And I chop it down with the edge of my hand
Well, I pick up all the pieces and make an island
Might even raise a little sand
'cause I'm a voodoo child voodoo child
Lord knows I'm a voodoo child…”
-Jimi Hendricks, from “VooDoo Child”
He might as well have been talking about Madame Pele. Yes, MADAME Pele. Be sure you address her with such respect. All indigenous Hawaiians consider Hawai’i to be the center point of creation and Kilauea as Madame Pele’s very abode.
They are correct.
Pele is creating the newest land on the planet, slowly, violently and beautifully – every day. Imagined as a strong and stunningly beautiful woman with long black hair and a hot temper, She destroys and creates at will. A true, temperamental Artist.
Once we got a taste of the land and the air and the energy which permeates everything in Hawai’I, and after having spent the morning walking land which had been created since my own birth, we felt the need to offer something to this creative goddess, this "First Artist". We rummaged around in our limited belongings for something to offer. I knew the park rangers had had some difficulties with some of the offerings people had left – some were distinctly non-environmentally friendly and either littered the grounds or left food around which simply encouraged wild pigs and other nuisance animals. So we didn’t want to leave anything with any real or negative impact. Some people said She (Madame Pele) was rather fond of gin.
I think the Lady likes perfume.
N. managed to scrounge up a couple of tiny vials of sampler perfume from the bottom of her luggage. The kind you get at the perfume counters for free and are good only for one or two applications. They come attached to a little card with the label and a descriptive mythology of the scents they hope you will eventually buy. One was a Versace perfume, for women. The other was a man’s cologne by Calvin Klein.
“But She has a boyfriend” I said.” The ranger said so.”
“That’s right. We’ll give Him the Calvin Klein. Then they can have a date.” said N.
Pele has an admirer, an ugly pig-god named Kamapua’a. They have fought violently over time, but he stays close to her in the form of a special fern which grows near Halema’uma’u Crater and actually gives it its name. He represents water and keeps the rainforest very lush.
Good enough. It was decided.
N. and I checked back at the station and were told that the air quality had improved to the “green” level, which meant that Kilauea Crater was safe enough to at least enter and walk a little bit, although we were not to approach Halema’uma’u which is home to Pele, which steams and is still giving off those noxious fumes. But Hawai'i's trade winds had blown off most of the worst vog.
“The smell of sulfur is strong, but not unpleasant to a sinner”
-Mark Twain, from “Roughing It” 1866
We decided we would walk only a short distance out – perhaps a half mile or so – before turning back, because we also did not want to be caught out on the lava or in the jungle after dark. Darkness falls pretty quickly near the Equator and distances can be misjudged. We both carried flashlights as a matter of course, but did not relish the idea of stumbling back through the rain forest and over uneven lava or roots at night.
We began at the top of the trail which led to the crater floor through a stunningly lush rain forest. At every turn it was more beautiful and filled with sweet bird song. As we descended we looked up at the cliff from which we had come.
Huge boulders were tumbled down the cliff face and strewn across our path.
The trail was very good. Excellent, in fact. A few places where one had to watch one's step over lava chunks and roots, but otherwise very lovely.
About 500 feet down we finally came out onto the crater floor. This crater was big – far bigger than Kilauea Iki – and imposing. Majestic. Very, very black and steaming everywhere. This was truly the home of a force to be reckoned with. Madame Pele Herself!
We walked out to a large cairn, about a half mile from the edge of the jungle. We were totally alone. Not a single soul was out on the crater floor. There was no temptation to walk out to Halema’uma’u – we were too scared to be tempted.
N. gently set her camcorder down on the cairn facing us and we began to describe the setting and our reasons for being there. We held up our tiny vials of perfume and told Madame Pele they were for her and for her boyfriend, whose name we could not remember or pronounce. We pried open the tops and sprinkled the few drops of fragrance onto the ground. So as not to litter, we placed the now-empty vials into our pockets, where they smelled strongly - almost overwhelmingly so. We turned off the camera. Glancing back toward the jungle’s edge and then at the sun, we knew it was time to be heading back. Another beautiful walk up through the forest and back to Volcano House.
In celebration of our little ritual we sat in Uncle George’s bar.
We drank Chardonnay and watched a gorgeous sunset before having dinner and then curling up next to the famous lava fireplace, with its carved image of Pele, for a couple of hours of warmth and conversation. Then to bed.
That night it rained prodigiously. We awoke to the most intense double rainbow I have ever seen – so deep that one could see beyond the purple to the hidden colors of the prism. The rainbow arched over the jungle and ended precisely on the very trail we had taken the night before in order to reach the crater floor. I took it as “mahalo” for the perfume - an unusual gift, perhaps. Certainly different from a bottle of gin. More Feminine. You know, treat Her like a Lady.
“I think She had a good night with Her boyfriend”, I told N.
She agreed.
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