Hike to volcano part 2: Lava flows

After parking the jeep and ‘layering up’, we set out on the steep ascent up a popular hiking trail towards Fimmvörðuháls, where the volcano is erupting. We know it is unlikely we can get all the way to see the crater, as the path is apparently closed, but our aim is to at least see the lava flows from the volcano. Steven has already marked on the map the area of the lava flows and our route takes us right up near them. Knowing it´s only the beginning of spring, and this is Iceland, I put wear about six layers. Incidentally, this is to avoid the repeat of an occasion when I was 18, when I got hyperthermia when I climbed Mount Snowdon in Wales, wearing only a t-shirt and a cagoule. (Well, and trousers and hiking boots of course, but you get the picture). We also have backpacks with lunch, water supplies and cameras, extra layers and a torch in case we have to come back in the dark. Feeling very well prepared, at first, we begin the steep ascent and I within ten minutes I realise I am sweating as if I am wearing a bear suit in a sauna. So, off come four of my six layers until I am just in a couple of t-shirts, and I almost feel like I could have dressed for the pool as the warm sun beats down on us and there is barely a breeze.

The scenery around is breathtaking, and this only intensfies the higher we climb. There is little indication that the beautiful Markarfljót valley below will be flooded in just two days time from the second volcanic eruption which would soon be making headline news around the world. The climb is steep, and precarious in places. At certain places ropes are attached to poles embedded in the ground, so you can haul yourself up over almost vertical slippery rocks. At one point the path is just wide enough to walk along a narrow ledge, and I remember the sign we saw at the beginning of the path saying ‘people who have a fear of heights should not take this route’ or something to that effect. This is, in my definition, a ‘proper’ hike, one where one slip would be lethal, but at the same time exhilerating. No doubt this would be tame to some of my adrenaline junkie friends who would probably prefer to roller blade up the path on one leg while juggling hot lava or hang off the edge of a precipice nearby attatched only by a piece of blu-tac, but I think we probably all have an inbuilt ‘danger threshold’ which is directly related to how accident prone we are. This was not quite at the place where the danger and accident prone lines on my personal graph intersect, but getting a little near. I’m defintely going to push this one while I am here…it is Iceland after all.

We reach a small pile of rocks, which is perhaps there to enable weary hikers to take photos and look like they have acheived something really impresive, when in reality the steeper part of the climb is still ahead. This involves a hike sideways over a steep snowy slope to reach the plateau known as Morganheiði. It´s hard work and I realise how much more running and gym time I need to make me really fit. But we eventually get there,  and this time I am sweating even more than before, like someone wearing an extra-thick electrically heated winter thermal bear suit in a sauna inside a crater during a volcanic eruption. Once up the top, however, the air is cold and I am grateful for the extra layers. The snowy plateau is bright and pleasant to walk upon, and we make a detour from the marked path to go and view the lava flows deep below the edge of the plateau. The lava is perhaps not as dramatic as I was hoping, instead of red fiery liquid running at a pace down a mountainside, the lava is a wide, black, barely moving flow, almost indistinguishable from the black volcanic rock sourrounding it, which itself was once lava. But what was impressive was the amount of steam the flow was generating and this hissing, crackling sound echoing fearsomely around the sides of the mountains to a human audience of just four.  

From time to time small airplanes and helicopters would circle round overhead, carrying tourists to view the show from the comfort of a chair, and no doubt costing an arm and a leg. Our trip cost the price of a day’s jeep hire and petrol, and it felt like we had earnt rather than bought the impressive views.

We walked all the way around the eastern edge of the plateau and then realised we could potentially go further, maybe a hike of another two hours to view the actual crater itself. Rising above the plateau at the far side was yet another mountain, far steeper and icier than anything we had negotiated so far, and only accessible via a narrow snow-covered ridge.

My sense of adventure and my sense of self-preservation sat down somwhere in my head for a frank discussion and I felt like I was spoiling the party by suggesting to the others that we did not go on, as it was about 6pm and we would be making most of the return journey in darkness if we were to hike another two hours. But self-preservation won, and we began our journey back across the snowy plateau, this time keeping to the marked path, indicated by blue poles protruding from the snow at regular intervals. The decision to turn back seemed vindicated as a sudden grey, dank cloud descended on the mountain and visibility reduced.

I began to head back a little bit ahead of the others, feeling cold and wanting to keep moving. I carefully followed the poles, and what was straightforward at first then became gradually more difficult as the snow got deeper under my feet. Without warning the snow then gave way and seemed to have melted into cold water underneath, as if we were walking across a frozen river. I carried on, realising I couldn’t go back but forwards was also difficult. It felt like an allegorical scene from Pilgrim’s Progress or the Lord of the Rings, with the unlikely hero wanting to deperately walk on but sinking down into cold murky water deeper with every step. (The main difference being that I did not have a ring to throw into the volcano and was not being chased across the plateau by a strange alien-like creature mumbling ‘my precious‘) Eventually I was up to my knees in sub-terranean icy water and I wondered if the next step forward might lead to me completely disappearing into some kind of murky underworld ruled by volcanic elves or icy rotten-shark eating trolls. Steven did the heroic thing and filmed me on video camera. At least if this was my last day on earth, someone would have filmed it and given the general public some slightly dark and twisted laughs on You Tube and I would have become known as the ‘Englishman sinking into the volcano’ with 15 million internet hits to my name. The others also had sinking issues, but for some reason, known only in the heavenly realm, I sank further than the others, cold glacial water pouring over my hiking boots and socks.

At this point I should probably point out one of the basic rules of hiking- don’t wear jeans. Unlike lightweight trousers, jeans -once wet- like to take their time getting dry. I knew this before I set out, it’s a no brainer. And yet I still did it. It seemed so nice and sunny at the bottom and jeans so comfortable and warm. Thankfully Eric had lent me some waterproof trousers and I managed to get ahead of the others once again and take off my jeans and put on the waterproofs before our descent from the plateau. For some reason I find it much easier to climb mountains than descend from them. I think this is primarily due to my poor sense of balance, or maybe again my accident-prone tendencies. Maybe its psychological. But whatever the reason I soon found myself slipping over on the steep snowy slope we had climbed earlier. The first couple of times I managed to drag myself up and re-gain my footing, but the third slip sent me sliding on my rear end at speed down the slope while I tried to grab on to protruding twigs or rocks. I managed to grab onto a boulder and get back on my feet, but in trying to walk back up the steep slope to the path I once again fell over, this time sliding on my front even further down the slope. Sometimes I think I am a real-life version of a kind of Inspecter Clouseau type character from the old Pink Panther movies, managing to make the easiest of tasks look unnecesarily difficult and ridiculous. Before you think I am being too hard on myself, maybe we all have an Inspector Clouseau element to our lives, something which to everyone else seems easy but we always manage to do it spectacularly wrong. I like to think I’m in good company. I think as long as we can laugh at our weaknesses and enjoy our strenths than little harm is done.  Think of it as entertainment which you can provide to others from the goodness of your heart.

So, after the snowy slope antics, the descent got easier and we witnessed a beautiful sunset as we began to ache and thirst our way to the jeep. Upon our return, a man with a shiny Red Toyota Hilux was apparently waiting for us. He seemed to be some kind of mountain rescue guy, getting to hang around with his friend driving amazing vehicles and picking up stranded hikers and tourists in one of the most beautiful parts of Iceland. He asked us if we were the last ones down, as if he had the keys to the mountain and wanted to make sure no-one was left on it before he locked it up and set the burglar alarm for the night.  We got chatting to him and apparently the vehicle he was driving was the one used by the Top Gear team from the UK when they visited the volcano the week before. It had also been to the North Pole and back, and was looking in remarkably good condition. The man had also been the driver of the Top Man crew, expertly negotiating the glacier for 10 hours in bad weather before driving so close to the lava that the tyres began to burn. You can see a picture of man and machine below. As we made our way back, interpid mountain rescue driver man drove ahead of us to show us how to negotiate the first and most dangerous river in the jeep in the dark, so we could make it safely back to the road through the valley. We drove the nearly 3 hours back home feeling tired, cold, wet but satisfied with an adventurous outing and the spectacular beauty we wintnessed. Oh…if you ever meet Carl, ask him how many hot dogs he had from the service station on the way home…..

Slideshow of photos from the hike:

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