We returned home from the crater at midnight, but I didn't have much time to sleep. Poonam scheduled a boat tour at 4AM that morning to where Kīlauea's lava flowed into the ocean, which was the best time to see its glow. I backed up my shots from the crater, emptied my memory cards, and charged the batteries. The humidity inside the cabin was so high that puddles ran from the window sills onto our bed, keeping me awake. I got up at 3AM and went back at it.

I slept in the car while Poonam's parents drove the three of us to the harbor. When we got there, we boarded a small, eight passenger boat and cast off in the black of night. I tried to guess what the right camera settings would be to shoot something very bright, that moves, in very low light, from a rocking vessel, with no tripod, which is basically a nightmare scenario for taking pictures. When you make that much effort and spending that much money to see something you've dreamt of seeing your whole life, and that you suspect you may never see again, you do everything you can to get the shot. Not easy to do for a delirious photographer.

As the boat drove us out to the lava site, I nodded in and out, lulled by the rolling chop and inky night with no horizon to separate the sky from the sea. (Side note: It's very strange to ride a small boat in pitch darkness because you know you're moving forward, but you can't see that movement or feel it because motion in that direction is basically constant. You only feel the up and down motion caused by the waves because you're accelerating up and down. So your mind tells you that you're moving forward, but your body tells you that you're only moving up and down, as if you're sitting on a $0.25 horse ride in front of K-Mart except in the middle of the ocean.)

Experiencing a volcanic flow entering the sea in the dark is a layered experience. Its different aspects reach your different senses at different times. First, I woke up to a sound like the sound of a rocket thruster firing underneath a pillow, rumbling deep and whistling high. As I blinked bleary eyes, I inhaled the sharp smell of sulfur as a heavy wind heated my face like the steam rising from a pot of boiling water when you open the lid. Then I saw it--the pulsing glow of an undersea flame thrower. We had arrived.

Wilderness survival training in Reeds Spring, MO.

IMIRE PT 2: Walking with elephants.

IMIRE PT 1: Closer than we ever dared.