(Today’s post is Big Island Learning’s first from retired Hawaii Volcanoes Nat’l Park ranger Bobby Camara’s Dispatches from Volcano. Bobby writes within a robust cultural context from which you are sure to learn a thing or two. Mahalo Bobby for sharing your mana’o.)
Number 87. A nice cool breeze this morning, rustling leaves of ʻōlapa, clear skies, and quiet.
Quiet. The quaking earth has calmed for now. Mr Durginʻs cam shows pre-sunrise scattered clouds. No roiling plume of uahi ʻawa. Merely a wisp.
But all may not be as it seems. But. There was still a glow earlier.
Iʻm pretty sure that the camera overcompensates and makes it appear that F8 is fountaining. But see how grainy and pixellated the image is? Time will tell.
Pele likes to linger. As desperately as we want her to go, we have no idea what her plans are. Please recall, if you can, the early phases or episodes of the Puʻuʻōʻo eruption. From 1983 to 1986.
Forty-seven (47) times. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Three and a half (3.5) years. Those are the episodes that made mostly ʻaʻā flow through Royal Gardens, never lasting long enough to reach the Pacific.
So please be patient with her. And with yourself and your family and friends. Emotions run the gamut. Up down all over the place. As I was told repeatedly by Ma: Boy, be patient. Iʻm still trying to be. Weʻve all been through a lot. An unimaginable lot. And already it kinda seems like a dream. Did that really happen? Maybe thatʻs one reason I write: So that Iʻll remember. So that itʻll help you remember. So go write. Use whatever tools you have at your disposal. Write. Something. And share it with whomever. Write letters, put in envelopes, affix stamps, mail them. No one seems to do that anymore. Go. Try. Memories, impressions, feelings, write them down now before the memories fade. Go.
If youʻve ever been to Pohoiki, write. What was it like? The sun, the water, the sounds, the smell, the winds. How did you feel? Or Kapoho, or Waiapele, or Ahalanui, or Pūʻālaʻa, or Champagne Pond, or the forests of Keahialaka, or Jaggar Museum, or the Halemaʻumaʻu Overlook, or the Halemaʻumaʻu Trail, or…
And during this respite, this pause, we wait and pray. I pray that at least Pohoiki will remain. But if it doesnʻt, we have memories. I pray that skies will clear. That our resources will be better cared for, that people will be more aware. That more of you will
be outside…paying attention noho i waho…a maliu
That weʻll all be more respectful, thoughtful, compassionate and caring.
Tilt at the LERZ is still declining.
At the summit, it appears to be more stable.
It appears. And our ʻōlaʻi, our incessant earthquakes are…recently nearly absent? That makes me uncomfortable. How can we go from hundreds a day to 29? How can?
And the Last 2 Hours, the Red ones: Where?
We must all remain vigilant. And cautiously optimistic. Thatʻs a good thing to be. Cautious.
But optimistic. Even as fires burn, and the earth quakes, and Pele inundates, and the ground collapses, we must be optimistic.
Below is the fire yesterday on the slope of Maunaloa, ma uka of the Volcano Golf Course, on Keauhou, maybe in the Park on the Maunaloa Road, and maybe on Kapāpala Ranch, that green area on the left.
We must be optimistic and care for each other and our lands. Always.
Till tomorrow, always, with aloha,