Sunday, January 31, 2021 Words matter: Volcano Watch

 The rains, for now, have paused.  Birds are easily heard, hale is quiet.  Sun comes and goes through broken overcast, and all is as it should be.  

The work of Pelehonuamea continues.  Subtle are the changes or differences day-to-day.  Volumes erupted fluctuate, the West Vent seems not as active as it has been, and Iʻll guess that vog on the West side of the Island of Hawaiʻi has diminished.

I remain fascinated by the silvery featheriness emanating at the base of the west vent.  Dusk lighting in the photo below is a bit more feature-revealing...we can see the spreading of fresh pele to the east floor, partially filling the dividing crack.  Too, activity seemed a bit more vigorous last evening.

About the Headline...  the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory folks published their latest Volcano Watch on Saturday.

Volcano Watch: Words matter...

The text follows.  I trust that itʻs legible:

The one that jangles me the most is "smoke".  Noooo....Itʻs not smoke, itʻs fume (or gases) Iʻd often correct people.  And yes, just yesterday I used fiery as a descriptor.  [Why isnʻt it spelled "Firey"?]

I am not, definitely not, fluent in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi; not anywhere close.  But a fan I am.  The language is poetic, sounds pleasant to the ears, and is seemingly infinite in subtleties.  Thatʻs the hard part.  Which word, exactly, does one choose to use?  And is the chosen vocabulary based on Western thinking and values, or on what we think people of old wouldʻve voiced about what they saw/experienced?  Tis a perplexing puzzlement.  

That we canʻt wehewehe.org "lava lake" and have a result, to me, is a clue.

Hawaiian Dictionary

So we think, muse, wonder, talk story, google, papakilo, ulukau, etc., and come up with "Loko ahi".  "Pool or lake, Fire".  And yes, "fire" may not be correct English, but I believe that it fits Hawaiian thinking.  I started with loko pele, Lit., "lava lake", but thought that that lacked poetic insight.  Is the pele hot, cold, molten, solid?

And as Iʻve pointed out, ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi is a much more fluid, dynamic language than English.  One work often means many different things, depending on context.  Context.  Very Important.

Many definitions point to fire or fiery, but then the dictionaries were compiled to allow Hawaiian to be understood by speakers of English.  Consider sources.  

Above, note bolded after and during.  And note too Rare.  When the dictionaries were compiled, some words had fallen out of use.  And friend jk pointed out, what if, above, ʻawa (cold, bitter, drizzling) referred instead to the bitter "taste" or scent of enveloping vog that often collects on the slope of Maunaloa ma uka of Kaluapele, scene of the described battle below?  From "Kamehameha and his warrior Kekūhaupiʻo", p182.  The mist of intoxication...what if.  Metaphor, kaona (hidden meanings) enough to drive one crazy... 

Bitter rain and biting cold fell on both sides, causing obscurity and aiding Keōua’s warriors in their escape from being slaughtered by the forces led by Ka‘iana. The people of Ka‘ū were familiar with their land and the pits and hidden caves, so that they saved themselves by flight from Kamehameha’s fearless men, led by that accomplished ali‘i of Kaua‘i. The people of old, in speaking of this battle, said that Keōua’s side only escaped by being covered by that bitter rain so that they disappeared from the sight of their opponents. The reason, also, for this kind of rain being called ‘awa was, that in a state of intoxication with ‘awa, a similar mist would descend and obscure a man’s mind, and he would topple over. Thus this rain of the mountain became an ‘awa rain.

Lots and lots to consider...to be curious about and wonder.

Then the islands, rafts, and bergs... moku, moku lana, moku lanaau (or lana au)...

So yes, an island is fixed.  But add "lana", and itʻs floating or buoyant.  And for added specificity, lanaau...drifting with the current, as the current in the loko ahi, the lava lake.

Yikes...My head spins.  And then ds asked... So.  Kīpuka.  Could the island islet be a kīpuka?  Can kīpuka move?

kī.puka 

n.

1. Variation or change of form (puka, hole), as a calm place in a high sea, deep place in a shoal, opening in a forest, openings in cloud formations, and especially a clear place or oasis within a lava bed where there may be vegetation.

Yup.  "Kīpuka" refers to a variation or change in form.   The surface of the sea moves, clouds move.  The word is about appearance, rather than state of fixedness.  Many envision kīpuka as oases of vegetation surrounded by lava.  It especially is, but it can also be a patch of ʻaʻā surrounded by pāhoehoe of similar age.

Might it be a kīpuka of misty cloud arranged on the floor of Mokuʻāweoweo?  What you think?

OK then!  Busʻ out the dictionaries, and have fun page flipping...I need a break!

Comments very much appreciated.  No shame!

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Saturday, January 30, 2021. O ka piʻo ana mai, o ke ānuenue...

 Back from the vitual sunny shore of Maniniʻōwali, to the chill wintry rains and breezes of Keaʻau ma uka...  Iʻm always intrigued as to how thoughts pop into my head.  Synapses connect (if weʻre lucky) and off we go.  "O ka piʻo ana mai, o ke ānuenue" is a line in Kōʻula (Manowaiopuna).  The rainbow arches above...

Kōʻula, or Mano[a]waiopuna is a favorite, ʻono song.  I delighted when were were taught the hula by Kumu Nalani.  Her voice and choreography always inspire!  As with many things, there are versions, renditions, and differences of opinion based on tradition.  I hear George Helm singing, and it doesnʻt match the huapala.org lyrics.  So?  Lovely all...

Manowaiopuna: George Helm

Certain lines of certain mele (songs) stick.  Even after decades.  No can help.  And Iʻm grateful that they do, because those times were lovely.  Iʻm hoping that links to mea internet work.  If they donʻt, please let me know...

The weathers up here have brought chill rain and wind, but also a bounty of ānuenue: bright, dim, flashy full arcs, wisps of tantalizing color.  Two consecutive days, same webcam, same time...same obsession with wonderinglooking.

Because of the hazards, and there ARE hazards, Iʻm evergrateful for HVO webcams, and for the photography of HVO Staff.  Their eyes (and camera skills) allow all of us insight into the sublime, awe-inspiring phenomena that are the works of Pelehonuamea, as well as other elementals such as Lono whose kuleana is rain.  Wow.

Please note:  Previous Updates noted positive correlations between effusion rates (volumes of pele erupted), and Inflationary Tilt, and RSAM (Real-time Seismic Amplitude Measurement) activity, or earthquakes.  I had to look up RSAM...

The month-long Tilt graph below, with its hills and valleys, illustrates what have been termed D-I Events (Deflation - Inflation).  

Kinda complicated sounding (or not)... below, a summary of researches, published in 2015.

Because itʻs impossible to LookInside at what Pele is doing, we theorize, model, and try to make sense of what instruments tell us.  Other papers describe mixing of gas-rich and gas-poor magma not far below the surface.  Pele is moving around and breathing.  Sheʻs not content to simply sit there.  Iʻll let you TryImagine.

The three photos following are on the HVO website.

First on January 26, 2021, by MZoeller, through a laser rangefinder...looks very old-timey and hand-tinted.  The erupting West Vent cone, about 130 feet tall is pictured.

The two that follow were both taken on January 28, 2021.

A closeup of the papa, the floor of Halemaʻumaʻu; the surface of the loko ahi, by NDeligne.  The eastern, right-hand half of the lake is darker and slightly cooler and slightly older, and about 13 feet lower than the west side.  The two sides are separated by a big crack seeming to lead to the former almost buried North Vent at the edge.  We can view moku paʻa (firmly fixed islands) and the fresh silvery very hot skin, and the cooler, a bit older darker crust.

 

Below, by MPatrick, a wow....

No wonder we shiver...a blanket of hau (Snow.  Same word as the plant with yellow flowers and good bark fibers) on Maunaloa, and though I canʻt make it out, pele flowing into the loko ahi (Lit., lake fiery, or lava lake).  On the block a (big) step down from the photographer, the slightly diagonal line of what used to be Crater Rim Drive.

We can see that weʻve got awhile to go before if when maybe perhaps loko ahi overflows onto ledges of previous floors.  Donʻt get excited.  

Some Math:  On December 20, 2021, at the time of Hoʻopuka Pele, her appearance, Halemaʻumaʻu was 929 feet deep as measured to its old rim.  As of this morning, the loko ahi is 692 feet deep, with 237 feet to "overflow".  Itʻs gotten 39 feet deeper in the last two weeks, or 2.8 feet per day.  if If IF that rate continues weʻre looking at 84 days to overflow of Halemaʻumaʻu, onto kaulu (ledges) that are previous 

sections of caldera floor.   But... Halemaʻumaʻu widens toward the rim, and who knows what effusion rates (eruptive volume) will be.

Only time will tell.  She going do what she going do...

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Thursday, January 28, 2021: Kanahā Kūmālima: Forty-five...and counting

 We count to mark time, and days, and years, and decades...

Forty-five years ago today (this evening, to be precise), enduring relationships began, there on the sands of Maniniʻōwali on the shore of the bay known as Kua in Kona ʻAkau.

Childhood friend Tōb and I decided to mark Māhealani, a night of the full moon, by backpacking to the beach with a few friends.  Late afternoon, we parked on the shoulder of Queen Kaʻahumanu Highway, not even open a year, and walked the ma uka - ma kai trail to the beach.  Nearing the coast, I heard a dog barking.  Damn...somebody else is there!  Reaching the shore just before sunset, I plopped down on the sand to enjoy the scene.  Not long after, a cheerfully curious young woman wandered over from the north end of the beach.  We ended up chatting for hours.  Maybe warmish beer was involved.  HK and Naiʻa were encamped, with dog Brandy, for the night too...

The aerial below was taken by RHolcomb of HVO on January 12, 1974.  Accretionary ball-laden ʻaʻā to the left (north), and older brownish pāhoehoe on the right (south).  Thereʻs a small old loko iʻa or ʻōpae (a holding pond for fish or bait shrimp) at the edge of the ʻaʻā.  The beach was at medium-size.  Summertime the sandy shore extends nearly all the way to the right.

 Tōb had led me there for the first time in 1972.  We drove the ma uka road, parked at the newish Keāhole Airport, and started walking north.  No High (or even Low) Security, no fences to scale, we simply walked.  And walked and walked over miles (about three) of 1801 Hualālai pāhoehoe to Mahaiʻula, then followed the ala kahakai, the trail along the shore, to Kua Bay in Maniniʻōwali.

By the time we got to Punaloa, the point just before, from which you can see the beach, I was done.  I told Tōb:  Pau aʻready!  He cajoled and encouraged, and so we went.  

What a marvel!  We were the only ones there.  Whitest sand, clear sparkling "Maniniʻōwali Blue" water,  lots of fish, plenty ʻopihi.  I fell in love.  Below, you can see our sandy campsite, tucked into kiawe, left of breaking wave.  

Canʻt remember what I wore on my feet that first trip, but not long after, I discovered the tabi at Doi Store in Kawaihae.  Doi Store...the one with the monkeys...

Tabi:  I still have these...the soles are layers of recycled fabric.  Totally comfortable, kinda like lace-up moccasins.  Wear ʻem till they puka-through, go lilla bit more, then get new ones.

I returned to that shore countless times.  Countless.  Park on the shoulder, walk the trail, repeat.  Then of course "Progress" happened.  More and more folks made their way there.  A rough road was bulldozed in to access four privately owned lots, land changed hands, roads paved, houses built, and here we are.  I visit very very rarely these days.  Memories too fond, people too many.  

Naiʻa, alas, has passed, but HK, Tōb, and I are still here.  What times weʻve shared!  One of the very few tangible souvenirs of those days I keep is:

Very early one morning, maybe August 1982?  or not? I camped with Mahina, and this was lying on untrammeled sand.  It was and is spectacular.  Sitting there all by itself...

Below, from friend Eric Franke, June 3, last year.  Lots of footprints on the sand, kumu niu (coconut trees) on the horizon, but Kuili, the puʻu, and Maniniʻōwali Blue waters endure.

So today, 45 years later, in keeping with realities, virtual or otherwise, a lei kou for HK, Tōb, and Naiʻa.

me ke aloha pau ʻole...

ahhhhhhh

And yes, Pelehonuamea continues her work.

The loko ahi slowly deepens, tilt goes up then down, and itʻs oia mau nō-ish.

Some of the Summit Cams have a "Last 24 Hours" loop.  TryLook.  Kinda fun, informative, etc.

Hereʻs the link.  Scroll down a bit to watch.

24 Hour Loop of loko ahi thermal cam

And after rains and rains and rains, today dawned bluesky breezy.  Had 11" at my yard from Saturday to yesterday.  Now in intermittent sun.  All that ua (rain) and instability of atmosphere allowed snow to fall on Maunaloa and Maunakea.  Hereʻs a view of Maunaloa, from an HVO Towercam this morning:

Then up at Mokuʻāweoweo, also this morning:

Iʻll end with another couple mementos of times past.  First, puapilo (or maiapilo) our endemic caper, able to prosper in not much more than ʻaʻā.  Its lovely-scented flowers bloom in evening, and fade to mauve as they wilt after sunrise (see lower left corner).

Then something I wrote, edited by kumu lk...Language is fairly simple, and a dictionary will assist.

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Tuesday, January 26, 2021 Where I Live...

 Yup.  Itʻs raining.  Though a few minutes ago, shadows were seen as the sun shone...now its raining again, adding to our 8 or 9 inch (or more) accumulation since Sunday.  Whatʻs a few more inches?  Right here we need not worry about flooding, though elsewhere...

Late last week I went Oahu for an appointment with an excellent custom-fabricating orthotist, seeking to acquire an updated Ankle Foot Orthotic (AFO) to compensate for post-polio weakening of right leg...  Cameron is excellent and insightful, my issues complex, so we collaborate and heʻs working on v2.  Now at home in quarantine, I get tested tomorrow, and we shall see...

The Honolulu airport was eerily empty, making travel a breeze...though a cautiously care full one.  Pics below were taken Saturday afternoon.  You get the idea... Had even fewer people Wednesday last.

Traveling during a time of rains winds and changeable weathers I noted, with pleasure, a multiplicity of ānuenue...rainbows seemingly everywhere.

From the window of the hotel,

to the runway as we taxied,

to one hanging over the mouth of the valley of Mānoa (and had plenty rains earlier, so please note the green of Waʻahila hillside to right of ʻbow).

Being a look-out-the-window sorta guy, I was enthralled by fleeting ānuenue sunlit (of course) in rain falling from little cumulus clouds.  So.  Very.  Cool.

And then, up at the Lua, this, posted by HVO on January 6, 2012.  A he nani maoli nō.  So beauty full.  Can you make out the partial double between 12 and 2?

I never tire admiring them.  And they always bring to mind "Hawaiian Lullaby", that soothingly evocative song by Hector Venegas and Peter Moon.

Eō Mai, Kealiʻi Reichel: Malieʻs Song and Hawaiian Lullaby

So very beautifully expressive, simply touching...

Kinda tough to find a suitable segue...

So yes.  Rainbows do not happen without rain.  And rain on hot pele is fascinatingly hotsteamy.  Below, during ka ua loku, torrential downpours yesterday, Halemaʻumaʻu was filled with steam.  Hot steam.  The centigrade scale:  50dC = 122dF, thus the purple background.  In the Park, people have died after being unexpectedly enveloped by hot steam out on active flows.

Below this morning, a more "normal" view.  I note that the moku nui and the north side of lake crust are more or less same temperature, and appear to merge as one.

Steams swirl as seen below at 950 this morning, 

but at 1003 the pit is cleared.  When we worked at active flows on the coast, squalls would come in from the ocean.  Weʻd see them approach and move visitors safely away from hot pele to avoid scalding māhu.  Even from a distance, weʻd envision rain evaporating before hitting active pele.

Below, walls of Halemaʻumaʻu steam vigorously, and many little steam plumes arise from the slightly cooler crust of the loko ahi to the right of moku nui.  On the left side of the floor, the paler grey pele is fresh hot and moving, with little apparent steam.  Way too hot for māhu to linger!

Back at home...I was watching the rain from the kitchen window yesterday, and was fascinated.  A small thing, but significant, I think.  We understand that rain is how our watertables and aquifers are replenished.  Rain falls, soaks into the earth, and makes its way down down down.  I have a ti, planted by my Dad decades ago.  The stalk is taller than I am, and partway up is a clump of moss.  I watched for minutes yesterday, water dripping to the ground from the moss.  

Rain fell (falls) on the rosette of lau kī (ti leaves), and is directed to bases of stems via a furrow or trough as seen a bit more clearly at the right on the lower photo.

amazon

charlotte flower market

Rain slides down the leaf, into the groove, then flows down the trunk, into the ground.  On days like today when ka ua loku prevails, itʻs wet everywhere.  But Iʻd guess that during drier seasons, or in drier areas such as the uplands of Kona ʻAkau (North Kona), moisture from sprinkles of rain or even heavy dew will find its way down the leaf, through the furrow, down the trunk, and into soil, aiding kī survival.  A tiny window into a much much bigger picture of water, water procurement, water use, and groundwater recharge.

Stay dry, stay warm, be well.  [As I just typed the last, I recalled:  camping at Maniniʻōwali, sometimes it would rain.  The rain would be chilly.  Rather than attempting to stay dry, weʻd go bob in the sea.  Compared to rain, the ocean was warm, and so were we...]

Hiki?  A hui hou.  As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com