A Moment in Time

The climb up Mauna Loa’s volcanically shifting landscape is never quite the same, no matter how many times you do it.

- By Will McGough

Istop to take a breather at the transition point between two worlds. Above, I can see the barren volcanic landscape of Ha-waii’s highlands, a far cry from the tropical forest of ohia trees where I stand now. Just a couple miles across the broad valley is the summit of KiÌ„lauea, the world’s most active volcano, where new earth spills down the mountain every couple of years.

Six years ago, I looked down upon Halema'uma'u, Kı¯lauea's crater, on this same hike, from nearly this same spot. Smoke billowed out of it at the time, and a lake of lava bubbled at the bottom. At night, the glow lit up the forest all around.

I hardly recognize it now. The crater, once only .6 mile in diameter, is now more than a mile wide. The lake of fire exploded in a 2018 eruption, when the land spewed and shook then cracked and crumbled in on itself. Six hundred homes were destroyed by lava, and parts of the coastline were completely reshaped—bays filled in, beaches destroyed—in a geologic instant.

It’s hard to resist comparing the two landscapes in my mind, the before and after. The desire to contrast the past and the present is the nature of repeat experience. But nothing stays the same, especially around active volcanoes. I try to see the view for what it is today, not what it was a couple years ago. If there’s one thing living in Hawaii has taught me, it’s that change is inevitable.