I demanded that the boys stay close behind me and follow in my exact footsteps. A side step could stumble them into a deep crevice. The shallowness of our breaths captured the hope and the strain of our journey. As we got further out, the flashlights from other hikers decreased and became almost non-existent.
Our path was a solitary one.
The red lava snaked high up the face of the mountain and disappeared, reappearing just before the cliff into the ocean. It became evident that we’d made our final turn when we could see the cliff, the best viewing point on the island, ahead about 300 yards.
Our steps and strides quickened and we approached the edge where we saw three people clustered together under a blanket. We walked up to them and felt the dark ocean breeze clog our throats. We peered over the edge.
It was amazing.
The lava river slid down the cliff and along a short beach, seemingly innocently, only to explode furiously upon contact with the cold, ocean water. It was a reddish, orange firework-like explosion, which nicely lighted our view. Some of the lava returned to the shore in a black and red steaming wave. White steam constantly formed a cloudy vertical line into the sky from the beach. The ocean whispered its breeze on our necks, tousling our hair.
A cruise ship in the distance was a constant stream of tiny flashbulbs, trying to capture the scene from their perspective. I wondered if the passengers even imagined we were sitting on the shadowed cliff they were ogling. I’ve read that on any given night, the most stars the naked eye can view are around 2000. Surrounded by the mysterious night and landscape, I’d say we could see at least 1900 of ’em.
Watching the constant confrontation between lava and water was mesmerizing. This is how land is created—the beginning. All of my senses were heightened.
The two boys pulled out their cell phones and I guffawed, “How can you be on your phones at a moment like this?” I was about to launch into a lecture before they explained that they were just trying to utilize the camera function to take a picture. “Oh,” I replied.
I was proud of the boys. I told them we could leave and they said they were fine staying a little while. This pleased me. They were young teens used to a fast-paced LA lifestyle with virtually every piece of technology and entertainment at their fingertips every day. The value in their lives is usually measured in wearing cool clothes, hanging out with the in crowd, and attending the right school. Yet they seemed to recognize the value of pushing their physical limits, sitting on a mountain, and feeling a warm ocean breeze under a dark and sparkling sky.
We knew we had a long way back, so we decided it was time to return to the parking lot. We worked our way back through the unrelenting rock protrusions, the constant search for our next step, looking for the most stable flat surfaces possible as we made our way past the next obstacle. The crevice mouths we walked beside in the dark were wide enough for a skinny leg to fall into. I was nervous about the boys getting any more banged up than they already were. Matthew had a steady stream of blood running down from his knee and the scrapes on his left wrist from a recent fall were turning redder.
We passed two beacons and were too tired to recall how many more were left. It didn’t really matter anyway. Our view was limited to the distance the light from our flashlights reached. The pain in our lower backs inflamed and our knees ached anew.
The thoughts in our minds were loud: boy, the car was going to be nice, to sit in comfortable seats and rest our feet. The other campers are probably joking and laughing around a campfire. I wish I’d worn better shoes.
