Kilauea is erupting again in a stunning display of lava and land reformation.
I’ve visited Halema‘uma‘u many times to admire the dramatic landscape and smoking fire pit. I used to go up at the start of Aloha Week to watch halau hula in hushed procession to pay homage to Pele with their mesmerizing chanting and kahiko. Those were chicken skin moments, and we miserable mortals can never have too many of them.
I remember standing at the edge of Kilauea ‘Iki in 1959 and Kapoho in 1960, marveling at lava fountains and feeling heat along with occasional sprinkles of warm cinders. Back then, visitors didn’t usually make their way to our remote island, preferring the beaches and nightclubs in Honolulu.
Few wanted to come to rainy Hilo where sunbathing means perching like mynah birds on lava rock at “Four Mile.”
There was a time when Kilauea was called “the Friendly Volcano,” probably in an effort to lure tourists and their dollars to our island, but how pupule is that? “A friendly volcano” is like “a relaxing earthquake,” but it could be the reason why some, seduced by this myth, built homes in the rift zone. Auwe, the cheap price of land in Puna should have been a red flag.
When Pu‘u ‘O‘o erupted in 1983, I had just relocated to Seattle and watched on television as pahoehoe oozed and crackled its way to the ocean. In 1986, it destroyed a new subdivision of beautiful houses, and in 1990, Pele overran Kaimu, the famous Black Sand Beach.
Kalapana was home for generations of Hawaiians who lived off the sea and land, but Kalapana Gardens was filled with newcomers. As the drama unfolded, malihini were weeping and worrying about restitution as they watched their dream home burn down. But kama‘aina just picked up and moved on, knowing that this is Tutu Pele. She takes what she wants, and you don’t argue.
On March 25, 1984, Mauna Loa erupted, and the lava flow came within four miles of Hilo. TV news in Seattle reported that residents were told to prepare for evacuation, so quickly I called my parents in Kaumana. I figured they were already at my brother’s house until my mother answered the phone with her singsong, “Haayllooo.”
Surprised, I tried to keep my voice calm. “You getting ready to evacuate, right?”
“What, why?” she asked. “Oh. Da volcano. No, but if have to, I got my jewelry ready to go.”
Undoubtedly, Mom and Dad knew something about eruptions threatening Hilo because fast-moving ‘a‘a stopped at the outskirts on April 15. I should have known not to worry, having grown up with the mantra that Pele likes Hilo. But that was in 1984 when nonislanders were still bypassing the rainy side. I wonder how she feels today.
The long eruption of Pu‘u ‘O‘o ended in 2018 when lava burst through Leilani Estates, another recent subdivision in lower Puna, and culminated by engulfing Kapoho Bay, where many local families had weekend cottages.
Today, even Halema‘uma‘u has changed beyond recognition. The picturesque concentric circles have collapsed one into the other and the crater has scarily mutated, as in a horror movie where a beautiful, welcoming smile slowly morphs into a menacing, gaping maw.
Puna is gorgeous, and many who lost their homes in recent eruptions are hoping to return. Go ahead, build a house there if you want to, but it’s a roll of the dice, because Puna belongs to Pele.
And I wouldn’t bet against her in a million years.
Rochelle delaCruz was born in Hilo, graduated from Hilo High School, then left to go to college. After teaching for 30 years in Seattle, Wash., she retired and returned home to Hawaii. She welcomes your comments at rainysideview@gmail.com. Her column appears every other Monday.
