DIVE'N' THE LAVA FLOW! (It's no longer possible.)

On several occasions, lately, I've been asked about diving the LAVA FLOW- by cyber-divers, through E-Mail; people coming to the Big Island for the first time; and people who hear about our volcano's continuous flow down the side of Kilauea (on the 'other side' of our Big Island). Many recall I was one of the lucky few who did dive the Lava Flow a few years ago and wrote about it in several articles for magazines and periodicals around the world. You've all seen the TV programs showing the lava pillowing and crackling open, spewing orange molten lava underwater, with divers backing off as this spectacle occurred. Well, I was one of those divers - and it was an experience I will never, ever forget. In looking through my files, I came across one of the articles I wrote back then - November 9, 1987, to be exact - for West Hawaii Today (our local newspaper). Here is an up-date on that article... It was entitled: WATCHING HOT LAVA ENTER THE SEA, FROM THE SEA....

(Photo by Robert Jensen)

Any diver who sees television footage of lava flowing into the ocean longs to see the ribbon of molten magma enter the sea, from the sea.

To see the pillowing underwater (and subsequent explosion of red-hot lava and its continuing flow 70 feet below the surface) is a diver's dream-come-true. That dream came true for me in 1987.

Steve Drogin had done it the week before and his first-hand description ignited a burning desire beyond my control. When Jim Watt called and asked me to buddy-up with him , I jumped at the chance.

We started early (4 AM to be exact) on the long drive over. Arriving at the boat ramp north of Kalapana by 7:30 was mandatory to catch our ride. The delays of traffic and school busses only added to the anticipation, but sure enough, our host, Dickinson Bradley of Sharkbait Productions (their underwater videos of the underwater lava flows are those you've all marvelled at) was waiting patiently as we drove up to the ramp, ready to go.

We scampered out of the van and into the boat just as it started down the boat ramp. The ride down the coast to the flow area took about 40 minutes with each of us peering shoreward through the early morning fog and drizzle, straining to see the first signs of Madam Pele's wrath.

Soon after passing black sands beach (which, incidently, is no longer there) we detected billows of steam rising from the shore with rivulets of orange-red streams flowing from black lava cliffs. Closer inspection showed bulbous mounds of midnight dark lava contrasting with glowing hot streams of molten lava pouring steadily into the sea.

As the surge built, swells would rise to cover the red flows and splatters of lava would explode into the pure white plumes of steam. Bang! Pow! Hiss! Then the surge would lower again revealing the red rivers coursing into the water.

As the boat cruised closer, about 100 feet from shore, the water temperature gauge on the boat hovered at 90-95 degrees (F). We were floating in the biggest jacuzzi in the world! The sulfur laden steam clouds would sweep over the boat and dissipate only to be repeated by the next blast of steam. We longed for the comfort of breathing the sweet Kona air in our scuba tanks.

We donned our dive gear quickly and back-rolled into the sea. The first impact of swimming in hot-tub temperature water (in the ocean) was somewhat disconcerting (to say the least) but after submerging only a few feet a familiar 78-80 degrees (F) became more comfortable.

Something else happened at depth that was very unusual. It was the noise! That supprised me! Not only the sound, but the feel of the noise was downright astounding. It was unbelievable. Concussions were felt as they smashed against our bodies. The battlefield-like racket seemed to occur all around us - not in any one direction as I would have thought. We swam toward the flow by sight - not by the sound, or we would have been swimming in circles.

When we reached the 45-60 degree slope of shore (while underwater about 25 feet) the roar of the action was almost unbearable. We would continually look up to be certain we hadn't approached too far in, under an unstable over-hang, or under the steadily flowing magma.

Along the slope, underwater lava-tubes billowed (and pillowed) molten lava, snapping, crackling, and blasting three-foot wide bulges in the powdery black and grey newly formed terrain. You could see where a pillow would start and we'd dart over for a closer look. Then it would build and explode and rush lower and repeat the process further down.

The slope itself looked very unstable and often would slip (in whole or in part) and dash for the bottom in a low-pitched rumble. When that happened we'd leave the avalanche and kick for the open sea. On one occasion I looked up the slope to see Jim Watt kicking away from the lava in haste (to put it mildly) as boulders and rubble rolled by him (and toward me).

My inexperience had brought me right up to a pillowing section (within easy touching distance) and the roar of the avalanche indicated this was a big one. I turned as quickly as my aging body could maneuver and started kicking away as fast as my fins would carry me. It was no good. I could still feel rubble at the tips of my fins which meant I was not getting clear.

I had no feeling of downward motion but knew, somehow, I was heading deeper rapidly. I looked to the side and far off could see stable ground. It looked like it was going UP! With one near-panic stroke I turned my body and kicked for that stable shelf, swimming now beside the tumbling mass of lava. I reached the solid ground in time to look back at all that lava and rubble pounding for the bottom.

Memories of movies of snow avalanches crossed my mind as I peered back and down toward the menace I'd just escaped. The roar didn't subside for several minutes - so who knows how far the lava slide had fallen before completing its journey to the bottom of the sea? At that point I looked at my depth gauge and it read 88 feet. I'd been at 35-40 feet when observing the pillowing - so I went down well over 40 feet in 3 to 5 seconds. Those seconds seemed like an hour in slow-motion.

For the remainder of that dive and the two dives that followed I didn't go too close to the wall again. "Experience is the best teacher!", like they say.

And so it was that I dove the flow..... And, unfortunately, or fortunately - diving the flow is no longer possible, since so much magma has flowed into the ocean the shoreline is too shallow for diving. It's as if it is flowing onto the beach, which in many cases, is exactly what is happening. At the deeper entry areas, major slabs of lava are continually falling into the ocean, making those memorable early lava-flow dives impossible today. It was fun while it lasted - and I'm still amazed that we were able (make that, 'DUMB enough') to do it.