Climbing Kilauea

7 October 2018

For as long as I can remember, I have always been fascinated by Volcanoes. My very first visuals of the fiery giants, even though from the confines of an idiot box, were enough to leave me wide-eyed and full of wonder. I was hooked for life! Ever since then, the earth-shaking, mountain-rumbling, fire-breathing, lava-spewing primordial forces of nature, wrapped in thick billowing shrouds of volcanic ash and noxious vapors, haven’t lost their allure for me. Over the years, I have consumed, with the ferocity of a piranha, every possible media and publication on the subject that I could get my hands on. For a very long time, my greatest and most cherished fantasy was to see, at proximity, magma oozing out of the earth. That is until I scaled Kilauea. This was before its recent eruption and generous flows that emerged straight from the Phlegethon, for all to see.

I remember it like it was yesterday. The memory of December 29, 2013, has been seared into the ridges of my hippocampus, never to be forgotten. It had only been a few months since my ninth birthday. Knowing my passion for the erupting mountains, my parents had secretly planned to treat me to a viewing of the sizzling molten rock. So here we were, at the break of dawn, all ready for the Poke-a-Stick Lava Tour at Kalapana, on the Big Island of Hawaii. Their initial idea of a Lava Boat Tour hadn’t materialized. For quite some time, Kilauea hadn’t directed any steaming lava flows into the ocean. The second option, an aerial view of the glowing crater had fizzled out too. Hovering clouds above the Volcano’s apex had made a sighting by helicopter impossible. After filling a myriad of papers signing away our lives, and a short orientation, our assortment of twelve adventurers and two tour guides boarded a school bus, that proceeded to wind its way through the city’s asphalt maze onto a bumpy dirt road that deposited us at the edges of an innocent-looking grassland. Armed with crudely fashioned wooden sticks picked from a pile on the ground, and saddled with backpacks containing a rain poncho, a headlamp, thick mountaineering gloves, a Subway sandwich, a bag of chips, a trail-mix bar, and a bottle of water; we set off in a single file into the wilderness at approximately 9:30 am.

Fluffy clouds shielding us from the brilliant Hawaiian Sun, a bracing breeze flying in from the West, and little songbirds flitting to and fro looking for a mid-morning snack gave us a false sense of security. None of us had an inkling as to what lay ahead! Gradually, the lush greenery began to blend into a murky marsh. When Scott, our leading guide, whipped out a machete, some in our pack gasped. Wearing a cowboy hat and brandishing a blade, he looked like Indiana Jones’s doppelganger! Wading through the bog, he steered the troop, hacking away and carving a path through the tall marsh grass. The adults were already hip-deep in water while I was wet up to my chest. At this point, the four graduates from Poland, who kept to themselves for the most part of the hike, (I guess, due to language barriers) wanted to know where the cunningly camouflaged shortcut was. Cheryl, our guide bringing up the rear, flashed a smile and replied that this WAS the shortcut. The group dismissed this remark as a joke. Who would have thought, that in this day and age, there would still be places on Earth inaccessible by road? People kidded that the next thicket of trees would reveal a Cable Car that we could ride up to the summit of the Volcano. Next, came the deceptive mud pits. With people all but disappearing into them, our Australian co-adventurer, with a fetish for Burger King nuggets, took it upon himself to help the ladies across. After having enough of the slushy adventure, some enquired about the best way to navigate the mire, only to be told, to their disbelief, to just run through it! The reality of the not-so-well thought-out undertaking had slowly started to sink in.

The drizzle that started when we finally dragged ourselves out of the swamp needed us to cloak ourselves in rain ponchos. Wet mud had somehow made its way between my toes, past snugly tucked cargo pants and tightly laced hiking boots. Every step I took made me feel uncomfortably squishy. But, the lure of lava was stronger! After the soggy wetlands, the tropical rainforest clinging to the flank of the Volcano seemed like a welcome change. Chatting noisily, we began our ascent up a narrow track carved by the countless footsteps that had preceded us. Giant ferns, the size of trees, hung in our path. Fallen tree trunks and tangling roots crisscrossed our trail. ‘Indie’s’ faithful machete worked tirelessly clearing our route. At first, I found the game of scaling and jumping over timber very amusing but soon got tired of it. The thick forest canopy and the looming rain clouds made it too dark to see without headlamps. The drizzle, by now had worked itself up to a steady rain. The wet ground, compounded by roots that tripped, made climbing without slipping impossible. Exhausted and impatient to see the lava, I sounded like a broken record when I repeatedly asked if we had made it to the top yet.

Eventually, when we emerged dripping from the jungle, it was 3 pm. It had taken us five and half hours to navigate two and a half miles of mud and slush! Puzzlingly, dry lava fields and a brilliant blue sky greeted us. It was as though the weather was afraid to set foot on Pele’s domain. Weary from the ascent, we rested on some old lava rocks smoothed by the elements and wolfed down our lunches. For the first time in my life, and to my mother’s delight, I didn’t need to be reminded to hurry and finish my meal. A Subway sandwich had never tasted so good! Cheryl reminded us to don our gloves before touching the solid lava as the flaking surface could cut like glass shards. I carefully stashed some samples in my empty chip bag. The sight of intricately serpentine silvery lava tubes made the hardships of the climb a distant memory. I skipped towards the fresh flows with a smile on my face. Hardened lava crunched underfoot like nougat and shone like a gazillion iridescent diamonds. The faint smell of rotten eggs in the Sulphur-filled air intensified with every step. A few minutes into trudging along the safety trail brought us to the main dome of Kilauea. I could feel the Earth’s warmth radiating through my thick-soled hiking boots. White wisps of steam and gases could be seen surfacing from numerous cracks. I was very surprised to see a gently bubbling liquid oozing out of the weak spots in the firm gray rock and streaming forth in the colors of the Sun. It was nothing like the pyroclastic explosions I had seen on television. And, I was thankful for that! I guess the volcanoes on the Islands of Hawaii, like everything else there, flow with the spirit of Aloha - with love and in grace. The aspiring writer from Japan took a few photographs and videos for us on request. When we wanted to return the favor, he told us he wasn’t carrying a camera! He wanted to rely solely on his senses to remember this experience! I wondered, how could he remember it all? Now, came the best part of the trip, the very reason we all were here - to poke the lava! We all got down to poking immediately after Scott and Cheryl showed us how to. I even devised a fun experiment. The Subway wrapper I stuck on the end of my walking stick burst into flames as soon as it touched the lava. The stem of a fern frond I had saved on my way up just sizzled and smoked. My walking stick on the other hand looked like a primitive spear having burnt to a sharp point. I had so much fun! By the time the Sun set, the black landscape riddled with embers from Vulcan’s forge mirrored the purple sky strewn with stars. After four hours of fun and frolic, when the guides called for us to return, I was no way near ready to go. I didn’t want to leave the lava and its comforting warmth. Reluctantly, we turned towards the bush.

It was pitch dark when we started the descent into the belly of the forest, with headlamps lit, and ponchos on. One would assume that going downhill would have been easier and faster with gravity helping. But, I guess we hadn’t taken into account the visibility, precipitation, traction of the terrain, and the energy levels of the lot. Everyone had been too excited to notice how exhausted they were. The rain from earlier in the day decided to resume its downpour, and the falling droplets lit by the headlamps created a brilliant beaded curtain that was very hard to see through. The wet ground made it very difficult to stay on our feet and people were slipping all over the place. My legs were giving away and my thighs ached from jumping over prostrate tree trunks. To help me take my mind off the pain, my father made a game of grabbing my arms and hoisting me over the logs. My mother kept me engaged by telling funny anecdotes from her childhood. Soon, I had forgotten my pain and was running ahead too fast for my mother’s comfort. She warned me to be careful and stay on the path or I would fall into the bushes and disappear. No sooner had she uttered those words than we heard a loud rustling and she was nowhere to be seen! We could only hear her from within the thicket. My Dad, the college professor, and his stepson from Indiana grabbed her extended arms and pulled her out. She came out smiling and quite impressed with her flexibility. For, by her account, she had done a perfect plow pose (Hal Asana) in a split second. Flabbergasted, Scott blurted that in all his years of guiding people up and down the Volcano, he never had anyone disappear on him as Mom did. Concern written all over his face, Dad checked Mom from head to toe for any injuries, while she protested vehemently. I just hugged her. Tight. It was good to have her back.

Upon reaching the woodland’s edges, the group let out a collective groan. We still had to cross the swamp which had swelled considerably with rainwater. Light from the headlamps reflected off the water, blinding us. We strained and squinted to see through the rain. I felt like a character right out of a World War II movie, wading through swamplands in the pouring rain, minus the battle gear of course. We sunk into mud holes, clawed our way out, grabbed onto reeds, pulled ourselves up, and crawled onto firm ground. All through this, Scott and Cheryl kept our hopes up, by telling us that they could spot the headlights of a vehicle just beyond the next bush. By the time we reached the bus, everyone looked as if they had been in a mud fight! It had taken us six hours to come down Hephaestus’ Furnace! Once inside the vehicle, I hurriedly peeled off my muddy coverings and sat in my undies. The adults shot me envious glances and told me how lucky I was to be able to do that. They, on the other hand, had to endure their discomfort a little while longer. At times, being a kid has its perks! On our ride back, we learned that the Australian gentleman had proposed to his girlfriend atop the Volcano, and she had said yes! She proudly showed us the brilliant ring. We all cheered for the newly engaged couple. I looked around to see how this escapade had transformed our jumble of participants and found a family of chatting, laughing, address swapping, intensely satisfied survivors looking back at me. Back at the tour office, we discarded the mud-caked clothes and changed into the spare we had carried. The digital clock on the wall read 1:30 am. We drove all the way from Kalapana on the Western side of the island, to our resort in Kailua-Kona on the Eastern coast. It was 3:30 am when we stepped into our sanctuary. Too tired to take a bath, and afraid of dirtying the beds, we collapsed on the carpet and fell asleep instantly. Harsh rays of the midday sun woke us to a new day. Despite all the aches and pains, we felt more appreciative and alive than ever! The air smelt crisper, the sunshine warmer, the songs of the birds sweeter, the food yummier, the sunsets prettier, and my family extremely dearer.

Climbing Kilauea has been the most challenging exploit in my life so far. It demanded every iota of strength my body could muster, and then some! It enlightened me to the true meaning of a family - one, that you are born into, and another, that bonds people thrown together in arduous circumstances. Both need all the love, strength, patience, compassion, ingenuity, and sense of humor from the collective. Both are great forces, capable of lifting us beyond barriers of differences, and individuality to unimaginable levels of emotional, mental, and physical achievements. Thinking back, I wonder, if we all bit off more than we could chew on that day? Like my father says, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” In the end, it all worked out for us. We all got what we wanted out of the excursion. The Australian couple found love. The Japanese writer-to-be got sensational material for his book. A father bonded with his 13-year old stepson. The four Polish volcanology enthusiasts completed their thrilling feat. I got to encounter lava from as close as any human being could without getting burnt. My Mom got her unrepeatable once-in-a-lifetime experience. She insists, that the next time she wants to see lava, she is driving straight to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park to enjoy the sight like a sane human being! And, my Father can’t wait to do it again! As do I!