Itʻs a bit of a challenge, trying to figure out how to proceed. When we were in the throes of The Three Months (TTM), it seemed easy. Wake up, coffee up, up stairs, power up, and typewrite. Repeat Daily. Now it seems that lives are resuming whatever passes for normality, and priorities have shifted, as has scheduling. Thinking I should make time a time or two a week to say something about whatever rises to the surface. At least thatʻs the current thinking. I procrastinate, and here we are...
So. Iʻve been walking. Almost daily. From the Devastation Trail parking lot to Keanakākoʻi, a crater adjacent to Kaluapele. Actually, Iʻve been visiting a couple different viewing areas across the roadway from KKOI. The route is on portion of Crater Rim Drive that was closed in 2008, because of poor air quality after the start of the Halemaʻumaʻu eruption.
The Way is paved, unpotholed, with just enough elevation loss and gain to increase heart and breathing rates, and quite quietly scenic. Good for those of us with ambulatory issues. Iʻm learning to share, because these days there are any number of folks on the walk. Pre-TTM, it was mostly myself and walking companion eb. And the sounds of winds rustling trees, ʻapapane melodiously calling there, ʻōmaʻo first here then a reply there, and, if early enough, nēnē announcing their passage from desert to Golf Course, the skies, clouds, mists, rains, and what-la.
Because whatever flight restrictions there were over Kaluapele during TTM have been lifted, we also get to be annoyed by the extremely intrusive thwackthwackthwack tuktuktuk or whatever, of helicopters. They can be heard approaching from at least 5 miles away. Lucky us if we happen to be there between tour cycles.
But. The views astound, clouds light and shadow are always at play, and Iʻm pretty sure itʻll take a long while for us to become accustomed to her (new) face. Remember that post about "Ua noho au a kupa"? Go look at August 19...
Just below, from yesterday morning, thanks to mg. And with a note: "Not the old chugging away, constant plume of yore. She makes her own cloud and gently holds it aloft."
What happens these days is that moisture in escaping fumes and vapors cool and condense as they rise, and often simply float lazily over the lua. The clouds produced are fat and fluffy; often round-bottomed. The one pictured leans to the right because we had gentle kona winds. And look carefully: below the middle of the cloud we can see the source of the rising billow...that bit of bluish sulphurous fume rising from the abyss.
Maunaloa in the background. That ridge in the foreground, just beyond the young ʻōhiʻa tree, is a spatter rampart formed in 1974. eb named it ʻEnuhe (caterpillar), because it looked like one, and from the viewpoint we can see another ʻEnuhe, in the distance to the left of the photo, just past Pāhala. The gap just above the tree formed when part of the rampart broke during ʻōlaʻi sometime during TTM.
And the drama of clouds steams vapors in morninglight are always something to behold, these from the KE cam in the tower at HVO:
And down at Pohoiki...the new black sand beach has filled in the bay quite nicely. Greens are returning to the landscape, and it seems that the kumu niu (coconut trees) will survive.
Talk of reopening the boat ramp is sporadic. I still believe that we should be thankful that Pohoiki ma kai was spared, a beach was created (though the sands are still sharp shards of shattered lava), and one day weʻll be able to visit. Go look if you can make a ramp at Honolulu Landing.
Just past the second bay where a wave is just breaking, you can see the three fingers of pele that made their way to the ocean between Pohoiki and Mālama, where MacKenzie park is located.
And of course, in Keahialaka, Fissure 8 is fuming a bit. Itʻll take awhile for magma remaining in the conduits to degas. Note that the fume here, like some at the summit, has that bluish cast, an indicator of sulphur.
No new information on the naming of features created during Pelehonuameaʻs works, so weʻll live with "Fissure 8" for the time being. Note that there are many new landforms that might be named, but, as Iʻve said before, we should observe and get to know them first.
And clouds arenʻt exactly landforms, but able researchers could look for Hawaiian names for pyrocumulonimbus, the source of torrential downpours in Puna ma kai, and our fat puffballs hovering over Kaluapele.
Moving ma uka to the uppermost lands of Hawaiʻi nei, this from friend hf...
Probably the sharpest mountainshadow Iʻve seen, cast by Maunakea at sunset a couple weeks ago.
What looks like a lake below the peak of the shadow is a small patch of cloud. Hilo Bay is in shadow to the right, and Makanaka, the largest puʻu at left.
And back here in the forest, the ʻōpelu is in bloom. Maybe a third of the way through... Weʻve been gifted with 15 spikes this season, not including the little branches at the bases of the main ones. ComeLook. No fragrance, but impressive architecture.
Till next time...as always, with aloha,
BobbyC
maniniowali@gmail.com
Iʻve seen this "lei" before but the how of it is escaping me, as well as the where....
ReplyDeleteI still study the clouds over Puna every day. After becoming accustomed to the great white billows, itʻs strange to see a lack of them. Or when there are clouds, I feel a slight lurch inside as I wonder if we are starting back up again.
I know a number of people who have hiked in to Pohoiki and have even gone to surf there. Brave souls. I remember how novel it was to see a sand beach at Kamoamoa once upon a time, and how sharp the sand was, and the undertow.... Perhaps this latest episode has been the most jarring visually because of Halemaʻumaʻu, but I remember that change comes whether we are ready for it or not and I mahalo that I am here to witness.