October 11, 2010
It’s Monday afternoon. Only a few hours until our flight. We’re all laying around the condo now, in something of a daze. Many of us have slept, after such an early start we’ve been pretty tired. There’s work to be done – cleaning up, packing. I think we’re all pretty focused on putting that off until the last minute. I have an urge to soak up as much excitement as possible in the few hours that remain here in paradise. The water is salty though, and the sun hot. I’m also red from head to toe. I’m not well motivated despite my enthusiasm.
I didn’t put up a post for yesterday because Sarah was sick, and there was some drama Saturday night that put a wrinkle in the otherwise silky smooth surface of our adventure. I won’t go into detail, but in the end most of yesterday was spent in bed, some at an urgent care clinic, and a little bit exacerbating an already extreme sunburn by the pool. Everyone’s alive though, so nothing to worry about.
The aforementioned drama and illness caused hesitation when considering going to the crater atop the mountain. The thought was that Sarah and I would skip it, and make the most of our time in other ways. Come 3:30am though, when the condo was abuzz with barely lucid zombie adventurers preparing for a long ride to the top to catch the sunrise, we reconsidered. I was ready, but Sarah took some convincing. In the end she complied. She thanked me later, as I knew she would.
We had 2 cars this time, and a few extra people. I drove Sarah’s rental, and we split the crew between vehicles. There was some amusing confusion over GPS directions (navigation is all but worthless here) Jason, the other driver, made all the mistakes it took us days to figure out. Once we got on the highway though, it was smooth sailing.
As we started to ascend the base of the hill, we noticed a large cloud of smoke coming off the fields to the side of the road in the distance ahead. As we approached, we saw that under all the smoke was a dark red glow. There were licks of flame along the edges, and billowing smoke from the field it was consuming. LAVA! It was still pitch black outside, and raining, and as we approached, the road curved, and aimed directly into the fire. We pressed on, wanting to get a closer look, and eventually reached the very edge of the fire, as the road casually turned to avoid the field entirely. It turned out the ‘lava’ was just some farmers burning the bush to enrich the soil, or whatever it is they do. How disappointing. We rolled out the tripod, got some pictures, and moved on.
The road up the mountain was built switchback style, with those trademark hairpin turns we’ve come to expect. It’s not as bad as the Hana highway, but still goes to great lengths to limit any semblance of speed. Along the tiny 2-lane mountain road were various warning signs – watch for bikers was pretty common; some local tour groups take mountain bikes up the road and patrons can then ride down. Another was ‘watch for cattle’, it seems there’s a bit of farm land up that way. We also saw ‘watch for néné’ which features the silhouette of what appears to be some variety of duck.
When one is driving in the dark, around corners, there aren’t many tools at your disposal to illuminate the road ahead. Typically the headlights don’t make visible the road you’re turning into, even with the brights set. This creates something of a blind spot, where, at the wee hours of the morning, as one’s eyes strain to see what occupies the void of the black, Godzilla, Yeti, and Dragons are prone to pop into existence without warning. I was turning one such corner, Jason directly behind me (I later found out he was looking for the defrost button) when a creature appeared. Then another, and 2 more. I slammed on the brakes, swerved to avoid them, and Jason miraculously did the same. Inches from my front bumper, now clearly visible in the headlights, stood 2 grown cattle and 2 of their young. As a cow does, each of them seemed to barely notice our presence, unaware of any danger or immediate threat. None made any attempt to move. With some effort, we managed to convince them to allow passage. Not long after, we passed a coffee stand. None of us could think of a reason to stop.
The crater itself wasn’t what I was expecting, I’m reminded that this is the nature of expectations. Parking was available on the edge of the highest side, near some rocks surrounding the edge of a cliff that descended into the bowl below. I would guess the crater spanned several miles, and may have been a mile or two deep. It had the distinct impression of an unnaturally large ice cream scoop, as if some incomprehensibly large being had ordered Dublin Mud Slide, 1 scoop, no sprinkles. Also, it was freezing the @#$% cold. I remember thinking as I left the condo that I wouldn’t need my lulu (hoodie) but brought it along anyway. Shoes, socks, and pants would have been laughable had the thought even crossed my mind. It was easily 40 degrees there, and I wasn’t the only one from our group dressed for the beach. Most of the tourists had come prepared, and were in parkas or full windbreaker gear, often wrapped in a thick blanket. It seems we missed the memo.
Looking into the distance, the sun seemed to be hiding under the horizon, taking its time in making an appearance. The horizon itself was illuminated fairly well, and though the ocean wasn’t visible, a sea of clouds reached into the distance as far as the eye could see. As we were hoping, the sun did eventually make its daily appearance. I had walked up a small path that circled a little peak to the top, away from the parking lot, and I was on my way back down when it happened. I watched as the fiery light consumed the pack of tourists, an inch at a time, from head to toe. Like racehorses at the starting shot, hundreds of cameras fired at once. Flashes went off, video cameras started rolling, small groups of naive amateurs crowded their way to the edge to get their silhouettes permanently etched on digital film next to a giant white spot and a lens flare. Within minutes, it was over. The pack dispersed. Cameras away, keys out, heat to full blast, and away they went. Down the hill to the hot, sandy beaches from whence they had come.
We stuck around for a few minutes. We made our way up to the summit lookout that had previously been barricaded due to lack of parking. A small building with a panorama of windows sat atop the peak, and a few straggling visitors came and went. The summit sign read 10,000ft, and another small sign next to a staircase read “walk slowly at this altitude”. I was instantly reminded of my time in India in a small town built at 11,000ft where ascending a staircase was a recipe for a nap. Good advice.
The sun was surprisingly high in the sky as we took a few final photos, then packed up and made our way down following the masses.
