The volcano sculpts a surreal moonscape. Huge rocks ferry on the backs of flows, tower over barren plains. It's windy. It's hot. The trees are long gone. But clues to a greener past linger--trunks made of stone, the last remnants of a lush forest. A mould forms when lava engulfs a tree and cools before the tree ignites.

 

The lava has come far from its violent release down across the fields. Nothing could stop it, except the one force that is its measure--the sea.

 

All we have here are explosions at the ocean entry, building a littoral cone, littoral basically means coast.

 

When water and lava get trapped together in the tube, steam pressure builds, then explodes. Now after seven months, the tube from one of the new vent fissure D has at last reached the sea. Kilauea's shoreline is today a battle zone.

 

The lava has been well insulated on its journey here from the comb. So, it's lost little heat. Now, 2,000 degree molten rock means 80 degree water, a volatile mix.

 

The steam also creates water spouts, miniature tornadoes that can tower over 200 feet. This is a place to avoid.