻōniu, that figure-eighting of the hips of exploquakes.

Then.  Yesterday in a parking lot in hothothot Hilo, the car swayed.  Oh oh.  Was the M4.6 'ōlaʻi at 224p.  The bigger orange dot just ma kai of the white smudge of Puʻuʻōʻō:

Then, minding my own business, watching something-or-other on TV last night, we were smacked by a very shallow jolt, a M3.8, two-tenths of a mile deep, at 940p.  Itʻs buried somewhere in the mass of red and orange above, the display of the ʻōlaʻi for the past day.  I thought, PTSDing, of the 18 like that we felt in 4 hours the first weekend of May.  Stomach-churning.  Thankfully, yesterday, there was "just" that one.

I much prefer it when Sheʻs kind and gentle.  Less scary.  And yes, we donʻt get to choose.

[Sunshadows on wall are orange this morning.  I know that you folks in the Kona districts, and South Kohala too, are used to, perhaps, the descent of the orangeorb at the end of the day.  I donʻt enjoy the implications.  Noe uahi.  VOG. Cough, headache, eye irritations, lung issues, lethargy, ennui.]

And the hard, hardworking staff at HVO continue their good works.  Below, two aerial images posted to their website of a helicopter overflight Monday, June 18.  All those ʻōlaʻi, all those ʻami ʻōniu?  This is what we get.  Halemaʻumaʻu used to be (six weeks ago!) a flt-bottomed circularish pit, a half-mile across, and 280 feet deep.  From HVO:

The crater is now 1 x 1.3 km or 0.6 to 0.8 mi in dimension... The depth on June 15 was 370 m (1,210 ft). [bc:  YIKES!]

Note, especially, that detached chunk of the wall of Kaluapele on the far right of the Pit.  Poised to tumble.  Breathtaking.

The road is Crater Rim Drive.  The road to the left and the parking lot near the bottom are the Kīlauea Overlook and Picnic Shelter.  Kinda in the middle right are the buildings of USGS Hawaiian Volcano Observatory, and NPS Jaggar Museum.  Precarious.

Below, the impressive sag near the North Pit GPS (Global Positioning System) Station.  Itʻs subsided 200 feet in the past week.

All told, the volume lost so far at the summit, so far, since this began six weeks ago...[drum roll, please...] 

270 million cubic meters (.06 cubic mile).  The sagging results from the withdrawal of LOTS of magma from beneath the summit, much of it apparently headed down the East Rift Zone, perhaps eventually to feed Pelehonuameaʻs appetites in Keahialaka.  Geologists are busy analyzing samples gathered from active vents, trying to determine what lava is coming from where.

At Keahialaka in Puna ma kai, below, a straightup plume this morning indicates no wind...

Yesterday in Hilo.  That hothothot place.  The lovely blue of sky and the sapphire of ocean.  Clear.  Sparkling.  WHITE clouds.  And in the distance, maybe 15 miles away, sat a line of extraordinarily decorative cumulus.  Those puffball clouds, but these with intricate tops reminiscent of cauliflower in their contortedness. 

They are the pyro-cumulus.  Pyro = fire.  Heat rising off the river of pele, the māhu (steam) at the ocean entry, hot air cooling as it rises, and moisture and pelevapors all combine and conspire to produce those unique ao ʻōpua (cloud banks or billows).

The districts of Kona are honored by a favorite tune, "Kona Kai ʻŌpua".  Do you know it?  Especially pre-vog, but even these days, look for, on a clear morning before the sky gets too busy, those lines of flat-bottomed puffy clouds out by the horizon:  ʻŌpua.

Good?  Hope so.  Headed out shortly for a field trip.

More tomorrow.  

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC
questions to:  maniniowali@gmail.com