LOST ON THE LAVA
Two hours behind schedule, not bad. A van full of French hikers was packing up from their excursion through the rainforest, coming off of the trail that we were just about to start. The hike to the forest edge was supposed to be two and a half to four hours long, depending on the shape of the trail. It was a nice sunny day today, but heavy rain last night left plenty of mud holes for us to slow us down. At first we attempted to keep clean and dry, but it didn’t take long to realize how futile that would be. By the end of the third hour we each had a nice brown coating from our toes to our knees.
It was then that we reached the ‘big crack’, the landmark informing us that we
would soon be
out of the rainforest and into the open lava fields. Sure enough, not five
minutes later the trees came to an abrupt end and the world of green submitted
to a world of gray. The landscape was now dominated by a single hill topped by
a white plume of smoke: Pu’u O’o. This gentle peak rose from the forest floor
twenty-one years ago, marking the beginning of Kilauea Volcano’s current
eruption. Nearly three billion cubic yards of liquid earth has pushed its way
to the surface and spread itself over forty square miles, destroying everything
in its path. Most of the lava manifested itself in the form of pahoehoe,
a gooey, ropy fluid that formed a somewhat solid layer of rock. The rest came
out as a’a, an extremely rough, sharp, jagged, and porous type of lava
that resembled loosely cemented blocks of broken foamy glass.
We set up camp in a nice grassy spot at the meeting point of a pahoehoe flow and the forest and prepared ourselves for the adventure at hand. Gary took a nap while Rick and I organized and repacked for the evening’s hike. Three flashlights, rain ponchos, six liters of water, and three cans of chili to cook on a hot crack were tossed into two backpacks for the three of us, and we were on our way. I made sure to grab a stick for lava-poking when we reached the flows.
We followed a well-marked geologist’s trail to the summit, which came complete with orange ribbon and red reflectors for night hiking. We passed over several different lava flows and made our way into the clouds that were now hanging around the summit. Rain began to fall and the wind blew steadily, cooling us off a bit more than we’d liked. After about an hour from camp we passed the last reflector on the trail and scrambled to the edge of the crater. Instead of being greeted by orange molten lava as we were anticipating, we saw only a thick white fog. Off in the distance we could see a scientific monitoring station, so we moseyed on over to check it out, keeping one eye to the crater for signs of life. As the wind blew around inside the crater, the fog dissipated and then returned, showing brief glances of the activity within. Inside the crater were two large columns of solidified lava, called hornitos, gurgling out streams of molten rock with a bright orange glow. Gary and Rick were stunned, and I was as happy as could be. Despite the wind and rain, we still experienced what we came for. They had never seen a volcano before in their lives, and I came to fulfill my craving for lava.
Cold and wet, yet satisfied and electrified, we headed back down the hill and out of the rain. In our haste to descend, we lost the reflector trail. Before we left camp I had made a note that the volcano was to the southeast of our location. This in mind, when we got out of the clouds I suggested that we cut to the west to regain the trail. Gary was following his nose to the north and east, probably subconsciously following the lava flows. But he trusted me, so it was to the west that we turned. After a good hour we had still not crossed the trail, and doubts were raised about my compass-reading ability. I doubted my memory. Was camp to the northwest or northeast of the volcano? Gary managed to get cell phone reception and spent a good half-hour on the phone, giving various friends back in California a play-by-play update on the situation. Needless to say, I was glad to get out of the good reception zone so his desecration of the great outdoors could not carry on any longer.
Darkness
came and with it a beautiful orange glow above the crater. The moon and stars
shone bright, obscured by the occasional cloud. The light from the heavens
didn’t do much to illuminate the ground and our flashlights could only light our
immediate area, so progress was slow. Somehow we managed to spend the majority
of our time on the abrasive a’a flows, which tended to crumble and deposit
shards of rock inside of our shoes and in our hands and feet if we weren’t
careful. No matter how careful we were, though, cuts and scrapes could not be
avoided. The potential for stepping right through a chunk and cutting up your
leg was extremely high, and if you fell, forget about catching yourself with
your hands. You’re better off just falling on your side. As if that weren’t
enough, before long you realize how thin the soles of your shoes are and how
they’re designed for flat ground, not sharp pointy rocks. It was difficult to
even stop and rest because the only thing to sit on was, you guessed it, sharp
pointy rocks.
We were all pretty tired and couldn’t help but daydream about climbing in our sleeping bags. Our feet were so sore, Rick and Gary both twisted a knee falling through unstable chunks of lava, and every time we stopped we got cold. In direct defiance to what our bodies were telling us, we had no choice but to push on.
Eventually we heard crickets in the distance and followed their sound the forest
edge. One small hurdle overcome, one large one to go. Which way from here?
Gary said east. Rick wasn’t sure, but tended to agree. I said west, trusting
the compass. We didn’t dare split up, so a compromise of sorts was made. Being
the expedition leader I insisted we go west. However, if no positive signs were
found after half an hour of trekking, we’d turn around and march east until we
couldn’t go any further. West proved to be very difficult going, with no end to
the unforgiving lava in sight. And so we turned around and went east. Not
surprisingly, the terrain never got any better. Exhausted, we tried to sleep on
the most uncomfortable substance ever created. And then the rain came, damping
our spirits along with our clothes. As if we weren’t cold enough. So we
started moving again, anything to keep from freezing to death. Rick was
shivering already without help from the weather. Our food and water slowly
diminished, our energy wore thin, and finally, at 1:30 in the morning, we called
it quits. Gary’s phone got a weak signal that was able to put us through to 911
and he explained our situation. Halfway through the conversation the battery
died and my phone wasn’t picking up a signal. But they knew we were out here.
In an effort to stay warm and hopefully get to a spot where I got reception, we
moved along.
A small pile of lava provided us with a windbreak and upon climbing it, I picked up a signal. Once again a call was made and I gave the best approximation of our location to the dispatcher. Since none of us were critically injured, the fire rescue team told us to sit tight and they would bring a helicopter at first light of the morning. So we sat, huddled together trying to keep warm and get some rest while waiting for the lazy sun to come round again. Sleep was difficult with the wind and rain bearing down on us, adding insult to injury. Rick was near hypothermia and the rest of us were not far behind. Gary couldn’t even pacify himself with a cigarette, as they now resembled little more than bits of paper wrapped around soggy llama turds. I somehow slipped into unconsciousness before the bed of rocks was too much. One eye was always to the sky, looking for the faintest signs of life and light.
And then the clouds began to take shape, the outline of the trees became crisp, the features of the lava field revealed themselves. Dawn. Where was our helicopter? I called 911 to see what was happening, and the dispatcher assured me that they were on their way. Sure enough, a faint buzz could be heard in the air. The sound grew louder, visual contact was made. Rescue! Oh how joyous! The chopper circled and settled down on a solid piece of lava, and our heroes waved us over. Gary and Rick climbed aboard and took off to the volunteer center, while I stayed behind with Tom, commander of the unit that came to our aid. I recounted our adventure to him and he told me some of his own, and he said that they could indeed pack up our camp for us and helicopter it out, saving us the trouble of yet another hike. Soon enough the chopper was back for us and I got to see the world from a helicopter for the first time. Oh man did it feel good.
We were all reunited back at the volunteer center, where the search and rescue team checked us over for any conditions needing attention. One of them took Gary back to our car and two others went out to retrieve our camp, while Rick and I tried to make sense of the last eighteen hours. It felt like nothing less than a dream. The most pressing thing on our minds now was what this little adventure was going to cost us. So we asked Tom, and his reply was merely ‘oh there’s no charge. It’s our job.’ So it was the least we could do but give thanks for a job well done.
Epiloge:
We cut our time on the Big Island short, eager to get home and relax in the comforts of familiarity. At the airport, Gary threw away his shredded boots, and we slept on the terminal floor until our flight time. Looking back I see where we made our mistakes, number one being losing the trail and number two being unconfident in the compass. Lessons to be learned for next time, that’s for sure. And next time for me will be in a matter of weeks. I’ll never get enough of lava hunting; there is just something about molten earth that put fire in my blood. But I can always stand to be better prepared, and I certainly will be. Perhaps a GPS unit is in order?