On the southern tip of Hawaii's Big Island, the earth itself became the instrument of destruction when Tropical Storm Lala's torrential rains — some areas receiving over three feet in a single weekend — sent boulders and mud cascading through the small community of Waiohinu, erasing roughly a dozen homes and severing the ties that connect a community to the outside world. The storm passed without making direct landfall, yet its consequences arrived in full: bridges gone, power lost to more than 100,000 households, and families left to survive on what their neighbors could offer. In the oldest
Mudslide destroys homes on Hawaii's Big Island as Tropical Storm Lala moves west
A family with a young child barely escaped their home before it was washed away; residents lack access to water, propane, gas, and food with no emergency services able to reach them.
The boulders coming down were shaking the ground
Mark
What does it mean that the news crew was the first outsiders Alice Birnbaum had seen? Why does that detail matter so much?
Mimi
It's the measure of how completely cut off they were. Not hours—days. No police, no fire, no rescue teams. Just the people who lived there, in their own neighborhood, trying to figure out what to do next.
Mark
And the family with the young child—do we know what happened to them after they escaped?
Mimi
The source doesn't say. We know they got out. We know it was close. But what comes after—where they went, what they lost, whether they had family to turn to—that's the story that's still unfolding.
Mark
Why did the state close everything? Was that precautionary, or was the damage already visible?
Mimi
Both, probably. The bridges were already gone. Communities were already cut off. Closing offices and schools was acknowledging that the normal machinery couldn't function—and that resources needed to be redirected to the people who were actually in crisis.
Mark
And Lala is going to get stronger again?
Mimi
That's the unsettling part. It weakened over land, but over open ocean it's expected to rebuild. The immediate danger to Hawaii is passing, but the storm itself isn't done.
Il Polso
- Boulders the size of houses rolled through Waiohinu with enough force to shake the ground, destroying roughly a dozen homes and leaving one family with only seconds to flee before their house was swallowed entirely.
- With bridges washed out and roads impassable, entire communities on the Big Island became islands within an island — no emergency services could reach them, and a news crew was the first outside contact some residents had seen since the storm passed.
- Over 100,000 customers lost power across the Hawaiian Islands, while Waiohinu residents faced a compounding scarcity: no water, no propane, no gas, no food, and no reliable way to call for help.
- In the absence of the state — offices, schools, courts, and emergency services all shuttered — neighbors became the only infrastructure that remained, organizing among themselves to share resources and account for the missing.
- Lala has weakened to tropical storm status, but forecasters warn it could regain hurricane strength over open Pacific waters by late Tuesday, meaning the threat has not ended — it has only moved.
On the southern tip of Hawaii's Big Island, the earth itself became the instrument of destruction when Tropical Storm Lala's torrential rains — some areas receiving over three feet in a single weekend — sent boulders and mud cascading through the small community of Waiohinu, erasing roughly a dozen homes and severing the ties that connect a community to the outside world. The storm passed without making direct landfall, yet its consequences arrived in full: bridges gone, power lost to more than 100,000 households, and families left to survive on what their neighbors could offer. In the oldest human pattern, those cut off from institutions turned toward one another — and the storm, now weakening, moved west across open water where it may yet gather itself again.
The ground itself was moving. That is what Alice Birnbaum kept returning to when she described the moment the mudslide tore through Waiohinu, a small community on the southern tip of Hawaii's Big Island. Boulders cascaded down the slope with enough force to shake the earth beneath her feet. By the time Tropical Storm Lala had moved west and away from the islands, about a dozen homes had been destroyed — their structures no match for the water and rock that a weekend of torrential rain had set in motion.
Birnbaum noted something that captured the depth of her community's isolation: the news crew she spoke to was the first group of outsiders she had seen since the storm passed. Bridges across the Big Island had been washed away entirely. Emergency services could not reach Waiohinu. The people who lived there would have to rely on each other.
Lala had passed roughly 30 miles off the Big Island's coast as a Category 1 hurricane, its eye missing the island but its effects arriving in full. Wind gusts exceeded 80 miles per hour, and some areas received more than three feet of rain over the weekend — nearly four feet in Kapalua on Maui. For residents, those numbers translated into something immediate: water where it should not be, and an absence of everything needed to survive.
More than 100,000 customers across the Hawaiian Islands lost electricity. In Waiohinu, there was no water, no propane, no gas, no food. One family with a young child escaped their home with only seconds to spare before it was washed away entirely. With no emergency responders able to reach them, neighbors became the only resource available — sharing what little they had, checking on one another, trying to account for who was still missing.
All Hawaii state and county offices closed Monday. Schools did not open. Courts shut down. The state waited to assess the full scope of what had happened.
Lala itself was not finished. Weakened to tropical storm status by Monday night, it was moving west across open water — and forecasters at the National Hurricane Center warned it could regain hurricane strength by late Tuesday. The threat had not ended. It had simply shifted, moving away from the islands while potentially gathering force for whatever lay ahead.
The ground itself was moving. That's what Alice Birnbaum kept coming back to when she described the moment the mudslide tore through Waiohinu, a small community on the southern tip of Hawaii's Big Island. The boulders cascading down the slope were so massive, so relentless, that they shook the earth beneath her feet. By the time Tropical Storm Lala had moved west and away from the islands on Monday, about a dozen homes in Waiohinu had been destroyed, their structures no match for the force of water and rock that the weekend's torrential rains had unleashed.
When Birnbaum spoke to reporters, she noted something that underscored the isolation her community now faced: the news crew was the first outsiders she had seen since the storm passed. That absence of outside contact was not accidental. Bridges across the Big Island had been washed away entirely. Several communities, including Waiohinu, had been cut off from the rest of the island. Emergency services could not reach them. The people who lived there would have to rely on each other.
The storm itself had been powerful but not unprecedented in its direct impact. Lala had passed about 30 miles off the Big Island's coast as a Category 1 hurricane over the weekend, its eye missing the island but its effects arriving with full force anyway. Wind gusts exceeded 80 miles per hour. Rain fell in sheets—some areas received more than three feet of it. On Maui, in the community of Kapalua, the measurement was almost four feet: 48 inches in a single weekend. The numbers were staggering, but they translated into something simpler and more immediate for residents: water where it should not be, and an absence of the things they needed to survive.
By Monday, more than 100,000 customers across the Hawaiian Islands had no electricity. Waiohinu residents had no water. They had no propane, no gas, no food. They had no way to call for help. One family—parents and a young child—had barely made it out of their home before the structure was washed away entirely. They had seconds to spare, nothing more. In the absence of emergency responders, neighbors became the only resource available. People organized among themselves, sharing what little they had, checking on one another, trying to account for who was still missing.
The broader machinery of the state had ground to a halt. All Hawaii state and county offices were closed Monday. Schools—both public and charter—did not open. Courts and judiciary offices shut down. The state was in a holding pattern, waiting to assess the full scope of what had happened and what would be needed next.
Lala itself was not finished. By Monday night, the storm had weakened to tropical storm status, its maximum sustained winds dropping to 65 miles per hour. But the National Hurricane Center was watching its trajectory across the Pacific. As it moved over open water, away from land, it was expected to gain strength again. By late Tuesday, forecasters said, it could regain hurricane status. The threat was not ending—it was simply shifting, moving away from Hawaii but potentially intensifying as it traveled deeper into the Pacific.
Citazioni salienti
The boulders that were coming down were so heavy they were like shaking the ground— Alice Birnbaum, Waiohinu resident
We need water. We need people need propane, people need gas, people need food— Alice Birnbaum, describing community needs after the storm
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Climate & Environment