On Jan. 15, an underwater volcano erupted in the Ha’apai Islands group, Kingdom of Tonga. News updates related the destruction from ash and the tsunami.

I’m stunned by the news, even more so as I’ve visited there.

Several years ago, I announced to my adult children, “I’m taking a trip to the South Pacific.”

“How come the South Pacific?” one asked.

“Writer research.”

“What Mom means — that’s an excuse to take a vacation.”

Since I travel on the VLB (Very Low Budget) travel plan, some of the kids helped me reserve places to stay so I wouldn’t end up stranded overnight on a deserted beach with only a beach towel.

Years ago, I visited the Tongan Ha’apai Island group, the smallest and least developed of the island groups and now the offshore site of the eruption.

When I flew there, from the air I spotted the road that ran the length of the island. The landing strip ran across the island. I saw airport staff running to close gates on the road to keep vehicles and animals off the runway while the plane landed.

After I got settled in my one-room fale (cottage), I took a taxi to a nearby café. The few customers sat outdoors around one table at dusk.

“You traveling American,” the German backpacker said to me, “you now official Travel Writer.”

The cook, Tongan taxi driver, and a young English couple on their way to New Zealand agreed.

I savored the words, Travel Writer, like a morsel of suckling pork from an umu.

I’d met the English couple a week before on another Tongan island over dinner illuminated by citronella candles and lamplight. They initiated a multicultural discussion with fellow travelers on how to save pigs — specifically, Tongan pigs destined for banquets and Sunday feasts.

While our food cooked, the English couple gave a project update. “We’re making efforts to establish a no-fly zone over the proposed Piggie Island.”

They heartily endorsed my Travel Writer status. Even though I was staying at a place where my shower consisted of a garden hose draped over a fence, I noted them to be a couple with incredible insight regarding my credibility related to travel writing.

I attributed these illuminating bursts of brilliance from all of us to large doses of South Pacific sun, sand-encrusted sunscreen, the persistent scent of mosquito repellant, and time spent off the power grid.

After dinner, I returned to my fale. As the power generator growled to a halt and I fumbled in the dark to light a candle, my first Travel Writer insight emerged.

Travel Writer’s Tip #1. Do not accidentally burn your passport.

The next morning, I strolled past palm trees and a beached boat to the ocean. I yelped with pleasure.

I discovered the quintessential Travel Writer’s Retreat. My Retreat!

The beach shack consisted of five poles that supported a roof composed of crossed poles topped with woven palm fonds as weathered and brittle as corn shocks on an Amish farm. The structure was large enough to accommodate two beach towels or one eager Travel Writer.

I announced my plans to the owner’s wife.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

She was immune to sea- and sun-crazed tourists.

I yearned for something official.

“You can use the beach shack anytime you visit,” she insisted.

A Travel Writer is persistent. I begged.

She relented. “OK, a token payment for ‘utilities.’” This covered heat, lights and cooling, basically covering sun, wind, and bring your own drinking water.

A few days later at sunrise, I hiked to the beach to bid the retreat farewell.

I plopped down on the ground in my “decorated cubicle” and hefted a sea-washed coconut, papaya-sized hunks of coral and a handful of shells. The sand I squished through my toes felt coarse like the coral chunks it was — not yet evolved to soft and powdery.

Now as I hear the news about charitable groups rushing supplies and aid to the Tongan Islands, I recall the frightening times when Mount St. Helens erupted. It seems most anytime in the news, there are reports of forest fires, winter storms, hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, or droughts — with humanitarian-minded people reaching out hands to help.