25 June 2023. Then, in Tahiti...

 We reminisce, recall, with wonder and deep appreciations, cherished memories.  Mayhaps because many of us are "of an age", when body parts begin to fail, and, beset by ailments, we remember...

I was working as a Seasonal Interpretive Ranger at Hawaiʻi Volcanoes National Park the Summer of 1985.    In July, Jo-Anne [jks] called and said OK, we going Tahiti.  Her husband, and other family, friends, and acquaintances were going down to prep Hōkūleʻa for the second leg of the "Voyage of Rediscovery", which would go as far as Aotearoa.  I told her OK then, I gotta take off work.  For three weeks?

I went and met with my boss, and said I needed to take a few weeks off.  Of course I had no Leave Time, having just started work.  He reminded me of that, and asked what was so urgent that I "needed" to go?  I explained, and apologized for the short notice.  Then he said What if I deny your leave?  I chuckled and said Iʻll quit and go anyway.  Shaking his head, he smiled and said Go...

Thirty-eight years later circumstances remind us of that time, with one particular event indelibly etched.  Weʻll get to that soon enough.

So we flew south, landing at Faaʻa Airport around midnight.  It was an easy trip.  Maybe 5 hours more or less straight down, in the same time zone.  No jet lag.  Stepping outside the terminal...lights on the hills ma uka, the smells of diesel and woodsmoke, people speaking French.  We made our way to a little one-story waterfront motelish place just west of downtown.

The crowded waterfront in  Papeʻete.  Hōkū stands out a bit amongst all the other masts.  Lots of activity at the harbor, traffic along the bordering thoroughfare added noise...  By the time we arrived, the canoe had been mostly prepared and stocked.  jks and I easily occupied ourselves.  Going to the central market for our lau hala bags so weʻd easily carry our baguette, cans of sardines, and bottles of water.  Basic supplies, because even back then, Tahiti was expensive.  We managed to find a shoppe, I think Magasin Venus, as instructed by Ilima, where we happily found old-fashioned cotton fabric, 36" wide, in a variety of prints and colors.  "One meter 8" was the yardage needed to fashion pāreu.  Perfect.  Cannot find that kine today.  Everything seems to be 45" wide polyester, or rayon, or some gauzy thing.

Soon enough Hōkū was ready.  gp asked if jks and I wanted to to with them to Moʻorea.  Of course!  Kinda silly to say no.  So we went.  It had been arranged that a cultural group, Pupu Ariʻoi would host us.  

Gazing. wondering, thinking, enthralled, amazed...

We sailed about the 15 miles to Moʻorea and tied up at a little pier next to an old church in Afareaitu.

Tahiti (Nui and Iti) is like our isle of Maui:  Big and little islands joined by an isthmus.  Papeʻete is on the west side of the north shore of Tahiti Nui.  Surfers and their fans may be familiar with "Chopes" the slangized name of Teahupoʻo, at the end of the road (the bottom one) on Tahiti Iti.

So after tying up at the pier, one of the Tahitian crew ran down the road to alert the folks of Pupu Ariʻoi of our arrival.  Soon enough we were informally greeted and bustled off to their compound on the ma uka side of the coastal road.  Iaorana and aloha spread, and orientation given, we were instructed to meet at the main fare (fuh-reh) for a formal welcome.  There was an oration by a tupuna tāne, and the response, a formal oratory in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi, by Tūtū Abraham Piianaia.  No matter that few of us could understand either, their voices both held us rapt.  Other speakers followed.

Above, the thatched main fare.  Below, the interior.  The framing is hau, lined with lau hala.  Lightweight, made with what get locally.  It was stunning.  At left below is green tee-shirted Leon Paoa Sterling, and at right in jeans and white shirt, Tūtū Piianaia.  NAP commented:  "I like how the young ones are gathered to talk with Tutu.  He was always kind of a quiet unassuming presence.  Just sort of there and always observing, never pressing."  Capturing an essence of the man...He is missed.

Below, another fare where we gathered.  Note the bands of metal on coconut tree trucks.  Climbing rats slip and slide and arenʻt able to get up to coconuts.

Herb Kane wrote of part of the 1985 voyage, but left out something for some reason.  See the following.

1985: The Seekers by Herb Kane

A pertinent excerpt:

I went over their entire story with them, and heard it as Henry had told it to me.

 

"He wrote down your phone number in Kona, but when we got back we couldn't find the paper," Kawena said. "When Tehani took us to Taputapuatea , the big marae, the people there asked us to talk to the Hokule'a guys. They said that in the olden days, when the last canoe left, the chief of the canoe-Maui was his name -turned back and put a kapu on the place. Tapu, they call it.

 

"Only one thing can lift the kapu. A canoe must come from Hawai'i, and it must come into the lagoon through the narrow pass in the reef right outside the temple-Teavamoa, they call the pass. When Hokule'a came to Ra'iatea before, in 1976, it was brought through the main ship passage outside the town of Uturoa. Wrong place. The people were unhappy, but nobody had told the Hokule'a guys any different; and the guy who took them through, he was from Tahiti, and he didn't know how important it was to come in through Teavamoa Pass.

 

"When we returned to Mo'orea, we met again with the Pu'u Ario'i folks. They have this old kupuna man they look up to, and he said the same as the folks at Taputapuatea . When Hokule'a comes again, it should sail right in at Taputapuatea and lift the kapu. He said that the kapu is a curse for Mo'orea. All canoes that tried to sail from Mo'orea to Taputapuatea have failed. It has been this way for hundreds of years; and not until a canoe from Hawai'i sails in through the pass at Taputapuatea can the curse be lifted.

 

"So will you tell the Hokule'a guys, please? When Hokule'a comes again?"

 

"I'll pass it on," I replied, "but there's no plan to sail Hokule'a to Tahiti again. She's already made two trips, one in '76 and one in '80."

 

"We'll have to go to Tahiti again," Nalani said. "We don't know when, or what this all means, but the old man on Huahine said we would make another trip, maybe more. And the old kupuna man at Mo'orea was sure that Hokule'a would come again, in just a couple years, but he said he would be dead by then. When Hokule'a comes, he will die."

And, another excerpt:

While at Tahiti, Nainoa and the captain, Gordon Pi'ianai'a, were visited by a delegation from the Pu'u Ario'i with an invitation to bring the canoe to Mo'orea. A feast and ceremonies were planned. Mo'orea was not on the itinerary, but to decline the invitation would appear ungracious; moreover, cultural exchange was a purpose of the voyage. Gordon accepted the invitation.

 

He had met some of the Pu'u Ario'i on Mo'orea five years earlier, during the previous voyage of Hokule'a. Their senior kupuna, the leading elder, had honored Gordon with a Tahitian name, Tamatoa, and had predicted that both Gordon and Hokule'a would someday return-a prediction which, at the time, seemed highly unlikely.

 

Hokule'a was welcomed to Mo'orea with a formal oration that lasted perhaps thirty minutes. Historian Abraham Pi'ianai'a, Gordon's father, having joined the crew at Tahiti, was able to respond with correct protocol, modifying his impeccable Hawaiian slightly so that it could be understood by Tahitian ears. His response drew a tremendous ovation.

 

Gordon noticed that the old man he had met five years earlier was not among the Pu'u Ario'i.

 

The Hawaiians were overwhelmed with hospitality; and a special request was formally presented to them: when they reached Ra'iatea, would they please sail into the lagoon through the pass outside of Taputapuatea ? This had been the wish of their senior elder, that a canoe from Hawai'i land at Taputapuatea and lift the curse which Mo'orea canoe navigators had suffered for centuries. Unfortunately, that elder could not make the plea himself. True to his own prediction, he had died on the day that Hokule'a had landed at Tahiti.

 

The day after leaving Mo'orea, the canoe reached Huahine, 140 miles to the west.

About that "special request":  To ensure success of the curse-lifting endeavor, and to purify the crew, the people of Pupu Ariʻoi decided that it was necessary to conduct a "fire walking" ceremony.  This was to include everyone who had arrived on Hōkū at Moʻorea, and those from Moʻorea who would be sailing onward. Of course that meant Jo-Anne and I too.  

The afternoon was spent watching imu opening, wandering the grounds, talking story, and resting, with a bit of background dread:  Fire walking.  

The fire walk was to take place onsite.  A ditch had been dug, perhaps 4 or 5 feet wide and 20 long.  It had been prepped like an imu:  layers of wood topped by rocks.  It was lit mid-afternoon.   By the time we went sleep (or tried to) stones could be heard cracking and popping.  Weʻd been instructed that someone would wake us at 3am.  Weʻd be given a plain muslin pāreu to wear, and monoi, tiare-infused coconut oil, for our skin.  And so it happened.

chill breeze from mountains

moorea moonlit night

coconut grove awe

After dozing in fits and starts, we got up and changed into pāreu.  The monoi, homemade and in reused glass bottles, aside from its memory-evoking fragrance, is an effective insulator against cool morning air.  We spoke in whispers and gathered where a small group of Tahitians were working.  The grass was damp with familiar early-morning dew.

The luna of the walk went along each edge of the pit, probing hot pōhaku and settling them in place with a wood ʻōʻō.  Then, when he and others decided it was ready, with a whole stalk of kī, unrushed and careful, he began walking the length of the hot ditch, using lau kī to brush off ash and embers from the rock surface.  When all was properly prepped and deemed ready, we organized and lined up.  Luna first, then Tūtū Piianaia, then the crew...  

The soles of our feet were wet, the pōhaku dense, flat, and warmhot.  We proceeded, looking down to ensure our footing was stable.  Between the stones, emberglow, the silence of concentration.  There may have been chant and prayer.  I donʻt remember.  After the line of us were pau, somebody said One more time?  We all agreed Of Course!  And so it was.

Nainoa, post fire-walk contemplation at Afareaitu

Jo-Anne and I ferried back to Papeʻete; Hōkū sailed off to Huahine.  Jo and I had decided to fly to Raʻiatea so we could meet the canoe at Taputapuatea.  So we did.  My French was more or less nonexistent, Joʻs basic.  Late afternoon at the curb of the small airport on Raʻiatea we looked at each other and shrugged.  Passengers were met and driven off.  There were a handful of locals pitching their pension (lodging).  We were attracted to a cheerful woman with a navy blue camper-shelled pickup, we chatted then Jo and I climbed in the back.  Trust.  Bumping along roads, then a stop.  The woman came to the tail gate and told us to wait.  A few minutes later she returned with a fresh whole mahimahi.  Our dinner.  Her pension was tidy and clean, very rural, and she lived next door.  When she returned with our meals, we chatted in French English Hawaiian pidgin.  We shared that we were there to greet the canoe, and were from Hawaiʻi.  Oh! She said...Thereʻs a man here from Hawaiʻi.  Tom Cummings.  Married to a local woman, Therese.  Jo knew him from mutual associations with Kamehameha Schools.  Of course.  Trust.  It was settled.  Our hostess would call Tom and weʻd meet him tomorrow.

Tom, years later, speaking on Oʻahu [gigi-hawaii]

Jo and I were delivered to Tom and Thereseʻs home, not far away.  An unanticipated reunion, after which we jumped into logistics and planning.  We should go Taputapuatea today.  Then when Hōkū is close, weʻll go with friends in their aluminum skiff to greet them at Teavamoa.  Gotta make sure they sail into the correct pass!

Below...part of marae Taputapuatea.  Marae = Heiau.  In Tahiti, some marae have large slabs of upright stone forming the back wall.  Taputapuatea has a paved court in front.  Please reference readings online to gain more information about this special place.  Similar heiau are found in Hawaiʻi, and are deemed "older" by some because of their construction.  Here, smaller upright slabs of lava form the back wall of a paved platform, and the slabs aid in sightings of celestial objects...stars and planets.

Below, finally, after hundreds of years, a waʻa from Hawaiʻi enters Teavamoa, lifting the kapu.  The dim outline of Huahine can be seen on the horizon at right.

A small crowd gathered and waited for Hōkū to anchor.

from Pinterest

A surfeit (or not!) of tiare (above), as worn in Tahiti.  And below, greenish yellow motoʻi (ylangylang).  Lovely fragrance.  Both flowers are used to infuse coconut oil with their fragrances, yielding Monoi.  Monoi tiare (Tahitian gardenia) is an all-time favorite.  All those days at Maniniʻōwali and other beaches on Kekaha-wai-ole shores, monoi in the morning on the skin...and in the hair (long, wavy darkish hair!).  Oiling your skin made water bead after swimming, alleviating that annoying itchy salt crustiness when putting on clothes after.

Motoʻi or Ylangylang

Le Ylang-ylang, Motoi, (Cananga odorata) originaire de l’Asie du sud-est, est connu depuis longtemps par les marquisiens qui utilisent les fleurs très odorantes pour parfumer le monoï ou pour la composition de bouquets aphrodisiaques. Il aurait été introduit à Tahiti en 1850 par M. Dunnett.

So.  Now you have a bit more information about the Voyage of Rediscovery.  Until events like our cleansing fire walk are written about, the picture can remain incomplete.

Aloha, always aloha.  Please email questions or comments.

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

  

21 June 2023. Again, at the time of the turning...

 Māuikiʻikiʻi o ke kauwela.  Summer...Māui snatches and slows the sun, there on Haleakalā.  Done, as many understand in one version, so his motherʻs kapa could dry.

Today sun reaches its northernmost limit, 23.5 degrees north of the Equator, at Ke Alanui Polohiwa a Kāne, the black glistening path of Kāne, then turns south as days shorten.

Asa Ellison

The erosional depression at the summit region of Haleakalā is a wonder at any time of day.  There, Iʻve especially appreciated the view of Maunakea on Mokuokeawe.  Itʻs that bluish hump about 80 miles away, across the ʻAlenuihāhā on the right horizon.

Here, on the Island of Hawaiʻi, we stand at Kumukahi, easternmost land in Hawaiʻi Nei, to greet the first light of day.

mtomono on twitter

A reward for getting up early.  Up at Kaluapele, early risers are able to enjoy chill air, and pastels painting memorable scenes, especially if Pelehonuamea is visibly at work.  Muted light allows us to better see pele reds, as well as surrounding scenery, in context.  Methinks better than total darkness wondering where are we?  Where was that?  Too, landscape scale is better understood.

Youʻve likely heard that as of Monday, June 19,  Pele is resting.  Sheʻll return somewhere at some point.  When Her recent episode began on June 7, a little vent on the wall above the floor of Halemaʻumaʻu seemed relatively insignificant.  But, as happens, the situation evolved.  That vent became more and more prominent, and was seemingly the primary source of pele, molten lava.  Time/Date stamps are at upper left. 

At some point, the side of the cone, built of welded spatter, but unstable, opened.  As pele erupted at the top, She dazzlingly fell trickled cascaded to the bottom, feeding a pond on a portion of the loko ahi, the lava lake.

And then, as is Her wont, just after 4p on Monday, 19 June, She rested.  The vent shown above is seen below, near the right edge of the screenshot.  According to observer friends, the (a) best viewpoint on the rim of Kaluapele is at the left edge of the photo, about a mile and a half away. Scale can be very deceptive, especially these days, when so many have access to cameras with telephoto lenses.  And fussing with Settings to enhance photos produces unrealistic views.  

Speaking of Pele, this showed up in the Tribune Herald on Kamehameha Day, 11 June 2023:

Not being able to help myself, I submitted the following as a Letter to the Editor to vent frustrations, perplexments, and a degree of outrage:

Your Views for June 21

HTH cartoon questioned

 

I write regarding the cartoon by Mr. Gary Hoff, published Sunday (June 11) in the Tribune-Herald.

 

Of course, I have no idea what either Mr. Hoff or the Tribune-Herald intended with the cartoon. Was it tongue-in-cheek, playing off reactions of tourists? Or was it something else?

 

I find the piece profoundly insulting to practitioners of Native Hawaiian culture, and especially to those professing ancestral links to Pelehonuamea.

 

We’ve witnessed a renaissance of Native Hawaiian culture, beginning in the mid-1970s. Many hula kahiko presented at Merrie Monarch pay homage to Pele. Many of us view her as the creator of Hawaii nei. Without the elemental energy of Pele and her molten lava, we would not be here.

 

She does not put on shows for our entertainment. She does her work unbidden, as she has for untold millennia, regardless of what we think.

 

Increased attention to Native Hawaiian culture — “Malama Aina” and “Aloha Aina” and “pono conduct and practices,” etc. — all become trite phrases and fall by the wayside when depictions such as was published find their way into print.

 

Staff at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park strive to present culture accurately. Traditional place names have been revitalized. Others work to ensure that noise of commercial helicopter tours is greatly diminished and minimized, allowing park visitors to experience birdsong, the rustlings of olapa leaves, the exhalations of Pele, and the grinding and clattering of fresh lava during eruptions.

 

I can only trust that an error in judgement was the cause of this profane insensitivity, and look forward to your response.

 

Bobby Camara

 

Keaau

Itʻs challenging, when Media doesnʻt seem to "Get it".  Their not "getting it" was the genesis of this blog, when I repeatedly read and viewed non-sense during the early stages of the 2018 Hulihia and Eruptive Events.  The "something" I did turned out to be writing...

Shifting a bit... Iʻve sometimes tried to name the color of ʻiʻiwi.  Red?  Scarlet?  Red-orange?  Vermilion?  Etc.  Long-time friend Zoya suggested pyrrol scarlet:

And scarlet:

Factors of lighting, age and health of bird, state of viewers vision, etc., all influence perception.  Scarlet works for me. And I know that ʻiʻiwi are definitely not the red of ʻapapane.

And then, gh was Outside Paying Attention near the Lua, when out of the corner of an eye he spied:

A beauty of a weed:  A plant growing out of place.  Likely planted in a Volcano garden, perhaps seeds eaten out of rose hips by birds then spread.  Or not...

Below, that lighting (or lack of it) I mentioned earlier.  Sunsetish on Monday after the dimly glowing primary vent at the right edge of screenshot shut down.  Lava under the crust is insulated and remains hot a good while.  Just under the surface, flow currents continue till they slow and stagnate (stop). 

Then below, the black border at the right edge of the grey-crusted inactive pond is a "bathtub ring".  Some molten material drained into the greater lake, and lava contracts a bit as it cools, leaving "rings".

And, of course we shall see what life holds for all of us.

Till whenever then, be well...

Aloha, always aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

09 June 23 Post #251...Itʻs all amazing

 The sun moves and sets to the right a little more each day.  Days that have (mostly) been clear and hot hotter.  And, I remain well.  My lā hānau was Wednesday, and HK shared a reminder that the 7th is also the birthday of Paul Gauguin, a favorite artist.  Many decades ago (early 70s?) I went to New York to visit a friend from Ag school at Mānoa, Jan Johnsen.  Sheʻs from NY and her dad lived on Manhattan.  Jan had a family place in The Clove, near New Paltz, and was teaching at a JC in Kingston.  I offered to do a slide show (remember those?) about the Island of Hawaiʻi, and had taken a fully loaded carousel with me.  Somewhere between New Paltz and Kingston, we stopped at an Antique/Thrift/Secondhand shop in an old house next to the road.  As we walked in, I glimpsed, out of the corner of my eye (the left one), something on a table at the entrance.  The table was haphazardly piled with "stuff", topped off with a pink chenille fringed bedspread seemingly dropped from the sky.  From under the spread, I saw a brown hand on a yellowish background...a painting, paha?  Surprise and disbelief...I passed it and went inside and shopped for odds and ends.  An old lacquer box with a papaya tree decoration, a few hand-tinted postcards of Hawaiʻi Nei... Jan asked if I was pau.  I asked if she was, and she said Yes.  I asked her to wait a second, and went back out to The Table, took hold of the pink chenille, and uncovered

Femmes de Tahiti, ou Sur la plage
Tahitian Women on the Beach, 1891

The original lives, as far as I know, in Musee dʻOrsay in Paris.  But...it was on loan to Musee Paul Gauguin, in Papeari Tahiti, when I visited there in 1985.  What are the odds???

I had been looking for a poster of this for a few years before it found me in New York.  D. Knight-Fontaine had copied it in oils on canvas, and I acquired it for $12.00U.S.  Jan wondered how I knew?  I chuckled and explained the hand on the sand, and how I seem to have great visual recall.  Iʻve had the painting ever since...

Moving on... On the off chance you havenʻt heard, Pelehonuamea reappeared in Halemaʻumaʻu the morning of the 7th (!!!) at 445ish.  Her vigorous bombastic entrance was enthralling.  Here in Keaʻau, abed, I knew something was up.  Between birthday messages and luaʻi pele messages, my phone happily pinged away.

Above is a screenshot from a USGS HVO video showing the initial outburst at 444a.  Shortly after sunrise, HVO volcanologists took to the air, and fortuitously shot a scene (below) much like the header on this blog.  Note the swell of Maunaloa, and the now green pastures at Ohaikea.  That dark diagonal line at bottom right is the spatter rampart of the April 1982 luaʻi pele.  Note that to the casual observer, the floor of Halemaʻumaʻu, below, shows spots of pele here and there, when in actuality, the surface is entirely hot, in keeping with a descriptive name, Papalauahi...a surface destroyed by lava flows.

USGS HVO

I never tire of dawn light.  Or twilight for that matter.  Good balance between bright and dark, with enough ambient light so context and locations are clear.  Contrast pic below with that above.  A bit less vigorous, but too, increased light apparently diminished visible red pele. 

USGS HVO

Below is also from the morning of the 7th.  A dike, or conduit feeding magma from depth to the surface,  

intersected the talus slope on the wall of Halemaʻumaʻu.  Top of fissure is about 100ʻ above floor. 

USGS HVO

And a closeup a little later on the 7th.  Endlessly fascinating are the works of the Woman of the Pit.

Below, the tilt at the UWE (Uēkahuna) recorder at the summit of Kīlauea.  A M3.5ish ōlaʻi (earthquake), then a dip and a sharp uptick with a couple more ōlaʻi thrown in for good measure.

The screenshot below, this afternoon (the 9th) at 410p, of "recent" earthquakes. Note that yellows are 2 days to 2 weeks old.  No orange and no red.  At the risk of bachi, things seem stable...

You may recall a map, similar to that below, shared with you in the past.  Lots of info, particularly in the  boxes at the bottom.  Note, again, that after the Hulihia of 2018, Halemaʻumaʻu was an inverted cone.  Consequently, itʻll take longer to fill each incremental foot of lake, because of the attendant increase in surface area.

As depicted on the map above, the next kaulu (bench or terrace) to be inundated will be the down-dropped block (d-db), immediately east of the loko ahi (the lava lake).  

Below, that bench is at the right edge of the loko, just left of the white plumes of vapor.

As an aside, for fans of webcams, many of them have been repositioned to take into account eruptive changes.  The photo below is from the S1 camera.  Uēkahuna is the high point on the rim, with the bumps of the former Jaggar Museum and Hawaiian Volcano Observatory protruding.  The bluish slope of Maunaloa is at left.

Too, recall that the pali immediately behind the d-db was formed in 2018.  Itʻs 450 feet tall at its highest.  Another amazement.  Behind it is the floor of Kaluapele.

S1

Same cam on May 21, 2023.  Note above the slight change in floor height by the down-dropped block.

S1

Below, the B1 cam, now located above the d-db.  I appreciate the ferns at bottom right, and bottom left.  The smooth swell left of center is Maunaloa, while if you zoom in, Maunakea peeks above the right horizon.  The dark diagonal on the d-db, kinda parallel to the new pali, is that April ʻ82 spatter rampart. 

B1

Then the KW cam gazes toward Puʻupuaʻi, just left of center.  Itʻs the rust-colored puʻu of cinder left during the 1959 eruption of Kīlauea iki.

KW

And finally is V1.  See the vent on the wall of Halemaʻumaʻu?  The Kīlauea iki eruption started on the wall of that crater, and the lake ended up drowning the vent.

V1

Below, a crude attempt at "Before" and "Now", photos by buddy GH and myself, at Uēkahuna.  Look good at the edge of the lake where it abuts the d-db.  Just a few feet more...

The white pali was exposed during the Hulihia, and is white because the pōhaku (rocks) have been thermally altered (baked).

And, finally, apropos of not a whole lot...friend Suze went Japan not long ago and shared these.  Tea plantation and pickers dressed in traditional, and Iʻd guess completely utilitarian garb.

Oh.  Good thing I got a late start on this.  Now I can share the floor of Halemaʻumaʻu in partial shadow, wherein the red of pele is clear.

Hiki?  Till next time, whenever thatʻll be... Be well.

Aloha, always aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com