JOHN vs. CATHLEEN & THE VOLCANO

The sun is beating down. Cartoon-like columns of heat radiate from the ground. The only hint that we might not fry to death is the blue Hawaiian sea, well off to our left. And straight ahead, cutting the distant horizon, is a billowing white plume -- the money shot.

Cathleen is quiet as we set out. In the clarity of day we make quick time and notice the austere beauty of this tortured landscape. Lava twisted like rope, contorted like impressionist sculpture, bunched up like a ruffled quilt.

After 30 minutes, Cathleen finally pipes up. "How close do you want to get?"

"Close enough to see."

Finally we come to a rise, and the end is in sight: another 15 minutes, max, to the overlook. The sulfuric cloud is streaming away from us.

"Are you going farther?" Cathleen asks. The ambiguity is gone: She is annoyed.

"We walked all the way out here. I'd just like to see this."

"Is it safe? I smell sulfur. I think we're near a vent."

I walk on. I am like a lab rat drawn to the cheese. I care about my wife and our unborn child -- really, I do -- but I cannot will my legs to cease moving. Cathleen follows, at a distance.

Finally we reach the spot. A prayer flag flutters on a stick next to small pile of flowers left by other lava pilgrims. And? Well, I can see, sort of, faintly at the base of a column of steam, the glow of lava dumping into the sea. It's not the huge streams of lava pouring from a hole in a cliff, like I'd seen on postcards. More like soccer ball-size boluses crawling out of a low opening and dripping into the Pacific.

Every few minutes the hot lava takes partially solidified lava with it, exploding when it hits the water and sending fragments skyward, the still-smoking detritus floating away on the waves.

On the one hand, this is remarkable: our planet belching and gasping and expanding before our eyes. But with the weight of the expectations I had hitched to this mission and all I put my wife through to achieve it, my wonder is tempered. Plus, from a special-effects standpoint, it's like watching a fireworks display during daylight.

Ah, well. Like the Earth, we must endure a certain degree of turmoil to grow. Our marriage emerged from the ordeal healthy. And when we bring our kid back here some day, we'll have a hell of a tale to share about his or her first trip to the great volcano.

John Briley last wrote for Travel on Cape Hatteras, N.C., vs. Cape Cod, Mass.