Mauna Loa Y2K — Part 2

Posted to OHE on 7 Jan 2000 by Patrick Rorie

Part 2 — A Rendezvous with the 21st Century at the Mauna Loa Summit Cabin

Friday, Dec. 31, 1999 (New Year’s Eve)

At 4 a.m., the temperature read 38 degrees Fahrenheit inside the Red Hill Cabin. I went outside to use the pit toilet and paused to study the early morning sky. The Big Dipper and crescent moon caught my attention, and I witnessed a few shooting stars prior to reentering the shelter, lying on my bunk, and falling back to sleep.

I awoke to the sounds of the Kailua couple stirring about at 6:17 a.m. but did not arise until 7:05 a.m. My thermometer read 35 degrees.

The cabin and surrounding tract became a flurry of activity. Torrey and others boiled water for tea and coffee to warm themselves before eating breakfast and packing up for the 11.6-mile leg to the summit cabin. I, on the other hand, consumed a Balance Bar and drank a 12-oz. Dr. Pepper to get going.

Randy was the first to shove off at about 8 a.m., followed by Bob, Lisa, and Torrey. Half an hour later, I departed the Red Hill shelter bound for the summit cabin, leaving Zoltan and Chris behind.

Friday was another absolutely gorgeous day—clear blue sky overhead except for a small number of cirrus clouds. I halted briefly to enjoy the crystal-clear vista of massive, light-brown Mauna Kea across the saddle in the distance, the observatories dotting its summit like golf balls. Mauna Kea became my constant visual companion until reaching the edge of North Pit, 9.6 miles ahead.

During the first few miles, I noticed only a slight breeze (very quiet!) as I plodded along the open lava fields. I also gained pleasure from sweeping views extending from Hilo Bay to the saddle between Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, to the Kohala Mountain Range, and all the way to the summit region of Haleakalā!

At 10:40 a.m. I passed the couple from Kailua sunbathing not far beyond Pukauahi. They invited me to join them, but I felt it wise to keep moving (I would not see them again until 3 p.m. Saturday afternoon).

While approaching Dewey Cone, I stopped and turned around to observe—far in the distance—a white plume where the most recent lava flow and the ocean meet, as well as the Kīlauea Caldera. I reached the wooden sign proclaiming the cone straight ahead to be Dewey Cone at 11:11 a.m. and sat down for a breather.

With Dewey Cone began the procession past prominent cones along the Mauna Loa Trail. Steaming Cone came next and certainly lived up to its name, with plenty of steam rising from vents on its southeastern side and in front on the other side of the trench.

I finally caught up to Torrey at 12:05 p.m. while approaching Steaming Cone, and together we trudged over one of my favorite stretches of the footpath—the olive-green pumice pebbles partially covering gray pāhoehoe lava. It reminded me of the Sliding Sands Trail in Haleakalā National Park.

I noticed cumulus clouds slowly creeping up the saddle from Hilo, and I could clearly recognize not only the golf-ball-shaped observatories at the top of Mauna Kea but also the switchbacks of the saddle road as it stretches toward the summit.

At 1:10 p.m. we reached the 12,000-foot elevation and, further upslope, took a break just below Pohaku Hanalei—my favorite geological feature between Red Hill and Mokuaweoweo (the summit crater). Flip to the top photo on page 7 of the first photo section in Ball’s Backpackers Guide. It is fascinating how the 1984 lava flow poured out of the cone, made a sharp left, then a sharp right, continued down into a trench, and is frozen in time. The photo also includes the vivacious Carole Moon in the foreground.

I pulled ahead of Torrey beyond Pohaku Hanalei as we commenced the somewhat steeper two-mile stretch to the edge of North Pit. A significant increase in wind speed occurred, blowing directly in our faces, and a high overcast cloud bank blocked the sun, causing temperatures to plummet. I halted briefly to put on my gloves, wool hat, and green raincoat/windbreaker.

I encountered an older Swiss couple at 3 p.m., moving slowly but methodically toward North Pit. We conversed briefly, and the woman explained that she and her husband had bivouacked in the lava fields the previous evening. Pressing on, I bid the couple adieu and pushed hard for North Pit.

I began crossing North Pit via the Cabin Trail at 3:22 p.m. and noticed small patches of lingering snow between the cracks in the lava on the opposite side. A steady headwind with no sunshine made for tough going during the final two miles to the summit cabin. I struggled with irregular breathing and had to pause frequently to catch my breath.

At a point on the footpath above Lua Poholo Crater, I stopped to look inside and recognized a blanket of snow on the southeastern end of the crater floor. About a mile short of the summit cabin, I caught up to and passed yet another couple (John and ? of Pūpūkea, Oʻahu) who had started ascending that day from the top of the observatory road after sleeping there overnight.

Finally, the summit cabin came into view—a sight for sore eyes and a welcome relief from the frigid conditions. I could not recall many occasions when I was more pleased to see a shelter. At 4:33 p.m. I entered the cabin (elev. 13,250 ft) and exchanged greetings with a woman lying on one of the bunks reading a book and Ranger Jeff, also stretched out on a bed.

The woman’s boyfriend entered shortly after and introduced himself. Slowly and steadily, other backpackers emerged from the cold to the friendly confines of the humble summit abode: John and ? of Pūpūkea, Torrey, Chris, Zoltan, and even the Swiss husband and wife. A grand total of eleven people. Randy ended up tent-camping at the true summit.

By 6 p.m., patches of blue sky had appeared on the horizon. A handful of us went outside and watched the last sunset of the millennium, enjoying the way the sun’s rays lit the clouds, turning them a beautiful pink, and illuminated the entrance to South Pit and the vast, desolate Mokuaweoweo Crater.

When it comes to Mauna Loa backpacking trips, you never know who you’ll end up sharing cabins with. A bozo and a potsie might show up—as Dayle Turner and Bill Melemai can certainly attest—or you can end up with a great group full of interesting characters. Torrey and I had the good fortune of spending New Year’s Eve with the latter.

Ranger Jeff, a veteran of Mount Rainier and the Grand Canyon and an especially akamai individual, provided a Coleman lantern for use in the main room and, best of all, did not check for permits. Other campers contributed no fewer than three bottles of champagne to ring in the new year, and Torrey hauled up a Platypus containing red wine.

After darkness set in, my thermometer read 45 degrees Fahrenheit inside the cabin—a comfortable temperature, relatively speaking, thanks to the eleven warm bodies inside. Later, the heavens completely cleared, revealing incredible star action featuring multiple layers of stars overhead: some bright, others of medium luster, and still more faint, barely visible to the naked eye.

Ball writes, “The clear air and dark sky make this spot one of the best in the world for star gazing.”

One of the eleven—a half-French, 26-year-old man paid by NASA to attend graduate school—shared about NASA’s search for life on Mars and Europa, one of Jupiter’s moons. Five campers turned in for the night while the rest of us talked story around the table, sipping wine and champagne late into the evening.

With the wind having died down, I ventured outside once more before turning in to enjoy the remarkable star display until the cold became intolerable. At 11 p.m. I turned off the fuel to the Coleman lantern, climbed into my upper bunk, and slipped into Gene Robinson’s warm REI sleeping bag. No one stayed awake until midnight.

Next: Part 3 — A day hike to the True Summit and the return leg to Red Hill

References

Ball, Jr., Stuart M. The Backpackers Guide to Hawaiʻi. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 1996.

— Paka

Return to OHE top | Return to Oʻahu Hike Tales | Email Dayle

Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts

Search This Blog