Dispatches from Volcano: Saturday, October 16, 2021. Try to Remember...

You folks remember that song?

"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.