Hawaiʻi Volcanoes National Park, on the Big Island of Hawaii, holds Kīlauea, one of the most active volcanoes on Earth, whose summit pit collapsed 500 metres in 2018 and has since filled again with fountaining lava, in a park where the ground is younger than the people walking on it. The centre of it is Halemaʻumaʻu, the crater within Kīlauea's caldera, and after dark it is the reason people come: from the overlooks on the rim you watch its light bleed orange into the gas plume above it, and when the lava is up the whole floor glows and fountains, visible from a kilometre away. To Native Hawaiians the crater is not scenery but a wahi kapu, a sacred place, the living home of Pele, the goddess of volcanoes, and offerings wrapped in leaves are left on the rim. In 2018 the summit fell in over three months of earthquakes while lava poured out of the flank and destroyed 700 homes; by late 2020 a green lake fifty metres deep had filled the new pit, and an eruption boiled it off in about ninety minutes.
The rest of the park is walked. The Kīlauea Iki trail drops through ʻōhiʻa rainforest, whose red lehua blossoms carry one of Hawaii's best-known love stories, and out onto the flat, cracked floor of a crater that held a churning lake of lava in 1959, still steaming from the cracks sixty years on. The Nāhuku lava tube is a tunnel drained by a river of lava about 500 years ago, cool enough now to stroll through in a few minutes with ferns hanging over the entrance. The Chain of Craters Road descends through old flows to the coast, where lava has repeatedly buried it and the sea cliffs are new rock. Kīlauea grabs the attention, but the same park holds Mauna Loa, the largest volcano on Earth, which makes up about half the island and last erupted in 2022. Hawaiʻi Volcanoes is a park that changes its own map, and the crater at its heart is still writing it.