My latest visit with Pele

Here we are, February 2026 and I am back on the Big Island of Hawaii ready to visit Pele once more. She had been putting on quite a show when I was there last year. And frequently during the intervening months. What would happen this time?

In late January, the weather in Muskoka had been brutal – lots of snow and temperatures plunging to -35^o C. I watched anxiously as the date of my flight approached. The week before there had been chaos at airports across North America. But the snow slowed down to normal, the temperatures got somewhat less onerous, and traffic on Highway 400 got back to its usual super-risky state. I loaded my luggage and headed out for Toronto, had an evening with Darian and family, and taxied to the airport with plenty of time to go through security and board the flight to Vancouver. One night at the Sandman Signature – impressive lobby, so-so rooms – and I was back at the airport for my 6.00am flight to Kona.

Then came the dreaded passage through US Customs prior to boarding. I do not know if the US officers were playing with us, or just all late to work that morning, but with at least two flights leaving for US ports at 6am, there was nobody working at 5am. The line-up of patient passengers snaked its tail back and forth as it grew to fill the hall. Next to us the smaller line of Nexus-bearing passengers also grew into its own snake-like shape as they too grew anxious. Then, at about 5.10am, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the US Customs and Border people streamed out like a hockey team onto the rink, filed over to their appointed desks and began processing us. Speedily. With smiles. I was through in no time, so maybe my anxiety at having to go through US Immigration even though I was travelling direct to Kona, which is part of Polynesia and not really the maga-nation we are all coming to fear, was grossly exaggerated. Or maybe the Canadian boycott of travel to the US has meant they are really happy to see those of us who venture over. Or maybe I was just lucky once again. I suspect it was just luck.

In Kona, I headed over to Dollar Rent a Car, where the car I had booked, which was listed as a “Mustang or similar,” turned out to be a 2024 Mustang convertible, approximately baby blue in color. And I had requested the most economical vehicle as always – I think I might use Dollar in preference in future.

A baby blue 2024 Mustang convertible – could even be in Hawaii, but not mine because it lacks the small scratches on the right front fender.

Once in the car, it only took me about an hour to figure out how the mirrors, the seat, the air conditioning and the phone-pairing worked. Then I started out onto the road, with my destination in Volcano, HI, USA into Google maps. For the next 45 minutes I tried to determine if the damn beast even had cruise control, while discovering that it did have a heated steering wheel (which I never succeeded in cancelling). At minute 46, miraculously, I pressed a button that had a symbol like a clock or an old-fashioned barometer, and cruise control was mine. Geez, I am getting too old for modern vehicles with Owners Manuals that do not mention cruise control but do give you endless information on how to tune to your preferred streaming service, or how to modify the sound of the exhaust from Quiet to Normal to Rally to Road Race to Race Track to Extra Loud. Seriously! In a Mustang you get to choose the loudness of your exhaust.

Hawaiians almost obey the speed limit. Even when they are on an open road with a clear view miles ahead and behind and nary another vehicle in sight except mine. I was impressed and amazed and a tiny bit frustrated. And thankful I had found the cruise button.

Two hours later, more or less, after stopping to pick up a small basket of groceries (which cost $115 US) I arrived at the home of my friend, Bruce. I knew he would not be there when I arrived, and he was not, but the key was where he said it would be, and I moved my belongings to the Studio, where I knew I would be staying, before putting the groceries into the fridge. Without any prior consultation, I had managed to purchase foods we needed rather than duplicates of what was already there. I had the strange feeling, on this my third visit in recent years, that I was ‘home again’ in a rather magical Hawaiian home. I was definitely in Hawaii and ready to meet Pele again. The weather at Volcano was about 50% overcast and quite cool.

The cabin at Volcano, clockwise from top left: cabin interior, front door, the studio, and rear deck of cabin. Photos by P Sale.

Pele had been putting on quite a show a week before I set off on this journey. Two main fountains of lava were pumping furiously in Halemaʻumaʻu. They were routinely 1500 ft high. On the last day of that particular eruption, Bruce and a friend had ridden bicycles into the park (Hawaii Volcanoes National Park – not yet renamed Trump National Park Hawaii) to watch the show.

Then Pele began to throw rocks. Large quantities of tephra began raining down, bouncing off their bicycle helmets, bouncing on the road. Fortunately, tephra is more like Styrofoam or an expertly toasted marshmallow, than a real rock, so even though these rocks, falling from the sky, were up to 25 cm in diameter (few more than 10 cm and most less than 1 cm across), they were not lethal.

In fact, they were strangely beautiful because the tephra cools and crystallizes into several different forms, often mixed together. Tiny olivine crystals no more than 1 mm in diameter, glinting golden green, long olivine gossamer strands – Pele’s hair – and lustrous black obsidian all mixed together with a background matrix of the sandy – brown sponge-like (except brittle) tephra base made for considerable variety in what rained down.

Two small pieces of tephra (tiles are ~2.5cm square). Is that Pele peering
out of the one on the right?

While extremely light for rocks, the tephra seems to delight in crystallizing with sharp  points and barbs which can be particularly painful when they get into your shoes as they always do. And the tephra did not only fall at the edge of the crater. It fell across the highway and throughout Volcano.  People in Volcano, who depend on rainwater collected from their roofs, had to stop water collection, clean off their roofs and gutters to avoid getting their water supplies contaminated with stuff that breaks down into minute glass-like particles. Roads in the park and in Volcano, and the highway between the two had to be swept. And tephra caught in the trees continued to rain down everywhere. It was still falling as I arrived.

At one dinner party during my stay, I was listening to neighbors talking with neighbors about their individualized techniques for getting the tephra off their rooves. I had a sudden image of a group of residents of Pompeii one evening in 79AD regaling each other concerning the light rocks that fell from their sky, only to be buried in ash the next morning. I have no information about whether that eruption was preceded by a tephra fall; I was responding, perhaps weirdly, to the casualness of Volcano residents when it comes to their nearby volcano. Which occasionally showers them with rocks

The day the rocks got thrown, the fountains shut down, but not before one of them gave a final burst pushing lava and tephra 3000 ft into the sky. What would be in store for me?

The first half of my visit was sunny and temperatures down at sea level were in the high 20’s Celsius. Pele was resting, and we did not even venture into the park except to go for a hike through a forest my first morning.

Our route had been chosen by Bruce’s friend, Ed, another of those people who have ended up living in Volcano. Ed is quiet, knows his native plants, and is a master at cultivating them. Our walk involved parking Bruceʻs truck just outside the park, then driving in and after some distance along the Chain of Craters Road, parking the Mustang on the side of the road and plunging into the thick vegetation. Not much scenery; lots of vegetation. The trail was well-used and mostly relatively level. We walked, we looked, we discussed. I saw some plants I knew – tree ferns, Ohia trees – many that I didn’t, and some that I knew as invasives even if, to me, they looked attractive. Think ginger and bamboo.

At one point I saw a piece of tephra about 10 cm in diameter that was suspended at eye level having fallen from the sky and been impaled on a spike about the size of a small skewer – one of many that stick up out of the stems of tree ferns. There the tephra sat. like some sort of lollipop.

A piece of tephra impaled on a spine on the trunk of a treefern. Photo – P Sale.

As we walked, we began to wonder when we would reach the end, and would the trail end at the truck. Even Ed seemed to wonder this. We met a young woman running the trail in the opposite direction. She assured us we were heading towards an end near the Thurston lava tube (not a Disney ride), which would be a stone’s throw from the truck. Given the recent tephra hurl, I wondered how long a stone’s throw was, but all turned out well. And we even remembered to return to the park to pick up the Mustang.

Given that this was my third trip to Volcano in recent years, we did not rush about like tourists. My second day was a beach day. We lowered the roof and drove the Mustang down the mountain towards Kona, ending up at Punaluʻu Beach, one of those iconic black sand beaches backed by a grove of coconut palms. This day I did not even bother to go into the water, instead soaking up the sun on my patch of black sand. Once again, I learned that black sand gets hotter than white sand – my feet taught me this lesson yet again as I walked back to the car.

Punaluʻu Beach on a quiet day. Photo P Sale.

On the way home we stopped at Kaʻu Coffee Mill to have a taste, and buy some beans for later. A thoroughly enjoyable day, although the long downhill at the beginning taught me that the Mustang was not very good at using its engine to brake. I had to keep applying the brakes as the cruise control kept permitting continuous acceleration. (Yes, I am just finding something to not like about that day!)

On the 4th February, we again went down the mountain, this time towards Puna district. We began with a meeting at the Hawaiian Sanctuary Retreat Center, a well spead-out group of buildings scattered among the trees that offers retreats for yoga, meditation, and learning about organic farming techniques that work in Hawaii. We had a tour and met with some of the staff, followed by a delicious lunch prepared from their own produce. Many of the people on site were younger and had opted to partly pay for the experience by providing labor. Others were taking courses, and still others were just engrossed in relaxing. And everyone we met had a smile and spoke in that soft, laid-back way that people emerging from the bliss of a massage or a beautiful sunrise often do.

After lunch we continued down the mountain, stopping at Kokoleka Puna for some Hawaiian chocolate before a short visit to Kehena Beach – just in time to catch the sun for about a hour (it sets early because of the high cliffs behind that beach). In fact, the disappearing sun led me to move from the sand to the rocky point at the north end, where I sat in the sun and watched the Humpback whales offshore, several of them, apparently enjoying themselves too, because they were swimming back and forth rather than moving purposefully along the coast.

After Kehena, we moved a short distance to where Bruceʻs son and family are building a house. We camped briefly on the half-finished elevated floor, ate some dinner, and headed back up the mountain in the dark. It had been a long day.

Our final “majorʻ expedition took place a couple of days later. We planned to go up to the Visitorʻs Center at the top of Mauna Loa. That is where the instruments that measure CO₂ concentration in the atmosphere are located. They were put there in March 1958 by David Keeling, a post-doc and later faculty member at Scripps Institution of Oceanogaphy, University of California, San Diego, and have been operating continuously ever since.

Actually, there have been a few interruptions due to the difficulties of keeping a long-term science project funded, but these have been brief. From 1974, the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration – NOAA – has maintained a suite of instruments on Mauna Loa providing a duplicate set of measurements. The most severe interruption occurred in late 2022 and early 2023 due to the eruption of Mauna Loa. Fortunately, there were instruments on top of Mauna Kea, only a few kilometers away, that provided data to keep the series of measurements running. Now the longest continuous record for atmospheric CO₂ in the world, and still continuing – I have long wanted to visit that site.

Fortunately we checked the GPS before setting out. We plugged in the name – Mauna Loa Observatory – and Google stated that it could not find a route to get there! We did a bit of googling and learned that the Mauna Loa Access Road was interrupted, for over a mile of its length at the 8,895 ft altitude by the 2022 Mauna Loa eruption. It is not yet reopened to traffic, but the instruments are still operating, with solar power, and frequent visits by NOAA staff.

I was not going to get to see this world-famous site. Thank you, Pele.

So, we went to Mauna Kea instead. There is a visitors’ center at 9,200 ft elevation. The road continues up to the summit at 4,207 m or 13,803 ft, but only four-wheel drive vehicles are permitted to use it beyond the visitors’ center. Despite all its bells and whistles, the Mustang did not have four wheel drive.

The Mauna Kea Visitor Center nestled into the slope like a series of Frank Lloyd Wright buildings. Photo by P Sale.

At the visitors’ center, I learned there are about 8 separate observatories at the top of Mauna Kea, including one operated jointly by Canada, France and Hawaii. Each has a different kind of telescope, or two or three, and sees the universe in different ways. Just reading the displays describing the telescopes made me understand how little I know about that field of science. Of course, the cluster of observatories exists because Mauna Kea is 4 km high and miles from civilization – talk about a dark sky neighborhood. (Actually, Mauna Kea is more like 33,500 ft high, because it rises from the bottom of the ocean, one long slow climb to sea level after 19,700 ft under water and another 13,800 ft to the top. Substantially taller than Everest which is miles away from any coast.)

After dutifully reading some of the information and touching the piece of space rock put there to be touched, we went outside and strolled across to the garden where silverswords are being propagated. Silverswords, Argyroxiphium, are high elevation plants unique to Mauna Kea, Mauna Loa and Haleakala. Each mountain has its own subspecies.

Silverswords being propagated on Mauna Kea. Photo by P Sale.

This small shrub looks a lot like an agave, but is actually a member of the Asteraceae, that enormous plant family including asters, daisies, and sunflowers. It usually grows as a single globe-like clump of thick leaves but occasionally produces a single stem of flowers that can rise a couple of meters into the air. All three subspecies are endangered, and climate change is forcing them ever higher on their mountains because the only water they get is collected from dew that settles on the leaves. If they are not high enough up the mountain, no fog, mist or dew. What will happen to these plants as climate change drives them ever higher up their mountains?

The aridity is obvious. And each of those small clusters of rocks to the left of the trail was a protected home to a silversword now dead. Photo P Sale.

Unfortunately, a recent drought has hammered the plants that were growing at the Visitor’s Center and most of them were now dead. Maybe a sign of things to come? But that reminds me to say that there are some really dry deserts in Hawaii – it is not all lush and green.

After viewing the few living silverswords, we walked up to the top of a nearby rise (an old cinder cone) for a view. Well, Bruce walked up to the top and I contented myself with going partway up and then taking a side-track to a nice view with Mauna Loa in the background.

The slope of Mauna Kea rising in front of the slope of Mauna Loa. Both mountains had snow on their peaks while I was there. Photo P Sale.

I then sat down on a rock near a small altar-like heiau – a tiny structure of stones built into a more or less rectangular raised platform. The upper slopes of Mauna Kea have lots of these scattered about, partly because the ancient Hawaiians trekked to the mountain to obtain particular types of basalt for constructing tools. (Depending on how rapidly the lava cools and on the composition of the lava, the resulting rock has different properties.) They trekked without the joy of a baby blue Mustang, and carried heavy rocks back out on their backs. Bad weather would provide plenty of reasons to speak to the gods.

A tiny, 1m x 2m heiau on the slopes of Mauna Kea. Photo P Sale.

I sat on the rock in front of this small altar, partly because I needed to catch my breath in this high altitude and partly because it got me thinking. Those old Hawaiians knew even the most inhospitable parts of their islands: the deserts far above any tree-line, where it can be cold and uncomfortable, but where there are valuable rocks found nowhere else. Just as they knew the special places where turtles nested, and the places where specific plants would grow well. They did not have writing, or the wheel, or steel, or cell phones. But they had a rich culture, strong traditions, and a way of life suited to their island home. And they navigated the Pacific without the compass, the sextant, or other navigation aids.

Sometimes I think we have lost nearly as much as we have gained as we rush always to the new.

Back up on the cinder cone, Bruce had befriended two other hikers. When they got down to my level, we talked for a bit, mostly about where we all were from. It is a rather limiting conversation, but travelers always start with that.

Bruce and his new Mauna Kea friends. Photo P Sale.

And then it was time to drive back down the mountain, and head into Hilo to do some shopping and make a stop at the coast so Bruce could swim with the turtles. Just like a year ago, he swung into tour guide mode talking with other visitors, showing them the right grasses to pluck from amongst the rocks to feed to the turtles.

Bruce, turtles, tourists… somehow it all seems so logical. Photo P Sale.

I, meanwhile, spent some time, after a short swim, watching a grapsid crab exploring the mossy seaweed growing on the rocks that were being wet by the gentle surf. Crabs move about so thoughtfully. Maybe it is their eyes on short stems that periscope questioningly, here, there and everywhere that help me think that… maybe they really are lost in thought. Who is to say?

Still, it was time to go back up Kilauea mountain, ending another long day. Back at the cabin, we saw weather forecasts warning of heavy rain and high winds for the next few days. A few showers suggested the forecasts might be right, and, anyway, another rest day seemed in order. I had four days before I’d be heading back to Kona and home.

We did get heavy rain for two of those days, but the high winds never materialized in Volcano. Down at the shore they were closing beaches. And, in truth, the rain was welcome because the land was pretty dry and Bruce needed to refill his water tanks.

Meals with neighbors, a visit to the local Volcano Art Gallery, a visit to the farmers’ market – filled with fruit I’d never seen before, a trip to the gym, and a wonderful massage filled the wet days, while, on the drier days we did some yard work. A couple acres of land, mostly in gardens rather than lawn, results in plenty of yard work! I took on the dead-heading of the hydrangeas.

Now, at home I dead-head my own hydrangeas. I know how best to cut off the finished inflorescences to maximize future branching. The job takes 20 minutes. No big deal. At the cabin in Volcano, there is a hydrangea hedge that runs, 2 to 3 meters high, about 250 meters along the side of the road. I started clipping. I produced mountains of spend flower heads. I loaded these onto Bruce’s wheelbarrow and took them to accessible but inconspicuous corners where they could be dumped.

I worried about the wheelbarrow – it reminded me of the trusty axe I used to own; the one I had inherited from my father who got it from his father, the one that had had two new heads and seven new handles over the years. Bruce’s wheelbarrow, which I should have photographed, had a wonky, wooden frame which showed every sign of lurching sideways into a collapsed heap of sticks whenever I set it down, and a metal barrow (or whatever you call the bit that you put stuff in). When I first saw it, it had a floormat from a car sitting in it. When I removed the floormat, which I assumed belonged in Bruce’s truck, there was no bottom underneath it. This was a wheelbarrow which had seen better days, but with the floormat it did carry the hydrangea flowers quite well.

I worked away at the hydrangeas off and on, slowly moving along the road. But when it came time to head home, there was still half the hedge waiting to be pruned. I hope Bruce’s next visitors have some overcast, drizzly days and some skill at clipping.

The day before I was to leave, we drove into the park once more to have breakfast at Volcano House. I love that place. The dining room has a window wall looking across Halemaʻumaʻu, and the staff know how to make a good omlette.

Breakfast at Volcano House – a front-row seat at Halemaʻumaʻu. Photo P Sale.

After a leisurely breakfast, we went out and down Chain of Craters road to look at what Pele was doing. I was amazed to see how much higher the floor of Halemaʻumaʻu had become since my last visit – plenty of new lava to fill up the crater over the past year. Lots of smoke. Steady smoke. No fire.

Just smoke today from the vents where the fountains had thrown the tephra a couple of weeks ago. Photo P Sale.

Bruce showed me his secret steam vent, where we could huddle down on our haunches enjoying the moist warmth out of the wind. Like two hobbits in a hole, I guess. And, no, I do not know what possessed my friend to find, and to try sitting within a steam vent with a view across Halemaʻumaʻu. It was a crazy special touch that made my visit complete. Even if Pele was decidedly ignoring me.

My final day dawned dry, partly sunny, and warmer. It was time to go. I opted to keep the roof up for the trip, loaded my suitcase, said goodbye, and headed out, down the mountain one last time and across to the Saddle Road that would take me between Muana Loa and Mauna Kea and down the hill towards Kona.

The sun was shining as I neared the access road to Mauna Kea, and the snow on the peaks of both mountains lit up like whipped cream. No photos, just great memories to take with me back to Canada. Will I ever visit Pele again? Who knows.

And true to form she put on a brief, two-day display of fountains – no tephra this time – about three days after I got home. Taunting me? I think so.

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