We Hike the Volcano. Like The Kids Say, “It’s Lit”
Wagner Family Vacation — Day 7
It was the boys against the girls. I had a fitful sleep with crazy dreams all manifesting anxiety about a four-hour climb to a potentially dangerous active volcano. I’m a mom. I worry. As appealing as the idea of this “once in a lifetime” experience was, I felt nervous about taking my family on an 8 KM hike up a mountain spewing molten magma. Call me crazy, but that just sounds like a terrible idea. Unfortunately for me, I’m married to and a mother of adventure-seekers. We spent breakfast continuing the “discussion” about which hike to do. I silenced them with a pragmatic, “let’s check the weather and see what routes are open when we get closer.” My concerns weren’t irrational. There have been many news reports of noxious gas overcoming tourists; people slipping on scree down onto large rocks breaking their legs and idiots walking onto the newly hardened lava only to fall through the crust to horrible burns. We learned you never, ever walk on hardened black lava. Lava flows hit the cold air and hardens on the surface. Below, rivers of molten magma continue to flow and smolder. Depending on the thickness of the flow, it can take months to years to fully harden and cool.
The Fagradalsfjall volcano made world news when it started erupting in early August and has been continuing for weeks. We looked into helicopter tours ($500 per person) and for a discounted fee of $100 per person, a guide would take you up as close as possible to the crater. Eric is as cute as he is thrifty and was having trouble justifying paying someone to take him on a hike. An experienced hiker, he and our boys have dragged me up higher peaks and are thoughtful in preparing for long hikes. We made the decision to make the solo climb. It felt as dramatic as it sounds. We filled our water bottles; picked up sandwiches, packed more of our U.S.-purchased Clif Bars, compression sleeves, and athletic tape, and all wore multiple layers and windbreakers. With backpacks stuffed, we started our drive toward Grindavik. We passed a horse field confirming the horse we’d seen laying down the day before was definitely dead and it broke my heart to see its mother still standing over his still form. A few minutes later the first ambulance we’d seen in a week blazed past us. I tried not to internalize these as portents of doom but that nagging voice keep shouting this might be a bad idea.
I got a Facebook message from my college friend Heather alerting me that our sorority sister Amy Corson was also in Iceland with her family. Amy and I connected, and she let me know they hiked to the top of the volcano that morning, and overnight it had stopped erupting. I was bummed for Amy but grateful for her guidance and the heads up that death by lava flow could be crossed off my worry list.
The debate about which route continued during our nearly 3-hour car ride to the volcano. “We’re so busy arguing about dumb stuff, we just missed our turn,” Eric snapped at our kids. Experienced at long drives (the Pandemic RV Trip Across America) they still occasionally get snappy with each other, and Fussy Dad Eric appears. Most of the car ride passed with dumb car games — drafting your “Fantasy Team of Wizards” or “Top Five Office Characters.” It’s possible after 30 years, Eric and I have been dating too long as he kept picking my top choices before I could draft them. It was really annoying.
After learning the volcano had stopped erupting, hiking at night was no longer as important. We arrived at the parking lot at 5:30pm. My mouth dried looking up, up, up at the mountain we were about to climb. It was crazy high. Matthew was in the lead, practically sprinting up the mountain but cautioning me to keep a “plodding pace.” It really wasn’t bad. We all were wearing our hiking boots and making good time up to the first lookout. Thick black streams of cooled lava streaked down the mountainside and filled most of the valley. We continued to hike. At the next lookout, we could see the 2021 eruption crater. Unlike the thousand-year-old extinct craters we’d hiked earlier in the week, this looked exactly like a cartoon crater; a tall rough ridge encircling the mountain top like a crown. (Spoiler alert: My mind cued another Game of Thrones image, Joffrey’s wedding death scene wearing a similar crown and spitting poison in death.) I shook it off and kept climbing.
We finally reached the apex, about 4 KM from the parking lot (and 1,000 feet vertical), seeing smoke puffing from the new eruption site. As mesmerizing as it would’ve been to see red lava spew from it, this was still amazing. Matthew pointed to another tall peak and asked if he could go for it. Gill’s ears were burning from the cold, and we saw a good path cutting down to walk along the lava field, back to the car. We bid the boys “adios” (quite literally ‘go with God’) and let them continue on. In hindsight, it may have been better to go back the way we came. The hike down to the lava was steep, slippery and at points terrifying. The path was narrow, with large rocks on either side and loose gravel underfoot.
I could hike up for days. Down was another story. A decent dirt trail had been established, and most of the large rocks moved to the side. On several long and challenging sections, we slid on scree (slippery dirt and tiny gravel) that made the hike treacherous. My knees were letting me know they didn’t love this part of the hike and I tried to integrate ski moves, the pizza and slalom to get down. I looked pretty stupid walking sideways down the mountain, but it was the best option since I didn’t have a horse or a sled. Gillian was a brilliant hiking partner, endlessly patient with me and incredibly kind while I hunted for a step that wouldn’t lead to my immediate demise. She even shared her headphones and offered me a hand on steep steps. Gill isn’t known for her patience, but when you need help, she’s there for you in spades.
I was half crouched slowly sliding down the steep trail when I heard a voice behind me, “Are you alright?” (Insert eye roll here. My brain said, No, I’m not alright. I am a poorly made, middle-aged mom navigating down a mountain I have no business being on. My mouth said, “Oh totally fine. Gorgeous hike.” (My brain hates my mouth.) This perfectly fit Norwegian woman with two hiking poles said, “Yes. Gorgeous” and continued past me. A moment later her companion passed us. He laughed when I asked if he needed both of his hiking poles. It would’ve been nice to have one or both. (We discussed using the magical selfie stick but decided it doesn’t lock well enough.) Gillian and I finally made it down, amazed at how high the lava flowed. In some areas, it is stacked nearly 6 feet high. We saw a bird frozen in the lava and massive boulders surrounded by it. It was hauntingly beautiful.
Now my left ankle joined the conversation with my knees about how much they hated me for doing this and the back of my right foot was uncomfortable. When we finally made it back, I found that a small rock had fallen into my right hiking boot. We set up a picnic of sandwiches, pasta and Gull (Icelandic beer) when the boys arrived. They made much faster time. Apparently, Protective Eric was worried about us and double-timed it back. He is adorable. The reward for the four-hour hike was a spectacular sunset of bubble gum pink rays across the sky.
We survived the volcano and made the easy hour-long drive to Reykjavik to Hotel Skuggi. It was modern and warm, but the parking was full. No longer rookie tourists, we knew to move the car to the Hallgrimskirkja church for free parking. Gillian called it an early night. I went to park the car with Eric and the boys joined us for a nightcap. It felt like coming home after college. Everything was familiar, but a little different, smaller.
We made our way to The Irishman Pub. Getting a beer with us has been on Topher’s bucket list since he turned 21. Covid interrupted that coming-of-age moment during his graduation, and it meant a lot to him to go out while we were together. The bouncer pulled me over and asked if Matthew was 20, the legal drinking age in Iceland. I felt like he already knew the answer, so I told him he was 18, the legal age to be in a bar. (His birthday is in a month and next year he will turn 18. Close enough. Plus, I had made that wish to the trolls in the Viking House. It came true.) He winked at me and let me know it was ok as long as Math didn’t drink. He is drinking … a non-alcoholic beer. The bar had darts. Cue Competitive Eric challenging Toph to a game. Matthew joined. Which is how I found myself watching my three boys laughing and teasing each other through game after game of darts while a live musician muddled through bar tunes in English. He’s singing with so much expression it hurts my face to watch him and at the same time, it warms my heart.
What would you say
If I took those words away?
Then you couldn’t make things new
Just by saying “I love you”
More than words
La-di-da, da-di-da
More than words
