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I arrived at the Waikupanaha Delta - the area where lava tubes are currently feeding new land development and then exiting into the sea - at about 4:30 in the afternoon.  After a hour’s hike of about a mile over a recent lava flow, I found myself overlooking a “bench” - a lava formation at the water’s edge.   Benches are extremely dangerous because they are unstable, formed by the outflow of lava over volcanic sand and rubble.  A bench collapse in December of 1996 took out 26 acres of a bench at the Lae`apuki Delta, about three miles up the coast from where I now stood - land I had walked with my friend Cheryl just a couple of years before.  Four tourists had been walking on the bench at the time.  Three ran for their lives and escaped as the collapse began.  The fourth didn’t make it and was never found.  A more recent collapse in the same area in 2005 removed a 45 acre portion of the bench over a period of about 4 hours.

The City of Hilo is taking no chances with this new area and had roped off entry to the two-week old bench within 30 yards or so of the water’s edge (still pretty close).  There were a couple of dozen people there when I arrived with more entering the area as the afternoon progressed.  This tract of land is outside Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, but even so the Park Rangers were there, helping to train the Hilo Police in the ways of volcano “tourist management”.  Experienced rangers, newbie volcano police and onlookers all had the same expression - barely contained excitement mixed with appropriate degrees of caution. 

 Just beyond the ropes steam was billowing up from the violent interaction between lava and salt water, releasing a toxic cloud of sulfuric acid, salt spray, and hot steam. I had seen and photographed this area from the air just a few hours earlier.  The experience of standing on the newborn land itself, watching the activity just a few yards away, was another thing entirely.

 I’ve mentioned before that Pele is a living entity for many who live in the area.  From 4:30 to about 6:00 pm I was content to stand and watch, occasionally taking out my camera for a photo or two as I imagined Pele and Namakaokaha’i wrestling at the ocean’s edge.  Then at dusk, a wonderful thing happened.  Several of the townspeople had been gathering with a group of the Hilo Police and, with the latter’s consent, crossed the ropes to stand on a high outcropping of lava overlooking the cliff.  At precisely 6:00 pm, the people standing above the cliff began a chant to honor Pele.  There were no other sounds except for the rhythmic melody of human voices, the crash of the waves against the rock, and the hiss of steam.  All of us in attendance - now over a hundred - stood in respectful silence.

 A little while later, dusk began to fall in earnest.  The setting sun broke through the clouds for just a moment as the waves rolled in, sending up sparks as the lava encountered them and exploded upward.  The explosion continued, and rock fell away from the wavefront as lava became clearly visible.

The evening progressed from dusk to night very quickly, each moment bringing the living process of Creation, occurring just a few yards away from us, into clearer view.

6:30

6:45

6:55

 At about 7:00 pm I picked up my cameras and headed east, walking back over the lava and then cutting about 300 yards in back of the spectators, moving toward a glow I saw further up the coast.  I remembered the aerial views and was in search of the second major lava tube emptying into the ocean at Waikupanaha.  About 1/4 mile away, I saw the glow emerging, and then came upon a tiny bay being formed before my eyes.  At the end of a long finger of rock, lava was tumbling out into the ocean.

 I stood and watched for about 1/2 hour.  Aware then that it was rapidly growing dark, I turned and headed back west toward the official viewing area.  I carried my trusty “Little Max” flashlight, stuck under the shoulder strap of my backpack to light the way - not ideal, since the light would move whenever the pack shifted.  However, it was good enough, and I slipped back into the crowd unnoticed - well, almost unnoticed.  One of the park rangers, Adrian, saw my jostling with the flashlight and made his way over to me to offer a spare headlamp.  (I had intended to pack one but didn’t.) We had spoken shortly after I had arrived earlier in the day, swapping volcano stories from around the world.  I accepted the lamp, promising to return it the next day.

Fitting the lamp down over my baseball cap, I turned around to look again at the coast.  It was now dark enough that all of Pele’s small fires could be seen burning against the blackened lava on the one side and the ocean on the other; the two that I had been watching and a third that I had seen by air, about a half mile away from where we now stood.  Unable to secure my footing and not able to set up a tripod in what was now a very populated area, my final photograph of the evening is as surreal as was the experience itself.

It was time to leave. Darkness had fallen and Halema’uama’u was calling; I wanted to see the new vent glowing in the night. Bidding Adrian a good evening and with another word of thanks for the headlamp, I packed up again and headed out, threading my way carefully over the lava crunching beneath my feet until at last I found the Jeep where I had left it. Loading my pack, cameras and Adrian’s headlamp inside, I carefully drove out over darkened lava fields and dirt road, eventually finding the paved road of Rt. 130.  From there I picked up Highway 11 - “Volcano Highway” - and made my way up the mountain to where the Volcano House - and a delicious dinner - awaited me.

It had been quite a day.  But it wasn’t over yet!

According to legend, Pele was born in Tahiti, one of six daughters and seven sons of Haumea (an ancient Earth goddess) and Kane Milohai (creator of the Earth, sky, and upper heavens).  Pele was exiled to Hawaii by her father after it was discovered that she had seduced the husband of her older sister, Na-maka-o-Kaha’i. 

Although Namakaokaha’i was goddess of the sea, she did not control everything in it.  Pele’s eldest brother Kamohoali’i was King of the Sharks, and gave her and her brothers a large canoe to escape their raging sister. In it, they left Tahiti and eventually came to Hawai’i, where Pele first smote the ground at the island of Kaua’i with her stick, creating fire. 

Pele’s battles with her sister Namakaokaha’i did not end when she left Tahiti. Namakaokaha’i learned that she was at Hawai’i among the islands, came to her there and fought her, leaving her for dead.  Pele recovered and fled to Oahu, where she dug many fire pits, including the one we now know as Diamond Head.  Namakaokaha’i fought her again and again, eventually killing her, only to have her rise as a goddess and make her home at Halema’uma’u. 

It is said that where fire meets the sea, Pele and Namakaokaha’i still fight, and clouds of steam issue from their exertions.  After an absence of 8 months when the lava flowed higher up on the flank of Kilauea, Pele returned to the sea in March and steam began to blanket the shoreline.  The photo below shows the terminus of a lava tube, with lava entering the sea.

This conflict at water’s edge is the source of Hawaii’s famed black beaches.  When lava moves down Kilauea’s flank from the vicinity of Pu’u O’o and hits the water, it is approximately 1900 degrees F.  The water is about 76 degrees. Upon encountering the sea, the hot lava pulverizes, exploding and shattering into tiny fragments - the tempered lava glass we know as “sand”.   A small, newly formed beach can be seen around the flow.

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Our wonderful pilot Ray gives me one more moment to look upon the two sisters, clothed in fire and water.

Then Ray took us back up, eventually heading out to sea and then around back toward the island.   The photo below shows two of the three points along the coast where lava is currently being pumped into the sea.  Note the tilt meter on the left; it measures deformation of the new ground as the lava moves beneath.

A final view of the three points at which Pele and Namakaokaha’i are locked in their eternal struggle.  They are Creators and Destroyers both; blackening everything that crosses their path - but also giving rise to the very newest land on Earth. 

By the time we touched down in Hilo, the rain had stopped.  With a final “thanks” to Ray and a small detour to say goodbye to Keola, I grabbed my stuff and made for the Jeep, heading back up the mountain just a little way before turning down a long road that eventually ended up in a lava field.

 Driving over very rough terrain for a bit, I ended up at a trailhead recently cut into the lava by the City of Hilo to provide a path to the sea that does not trespass upon the property of people who are still living on land now covered over with ten feet of cooled lava.  I loaded up my backpack with lots of water and packed my video camera, gas mask, and what seemed like a ton of camera equipment onto my back.  Taking my walking stick in hand and squinting against the afternoon sun, I headed down toward the sea, seeking out the battleground of two headstrong and very powerful sisters.

Emerging from a swarm of earthquakes, four new vents opened up along the Eastern Rift the night before Thanksgiving in 2007.  Named A, B, C, and D it shortly became clear that Vent D, the last to open, was in reality the first among new vents.  Closest to Pu’u O’o by a hundred yards or so, it appears to be the fount from which new lava flows.  Ray flew directly to “D” and hovered there, rotating the helicopter in a lazy circle. 

A quick adjustment to the camera and a slightly better angle revealed the presence of a skylight just peeking out of the steam and gas cloud beneath the vent.

Ray again moved closer, and the skylight emerged a bit more. Note the color of the lava. This is fresh stuff, issuing forth the Earth at between 2000 and 2200 degrees Fahrenheit. The rocks within the vent itself are literally “red hot”.

And finally, looking directly into the heart of Pu’u O’o’s young sister….

To put “D” in perspective, here she is again with Pu’u O’o, on approach in the rain.  She is the closest steaming hole on the left to the older vent.

The lava issuing forth from “D” took a while to get there, but finally tunneled through surrounding rock to the sea, where it arrived on March 6, after 8 months away.  This shot, taken directly upwind of the vents, shows the path of the lava tube beneath the ground.  Steam and gas vents have opened up along the length of the tube, marking the journey of the lava toward the sea.  The three small bright clouds in the distance mark the collision of lava and ocean water at land’s edge.  That’s where we were headed next.

Ray nudges the helicopter closer and, wonder of wonders, does manage to find some clear air.  (I love these guys!) I’m still shooting through raindrops on the canopy but no matter - the scene in front of us has opened up. It’s the first time on the trip that I haven’t been shooting through rain, fog, or “vog” - volcano smog.

           Pu’u O’o, near noon, April 3, 2008

Pu’u O’o is no longer erupting lava, but it is releasing So2 at an extraordinary rate, approximately 2500 tons/day, right here at the vent. The gas is released as magma rises toward the surface, melting more of the surrounding basaltic rock as it moves. The best guess at present is that the increased gas emissions mean more magma is pouring into the Kilauea system than at any time in the past 75 years.

I catch Ray’s eye and point downward, he nods and angles the helicopter directly over the edge. We’ve got a full contingent on board - a young couple on their honeymoon, plus another young couple with two very young children.  As we head over the vent, one of them looks down into the throat of the monster - and starts to cry. 

Lower. We’re fortunate; the wind right at the summit is pushing the cloud down and away, letting Ray drop to a few hundred feet over the rim. I’m thrilled; the kids are not.

Lower still. Note that Ray was very careful to stay on the north side of the vent, not letting the chopper drift toward the cloud despite a pretty stiff wind. 

Now just a couple of hundred feet above the rim.  The small instruments just left of center in the photograph below are sensors measuring heat and gas emissions. With the 70-300, image-stablized lens on the Nikon, it looks almost as though we could reach out and touch the swollen ground beneath us.

I think Ray and I both sensed that the baby’s mother (seated between us) was becoming upset, so with a another nod he pulled up and began to move off, headed out over the rift zone to take a look at the new vents that opened up last November in an event dubbed ”the Thanksgiving’s Eve Breakout” (TEB). 

(To be continued…)

Weather’s getting bad, tough to film on the ground.  On a whim, I get ahold of Blue Hawaii Helicopters.  Sure enough, they’re flying and finding some clear air sandwiched between a low ceiling and the roiling gas clouds over Pu’u O’o. 

Over the years, I’ve flown with Blue Hawaii and with Safari - it all depends on what I’m looking for.  A few years ago I wanted to go as close and low to the vent at Pu’u O’o as I could go without fouling the engines (aviation and volcanoes don’t mix; intakes don’t like hot gas and particulates).  Safari negotiated a “doors off” charter with me and one other brave soul who liked the sound of what I was doing.  Safari pilots are a rare breed and that day I was fortunate to have a Vietnam-era helo driver who could literally stand the bird on its head.

Generally I have no problems in the air, but while on the way through a parabolic, twisty, gyrating move aimed at getting me directly on top of a skylight - that’s a cave-in over a lava tube which gives a clear view of lava flowing through at 2000 degrees - I must admit that I reached for a “comfort bag” and rapidly emptied my stomach of all of its contents.  Once done, I was fine, and just held on for a tremendous ride and lots of GREAT photos.  My companion was not so lucky.  It turned out he had never been in a helicopter - never even a small plane.  He ran close to exhausting the craft’s supply of comfort bags.  For my part, I was pretty much oblivious - I was a woman on a mission.  The pilot and I did help him out of the helicopter once we got back, however - poor guy; I think he was embarrassed or maybe still as sick as hell.  

On this day, however, the weather’s bad, I don’t feel like taking a rougher ride than we’re already facing, and Blue Hawaii sounds like the ticket.  For the record, Blue Hawaii is the Cadillac of commercial Hawaiian helicopter companies.  They emphasize comfort and a stable ride, which is why alot of photographers and filmmakers prefer them - Spielberg used them to film overhead scenes in “Jurassic Park”.  I’ve also found them tremendously accommodating.  Today, I make it clear that I’m all about the pictures, and they sit me up front, on the opposite door from the pilot, where I can shoot to the front, the side, and out the floor window situated just below the console. 

Keola Taasan is our trainer.  Keola is a charming man somewhere in his mid-twenties.  He walks us through “fam training” - what to do and not do, how to wear a harness, how to manage the inflatable life preserver.   (I can’t help it - I always think it - If we’re going to ditch, we should be so lucky to end up in the water, rather than a vent!)  I’ve noticed that they’ve lightened up on footwear - people can fly in flip flops.  Don’t think I like that; if we would ever have to put down in one of Pele’s fields, that sort of “footwear” would be torn to shreds in a couple of hundred yards.  I stick to my boots.

Pretty soon we’re up.  It is pouring.  Ray, our pilot, is doing his safety schpiel and soon launches into his “script”, tailored for the folks onboard.  Blue Hawaii’s marketeers are no dummies; the pilots fly with the passenger list and seat assignments clipped to the console in front of them and call out names as they angle the bird this way and that.  Fine with me; I’m checking out cameras and trying to figure out how I’m going to manage some really crazy lighting coming from dark clouds above and white hot gas below, contrasting with yet another dark background found in the lava plains around Pu’u O’o.  Add to that more steam and reflection from the newer, smaller vents that have erupted along the Eastern Rift Zone that makes Hawaii’s Big Island some of the most active volcanic territory on Earth.

Got to get my head in the game; I’m the one who decided to fly in lousy weather.  Whether I’m ready or not, Ray’s going in.  I can see Pele dancing in the distance.

   Eastern rift on a rainy day, 2 miles out.  Pu’u O’o on right.

                 Halema’uma’u, 5:45 am, April 3, 2008

Pele’s dancers have had to move away from the crater, offering their artistry and song to Pele from the rim of the Kilauea caldera, within which Halema’uma’u sits.  They are there, at dawn.  I am there, before dawn.  Pele is most definitely there; I can hear her, feel her move under my feet, and smell her.  The Earth is alive.

  Dawn, Kilauea crater (the upper west rim is on the right side)

It is cold, in the mid-40’s.  I begin to hike in, carefully.  The wind was blowing to the south, away from me, but I know that this can change.  The sun is behind me, warming my back a little.  

What is happening here is historic; overnight Halema’uam’u again ejected long strands of lava called “Pele’s hair”, and small globules called “Pele’s tears”.  There is more gas at this site than ever in the recorded history of Kilauea. 

I stay for a long time, until I am so cold I cannot feel my hands.  Metaphysics are important but everything has a time and place. Breakfast beckons; the venerable Volcano House where I am staying puts on a wonderful buffet, made just for the pre-dawn volcano chaser seeking warmth and retreat from the damp air. 

I linger for a while afterwards, warming my still-chilled feet and hands in front of Pele’s fireplace, which has burned continuously for 125 years. Soon, I’ll head for the western rim and see if I can work my way toward the new vent.

According to legend, the Goddess Pele becomes very angry when souvenirs are taken from her home.  My friend Danny Iho told me that this is a Hawaiian “urban myth”, begun many years ago by a ranger in the Hawaii Volcanos National Park to dissuade visitors from damaging the environment.  Whether rooted in a ranger’s duty or in a older legend, it is a romantic notion, which may account for its longevity and continuing influence.

I wish I could clain that sensitivity to the environment was what led me to put back the lava pebbles I picked up in my very first hours ever on the volcano in the early 1990’s.  Not so. Rather, being there was so powerful that no single pebble or relic could capture or reflect it.  It was, from the very beginning, a sacred place for me.

The word “sacred” has an analog in the Hebrew root of the word “kadosh” - meaning, “to set aside”.  Things that are sacred are outside our common experience; they are meant to be regarded with great respect and treated with reverence.  Although a rock can be a holy thing, for the most part volcanic rock is for me just a rock, even when going through quite a lot to collect one.  I have them from other sites; Etna, Vesuvius, Stromboli, Ranier, St. Helens for a few - but there is something unique about Kilauea, something that sets it aside.

First of all, as I mentioned in my last post, this volcano is accessible.  Like thousands of other people I have hiked it, breathed its sulphur, flown over it, tripped over its sharp edges, been burned by it, and wet my skin in its steam. As volcanoes go, all these things together are unusual.  Its very accessibility is part of why it is also so dangerous.  The Greek philosopher Empedocles is said to have thrown himself into the fiery throat of Mt. Etna, drawn there by fascination.  Over the centuries he has not been alone in venturing too close.

Faced with such power, how best to “capture” these experiences, other than in the singular recesses of memory?  Although it does not come easily to me, I settled long ago on photography, and more recently, film.  To this day I find that choice ironic.  For most of my life I was completely convinced that I could not take a decent photograph.  It was a conversation with friend Story Musgrave, astronaut, artist, and photographer par excellence that convinced me to give it another try.

In typical fashion, Story challenged my assertion that I lacked the spatial skills to compose a photograph with a few well-chosen words that were direct, concise, and carried just the right amount of gentle sarcasm.  A few months later I was hooked, carrying my Nikon with me from place to place, volcano to volcano.  Once at a good spot I would set up the image using my eye, then pop the camera out of its case and shoot before popping it right back in, hoping I hadn’t scratched the lens in the race to limit exposure to the toxic environment.

Testing the limits, I took the camera from the acid air of volcanoes to the wet, salty air of the ocean, recording angry seas and playful dolphins off Cape Hatteras, lighthouses reaching toward a night sky full of stars along the Atlantic coast, and sea lions, otters and migrating humpbacks off of Monterey.  As a result of my great privilege to work in the American space program, I have also documented shuttle launches, watching Endeavor, Discovery, Atlantis and Columbia soar into space, belching fire with a roar that evokes Stromboli on a typically violent day.

Year after year, the camera’s lens framed and deepened my understanding of the fundamental connections between earth, sea and space.  With it I “saw” anew, beyond the surface features of the physical places that reflect those connections and forces for me.  The camera became my faithful companion for some of the most memorable experiences of my life.

Then it was gone.  In 2005, the Nikon was stolen.  The police were unable to help.  I was heartbroken.  It was something of a revelation to realize that a physical object had become so important in my attempt to hold up a mirror to the metaphysical.

I’ve made do in the years since, although photography was not the same.  But just before this trip I took a leap of faith and jumped fully into the digital domain, buying a new Nikon - this time a DLSR, the D80.  As soon as I got it home I pulled the camera out of its box, knowing I had just a day or two to familiarize myself with some of the function and most of all the feel of it before using it to gaze once more upon Kilauea’s countenance.

Only there was no need.  I didn’t know it until that instant, but Nikon has built the line with a body that is very similar to my first one.  As I took it in my hand, my fingers curled around it with well-remembered feeling.  My stepson Paul, generally a sympathetic sort, was watching with no way of understanding why I was suddenly so emotional over a camera.  He asked, unbelievingly, “Are you going to cry?”  The question snapped me out of it and I mumbled a couple of non sequiters, confirming yet again his suspicion that I am completely nuts.

So now here we are again. This time I’m loaded; video camera (all the activity at Halema’uam’u is too much of a temptation although I don’t know how much of that I’ll end up doing), new Nikon, and a small but mighty Konica for setting up shots.  As always, I’m terrified and exhilarated by the challenge before me - how to walk the mirror’s edge, using the camera lens to look cautiously upon the face of Creation and Destruction that are one and the same at Kilauea, and at all volcanoes.  I know that it is an obsession - and a task at which I will never quite succeed - but one for which I will keep coming back, to try.

Greetings - I’d like to welcome you to my blog.  While I’ve thought about doing this for a while, the answer to “why now”? is to reassure friends and family that I haven’t fallen into a lava pit.  I’ll venture into other topics in the future, but these first several posts will be about my trip (the latest of many) to an active volcano, this time the domain of the Goddess Pele, who lives in Halema’uma’u in the Kilauea crater on Mauna Loa, Big Island (Hawaii).

I’ve been in love with volcanos since I can remember, and this is the very first one I visited in person.  Now, as then, the majority of the activity at Kilauea has been down the flank of the volcano, at or near a vent called Pu’u O’o.  When Pu’u O’o opened up in 1983, it began a series of eruptions replete with spattered lava and showers of ejected material, eventually building a spectacular (and very steep) cinder cone (the summit is shown below, in 1998).  The current eruption is a continuation of that event; it has gone on for 25 years.

The Pu’u O’o eruption  has moved through several phases, but things began to pick up last July and again in November of 2007 when the Earth began to pump more and more magma into the Kilauea system.  Two weeks ago a new steam vent opened up at Halema’uma’u, the crater at the summit of Kilauea.  This was followed by a steam/gas explosion on March 19 - the first in Halema’uma’u since 1924.

Since opening, the vent has significantly increased its emissions of sulfur dioxide gas, up to 2500 tons/day last week.  Halema’uam’u is always sulphurous; upon walking the trails in the caldera the observant visitor will find delicate, multi-colored “sulphur flowers” situated among the fresh fruit and native flowers brought by local people as respectful offerings to the Goddess.  However, at the momen Pele’s home is releasing between 1500 and 1800 tons/day of SO2, compared with a background rate of between 150-200 tons per day prior to the new vent.  Further down the flank, concentrations at Pu’u O’o are very high, approximately  2500 tons/day.

Sulfur dixoide has an unfortunate tendency to react with water and create sulphurous acid, which is not good when trying to breathe, swallow or see.  That’s why I’m taking a North Safety silicon full-face respirator, which provides excellent eye, face and respiratory protection and is very light.  It has a 200 degree field of vision, screw-in cartridge/filter mountings, and a diaphragm for communication.  Mine is fitted with a cartridge/filter combination that filters out particulates and protects against several gases, among them sulfur dioxide.  You can find it here at http://www.airgas.com.  FYI, I “plug” North Safety here because they are one of the few manufacturers who make such products small enough to be used by women

An important caveat.  In my opinion, going to a volcano without learning a great deal about the dangers of these sites is a suicidal gesture.  It can be argued (and has been, to me) that going under any circumstances is a fool’s errand, but failing to respect the power of the Earth’s inner self is likely to be paid back with injury or death.  Kilauea has been called “the world’s first drive-in volcano”since the system there is not generally explosive, but Kilauea’s fire and the hostile environment around her have taken many a fool’s life.  I know; I spent 9 hours on Pele’s lava fields in 1995 and the subsequent 24 hours in the emergency room under the expert care of the physicians and staff of the Kona Community Hospital.  I was suffering from tachycardia and atrial fibrillation as a result of heat exhaustion and extreme dehydration.  I also had diminished lung capacity due to severe spasm from gas exposure and particulates hanging in the atmosphere.  I couldn’t keep down an ice chip or sit up without blacking out.  And I was lucky - very lucky.

I had thought myself prepared; I took sunblock 45 (to address the high ambient UV radiation at the volcano itself, plus direct sunlight and reflection off of acid clouds and the ocean), wore clothing that covered my entire body including a hat and gloves (hardened lava at Pu’u o’o fragments into glass splinters as the slightest touch), took 2 gallons of water and stocked up on dried fish (sodium) and banana chips (potassium) for snacks.  As it turned out, the fish and banana saved my life; balanced electrolytes gave my heart just enough steam to keep some sort of rhythm long enough to make it to the hospital.  Even so, I was told, another hour on the fields would have ended my love affair with Pele - permanently.  Just goes to show that even smart people can do dumb things.

I visited one other eruption - Etna, in July of 2000 - without a gas mask. That was the last time I’ll ever do such a thing (another story, another blog).  For the curious, the provisions for the trip this week are as follows:

• Gas mask (respirator);
• Hiking boots with ankle support and lugs that won’t melt at 200 degrees;
• Light cotten shirt and pants, socks and tough leather gloves;
• Really good sunglasses;
• Gallons of water, jerky and dried fish for protein and sodium, and banana chips for potassium;
• Jeep, satellite photos, maps, and a radio (no cell phone towers on a volcano!)
• Cameras and an iPod loaded with Sinatra, Stravinsky, and a whole lotta 1960’s/1970’s R&B

More to come!  - MLD

(With thanks to Jim Davison for the suggestion of a headlamp - see 04/04 post) 

The astute visitor will recognize that the next two entries on this blog are reposts of entries originally made on March 25 and 28, 2008.   As it was a new blog, it had not yet been backed up and all was lost when the server crashed on the morning of April 6.  My apologies to our first commentor - and welcome to the rest of our visitors!

 - MLD