Thursday, October 28, 2021. Dawn is The Best!

 Mayhaps because I was born at 1230a, or...  Early mornings have always been a favorite.  Still and quiet morning darkness, birds still asleep, and these days with temps in the low 50s, coqui remain silent.  Rising sunlight first colors high cirrus that peachy orange, then the tops of ʻōhiʻa snare the first rays of the warm sun.  The world is briefly a study in pastels, and then...

Yes, Pelehonuamea toils on, in an oia mau no-ish, as usual, fashion.  But seeming to make up for an unusually cool and wet summer, the last two weeks have been a delight.  Sun.  Sun.  Sun.  Easy breezes, Vitamin D loading, ahhhhh.  Here at nearly 4,000 feet the last white ginger bloom, their scent more apparent as the air warms and rises, while I read in Kona ʻAkau, yellow ginger lingers.  We all enjoy and appreciate them all.  Ke Aloha!

Thisʻll be a sharing of "Click and Save Quick" before the next webcam image appears and the light is lost.  Not necessarily in order of time or geography, courtesy of, and gratitudes to, HVO webcams:

From up the Maunaloa Strip Road.  See Her plume drifting rightward?

Up On Maunakea, looking toward Maunaloa and Kīlauea at left, the white puff from Halemaʻumaʻu.  And too, at middle left, headlights of commuters from Hilo and Puna heading cross-island to work.

Twenty minutes later, a study in pastels...

And on the frigid heights of Maunaloa, looking across Mokuʻāweoweo:

Timing is everything!  That notch in the pali bounding Mokuʻāweoweo at right horizon...

Likely formed when South Pit collapsed.  Topographic map from TopoQuest.com  GoLook.  The webcam is on the west rim, more or less where the first "A" is in MAUNA LOA.

A bit closer.  Itʻs been an interest and wonder that the moku of North Kona, Kaʻū, and Hāmākua are pili, they meet, in Mokuʻāweoweo.   Boundaries are black dashed lines.  Though seen above but unlabeled below, Hāmākua is the "V" at the top, where "LAVA" is.  Need to learm and understand more about ancient politics and the reign of ʻUmi a Līloa, ca. 1400ʻs or so.

OK then.  Thatʻs it.  Nothing too complex today.  Off to errand in town.  

Till soonish.  As always, aloha...

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Saturday, October 23, 2021. Pua mai ke ao māhu...

 After a week of dry, cool weather aided by north winds, with sunshine all day every day, the shift occurred at about 230 yesterday afternoon.  Sitting on the couch with windows wide open, cooling off from a couple hours at Keanakākoʻi in full glorious sun, it began to cloud up, and the first faint breeze gentled in through the screen.  It was great while it lasted, and I surprised myself by walking every day.  Nūnī seems, after nearly two years, to have settled in, or I with it.  Still feels odd, but not at all painful.  Next is the first swim...

pua

1. nvi. Flower, blossom, tassel and stem of sugar cane; to bloom, blossom. Pāpale pua, pāpale pua kō, hat made of stem of sugar cane. Pua ka wiliwili, nanahu ka manō, the wiliwili tree blooms, the sharks bite [a blossoming girl is desired by males; sharks are believed to mate when the wiliwili blooms and to be especially ferocious]. E hauʻoli hoʻi ka wao akua, ā e pua mai hoi (Isa. 35.1), the wilderness shall be glad and blossom too. (PPN pua).

2. vi. To issue, appear, come forth, emerge, said especially of smoke, wind, speech, and colors, hence to smoke, blow, speak, shine. Cf. pua ahi, pua ehu, pua ʻehu, pua ʻena, pua hina, puana, puka. Pua ka uahi, the smoke rises. E pua ana ka makani, the wind rises. Kapu ka nū, ka ʻī, i ka pua o ka leo, forbidden to groan, to speak by sound of voice. A ʻike pua iki aku nō ʻoe iā Kaʻula, and you barely see Kaʻula. hoʻo.pua Caus/sim.. Mai hoʻopua ʻoe, do not say a word. (PCP pua).

3. nvi. Progeny, child, descendant, offspring; young, spawn, fry, as of āholehole, ʻamaʻama, ʻanae, awa, kāhala, ʻōʻio, uouoa, to produce progeny or young. Pua aliʻi, descendants of chiefs, royal progeny. Pua ʻūhini, young ʻūhini, a grasshopper. Kana mau pua, his descendants. Pua iʻa, baby fish, fish fry. Lau kō pua, netting drive for young fish. Ua pau, ua hala lākou, a koe nō nā pua (song), they are gone, passed away, and the descendants remain.

4. n. Arrow, dart, sometimes made from flower stalks of sugar cane.

5. Same as olopua 1, a tree. (Perhaps PPN pua).

6. n. Float, buoy. Rare.

7. Short for ʻōpua, a cloud bank.

8. (Cap.) n. A Molokaʻi sorcery goddess.

9. A fishhook for turtles. (And.)

In the instance of the title of this post, the "pua" referred to is #2 above (mahalo ng!), though "smoke" does not apply.  Itʻs māhu rising... steams, vapors, etceteras.

With winds slack or a bit swirly yesterday, the māhu (vapors) rising from Halemaʻumaʻu stood straight up.  As it does, the ao (cloud) constantly changes shape and provides those of us so inclined, endless mesmerizing fascinations.

It was 49dF at Kawaiʻapapane, my home, last Wednesday morning the 20th.  Gentle north winds helped, as did clear night skies.  When I got to the highway:

I was reminded of:

The first BIG lū (scattering or throwing of ash), on May 15, 2018, and this photo at 1027a.  Little did we know or comprehend...we were inkling-less.

Conditions were much the same yesterday as they were Wednesday, and I reached the Park Entrance, and thought "Why not"?

And as I walked the former roadway (weʻll talk about the dying forest another time soon)...

And then reached my pōhaku noho on the pā pōhaku (stone wall) at Keanakākoʻi

See?  Constantly shape-shifting and evolving.  And see above, the emanations werenʻt consistently constant.  Puffs arose from the pit.  And seemingly constant is the thrum, or tuktuktuk of infernal helicopters.  They intrude, they make noise, even from afar when you canʻt see them, theyʻre heard.  So much for the sounds of lau kapalili, as leaves tremble and quiver in the wind, or too, the voices of birds. The Worst are Blackhawk helicopters, apparently sightseeing from Pōhakuloa Training Area or wherever.  They are loudest, biggest, and apparently National Security is at risk because they fly right over Kaluapele to inspect Her work.  No matter that theyʻve over the 1,500ʻ height, or whatever.  So much for their cultural sensitivity.  You saw the dust storms at PTA.  Yes.  I get the value of a well-prepared fighting force.  But just futting around and sightseeing at OUR expense???  Cʻmon...

Hard to see, but a third of the way down, near center, on Thursday.

But back to "pua".  Years ago I had noticed a little strap-leafed plant nestled at the base of one of the used-to-be-alive now dead roadside ʻōhiʻa.  I imagined it was an ʻukiʻuki (Dianella sp.), the endemic blue-fruited used-for-dye lily.  But it didnʻt seem quite right.  Below, itʻs that bit of yellowgreen on the right-hand side of the base of the tree.

And yes, Maunakea is caught at the right horizon, as is the dark hump of Kūlani.  Remember that Kūlani is where the moku of Hilo, Puna, and Kaʻū are pili.  Their boundaries join at that prominent summit.

Then one time, a friend noticed a fatness amongst the foliage.  A seed pod.  Of an orchid.  Not ʻukiʻuki after all.  Then Thursday last (I know...it was a week busy with E hō mai ka ʻike and nā mea huna being revealed) with other friends, I pointed out the orchid plant, and cfp leaned in:

Turns out, (thanks Jaime!) that itʻs an orchid species, rather than a plant hybridized.  

From orchidspecies.com:  Cymbidium dayanum.

Itʻs invasive, in that itʻs invading habitat in the Park, and is becoming relatively common in dry mini-kīpuka on the lee side of Kīlauea.  But not as invasive as faya, alien grasses, coqui, fire ants, melastomes, kāhili ginger, Himalayan raspberry, blackberry, albizia, fountaingrass, mullein, knotweed (Polygonum capitatum), cattle egrets, rose-ringed parakeets, feral cats, mongooses, and what-la.  Any yes, all the mentioned invasive alien species began as a single (or few) colonizer.  And then because we werenʻt Paying Attention, they spread and spread and spread...

Mohala nā pua ʻokika (Blossoming are orchid flowers)

mohala

vs. Unfolded, as flower petals; blossoming, opening up; spread, as a turkey's tail; blooming, as a youth just past adolescence; shining forth, as a light; appearing clear, as a thought; evolved, developed; freed or recovered, as from fear, worry, illness.

And now back to things Pelehonuamea...

She still going...but seemingly at a lower rate of effusion, emission, output.  Nearly half the papa loko ahi, the surface of the lava lake is active.  But, as weʻve seen, that can change nearly instantaneously.

And you see above the zigzag designs near the bright hot outlet?  Howʻs this from HVO, 101721:

Silver...as I shake my head (again)... Pūʻiwa is the contemporary orthography, "updated" from Andrewsʻ 1865 Dictionary:

PU-I-WA

s. Amazement; a surprise; a stupefaction on account of wonder; 

Say the "w" as "v"...

Sigh...  So.  Just because, I going put raincoat on and holosolo to Keanakākoʻi...

Aloha, always aloha...

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Wednesday, October 20, 2021. Brriiiisk, but...

 Ahhh...while we long and pine for clearsky sunshine, we forget to remember (a theme, paha?) that at nighttime, with clouds absent, and not enough blankets, quilts, kīhei... hū ka colʻ!!! 230 this morning had to crawl out of my fetal position and add another quilt to the bed.  49dF this morning.  But yes, it is sunny, and nighttime was coquiquiet because they donʻt like the cold either.  Always a tradeoff of some sort...consequences, both intended and unintended, expected or not, we keep on keeping on.

As does She:

With kōkua yesterday, 101921, I again managed to get to Hālona Luaʻi Pele:  not a formally named place, but a Viewpoint to see Her Eruption and Fountaining.  Even from about a mile away, we witnessed an ongoing project of Pelehonuamea in her home Halemaʻumaʻu.  Her loko ahi (lava lake) continues to rise about 3 feet a day, bluish polalauahi and whitish māhu rise as they will, Her luaʻi pele, (fountains) pulse as does a beating heart, and ripening pods of ʻaʻaliʻi redden the plain.  Visitors are mostly respectful and awestruck, and exhibit a notable glow as they walk the mile back to their cars.

Two following pixellated photos are zoomed in "low tech" iPhone7, thanks to jr.  That dark patch left foreground  is ʻaʻā, apparently seeped out of a very differently configured, and fuller, Halemaʻumaʻu sometime during 1888 or 1889.  The geological map screenshot below will help inform;  a very pale greenish yellow rectangleish just to the right of "Halemaumau Crater".

[With apologies, a CORRECTION on 121421:  that patch of ʻaʻā, seen on the geologic map below (scroll down a bit), happened sometime between 1892-94, and is depicted as a curved rectangle in the salmon-colored unit [1892-94] to the right of Halemaʻumaʻu, above and to the right of "-94".]

And then, with gratitudes, as always, to HVO staff, this nearly identical view on October 18, 2021, posted on their website:

from the P/E Hawaiian Dictionary:  Hū ka pele, to pour forth lava, erupt.

Never ever ceases to amaze.  

On Monday, 101821, I visited Uēkahuna.  What was a silver sliver of loko ahi has grown, and during the 30 or 40 minutes viewing, pele was not observed, because the crust was paʻa.

And I also strolled to Kūpinaʻi earlier that morning.  Still shrouded in ānuenue-decorated kanoelehua, the lehua mist, a puff of ao māhu hangs over The Pit.  Thanks js for steady-handed click.

Whatʻs not to enjoy, learn from, be grateful for?  Many of us aloha Kaluapele and surroundings, because.  Because weʻve spent years, decades, coming to know Ke Ao Pelehonuamea, The Realm of Pelehonuamea.  We arenʻt expert, but are attentive to Her teachings.  And too, the teachings of Her sister Hiʻiakaikapoliopele, and He Kīhoʻihoʻi Kānāwai.  The Edict of Regeneration.  After Pele completes an episode of her work, Hiʻiaka comes in to green the land.

From USGS Geological Map i-2759:

First, look to the right of "Halemaumau Crater" for the pale greenish-yellow rectangle of 1888-1889.

Then the four small yellows on the rim between pink and light blue, by kpu:  8/71.  Theyʻre just above the roundish 7/74 on the floor of Keanakākoʻi.  Between the left-most, biggest of those, and the small narrow one to itʻs right, is Hālona Luaʻi Pele.

Hoping this annotated closeup of GoogleEarth helps clarify.

Below, also on said map...If youʻve walked the former road to Keanakākoʻi, you can see, on the image, the fountaining fissure on the road... Current viewpoint is just left of frame.

I know...It can be a bit dizzying and confounding if you havenʻt been here:  Where am I???  Which direction am I looking?  Best thing is to, if can, ComeLook.

She continues, with Tilt flattish.  If you look at the second graph below, you might think weʻre up down rocking rolling.  But itʻs a matter of time and scale.  The first graph is a month of recordings:

While this is a week.  Things even out.

And, I think notably, weʻve been pretty quiet seismically.  White Dots are between 2 and  4 weeks old...

And while the focus for some is Kaluapele, I never fail to enjoy mohala nā pua ʻōpelu...a seasonal treat, as are delightfully scented freesia at Kukuiʻohiwai.

  

Headed out for a soloholo to Keanakākoʻi.  Be well, stay safe, and

Aloha, always aloha.

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Saturday, October 16, 2021. Try to Remember...

 You folks remember that song?  

Try to Remember

"when life was slow and oh so mellow..."

Sweet and memorable.  After a couple posts wherein I said perhaps Sheʻs waning, or pausing, or pulsing, or... I remembered.  Again.  When Puʻuʻōʻō was young and small in the early 1980ʻs, activities were, of course, not at all consistent.  Then for a time we watched Episodes:  maybe 48 or so, of very high fountains every three or four weeks, lasting less than a day.  Theyʻd rumble and roar, vibrating windows; lauoho o Pele (Peleʻs hair) would be carried by Kona-ish winds and land on the roof... Weʻd wait for The Next Episode like we would for a favorite program on TV.  Then Kupaianaha took over for several years and ended the regular programming.

Watching and monitoring the HVO webcams are kinda like that.  Now Sheʻs fountaining, now She hides.  And we remember that Pelehonuamea is fickle, doing Her own thing on Her very own unique schedule.  We watch, wonder, and marvel... Thatʻs all we can do.

Yesterday evening, at just the right time, the KWcam clicked and captured the above.  Perfect light.  Like Rap Reiplingerʻs Aunty Marialani:  Not too much, not too little, but juuusss right!!!  

Note too the fogvogmāhu indicators.  We know winds are kinda strong, because the bluish plume is bent, close to the ground.  Misty foggy rain, blown on trades, enshrouds the windward side of the summit.  And part of the loko ahi, the lava lake, is encircled by a lei māhu, a lei of steam.

Next three images were yesterday, around 130p, when luaʻi pele (fountains) were playing.

Then this morning, above, She hides from our view.  Timing is everything.  If you venture up here, donʻt be disappointed if it rains, or is windy, or fog obscures, or Her red is hiding.  Take it all in, in stride, and watch, and wait, and see what is revealed.  Itʻs all good.

Being revealed now in the yard are the dusky purplish-blue flowers of ʻōpelu.  Found the below on Flickr, posted there by weedmandan.  ʻIʻiwi are the gorgeousest of birds.  I know supposed to be "most gorgeous", but why not???  Theyʻre a vibrant redorange, and look closely...their eyes are encircled by light yellow...ʻiʻiwi maka pōlena.

The plants in my yard are Lobelia hypoleuca, and the one above is L. grayana on Maui.  Differences are that grayana has more upright, unbranched, spikes, leaves narrower, and their flowers are bluer...and more vibrant.  Descriptions below are from Medeiros, Loope, and Chimera, 1998, "Flowering Plants and Gymnosperms of Haleakala National Park".

I may have noted this before, but in the 1980ʻs, I stayed at Keanakolu with family for a few nights.  Koa were abloom, and huge numbers of ʻiʻiwi were raucously enjoying themselves in the tree tops.  Their remembered call is much like a squeaky door hinge.  Say it out loud:  ʻI - ʻI - wi... So many Hawaiian birds have names based on the sound of their call... Nēnē = nehh-nehh...plaintively they call.

Last weekend I went leeward over the Saddle.  Both days were superwindy up there, but from nearly opposite directions.  Headed over, the stretch just past the entrance to US Military Pōhakuloa Training Area, big dust storm.  Howling trades blow across the plain, now etched with unpaved roads for trucks, tanks, and what-la they drive around up there.  Hualālai, all 8,271 feet of her, in the distance.  Itʻs a desert, and with dead and drought-stricken vegetation, thereʻs nothing to hold precious soil.  Our lands in Hawaiʻi are precious.  The military can go someplace else to train when their lease expires soon.

A Hōlualoa sunset, courtesy of vog.  One good thing is being able to enjoy kukuna o ka lā, the rays of the sun.  Thanks for the image, rp.

Kukuna o ka Lā, sung by Darlene Ahuna, JJ Ahuna, and Gary Haleamau

And then headed toward Hilo, more dust, and clumps of invasive horror fountaingrass.

After driving through the dust, and passing the Gilbert Kahele Recreation Area, I pulled over to admire the clear view of Maunakea. 

The white structures at left are water tanks.  They used to be fed by water piped down mountainslope from springs in, and adjacent to Pōhakuloa Gulch in the middle of the frame.  Again, fountaingrass on roadside, but too, clumps of endemic māmane, naio, ʻāweoweo, and native grasses, all susceptible to devastating fires carried through fountaingrass.  Mid-slope of mauna, the darker vegetation is māmane-naio forest, habitat for our endangered palila, a bird only found on Maunakea.

And learning continues.  Always.  This time, jk shared that what appears to be puʻu on either side of the head of Pōhakuloa Gulch, is actually a terminal moraine (!) of the Makanaka Glacier.

From "Hawaiian Glacial Ages" by Stephen C. Porter, in "Quaternary Research", v12, Issue 2, September 1979, pp 161-187:

"The late Makanaka ice cap, which covered an area of about 70 km2 and was as much as 100 m thick, is reconstructed from end moraines and limits of erratic stones that encircle the summit region. The ice cap disappeared from the summit before about 9080 yr ago."

So.  Apparently, when the 27 square mile, 328 feet thick Makanaka Glacier melted about 9,000 years ago, meltwater cut a notch in the terminal moraine, and helped create the gulch.  The middle rough slope at the head of the gulch is also the moraine.

And see the small clump of pointy trees just below greyish left-hand "puʻu", just to left of gulch?  Those are coniferous trees planted at Houpookāne, the highest spring on that slope.  It, Waihū, and Liloe springs, also in the gulch, all once fed the tanks that supplied PTA.  Then ōlaʻi disrupted water flow, so trucks haul it up the Saddle from Hilo.

And because I may or may not have shared this (corrected) version, Iʻll leave you with this.

I took the photo while on one of my walks to Keanakākoʻi, and enlarged it.  Kūkahauʻula, the summit complex of Maunakea is about 30 miles away.  And, just a guess here, maybe that little step to the left of Waiau (lefthand-most labeled puʻu) is the moraine.

Hiki?  The mostly light rains, chill, and fogs linger.  Stay warm and dry.

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com