There is another methane cannon whump, this one much louder and
closer, but Malcolm doesn't twitch.
"My God,†he says quietly.
Malcolm would tell you this if Genesis hadn't stilled his tongue:
Before this life is out, you must see lava.
I CAME TO KILAUEA on the Big Island of
Hawaii because it is,
at this writing, the most active volcano on earth. The current
eruption began on January 3, 1983, and, to varying degrees, has
been emitting flow ever since. Kilauea actually rests on the flanks
of Mauna Loa, the world's most massive mountain (rising 56,000 feet
from its base on the sea floor). But Kilauea is distinct, a volcano
unto itself, with its own separate magma chamber about two miles
beneath the earth. Nature, of course, does not perform on cue, but
if you hanker to see lava, few places offer better odds than the
slopes of Kilauea. It's as if Madame Pele, the Hawaiian volcano
goddess, saw the need for man to reflect on his place in this
world: Here, you insignificant scrap. Witness the birth of the
planet you stand upon.
Kilauea's flow is often accessible, meaning you can walk right up
to the stuff. On the day of my own life-changing introduction, I
was joined not only by Malcolm, but a group of energetic,
straw-hatted 60-somethings, who, guide in tow, had hiked up the
flanks of Mauna Loa from Chain of Craters Road.
Lava aficionados know that flows are best viewed at dusk, dawn, and
night (the midday sun blanches the colors), so that's what I did,
making the 30-mile drive from Hilo and stepping into the lava
fields at the edge of Chain of Craters Road at just after 4 in the
afternoon, a fingernail sliver of moon already visible in the
sky.