Reykjavík Grapevine - 16.06.2016, Blaðsíða 54

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15

It’s easy to forget, basking in the
tropical sun of a 9˚ summer morn-
ing in Reykjavík, that just outside
the city summer is yet to arrive.
But sure enough, one Saturday in
May, after pulling on some hik-
ing boots and taking the twenty-
minute drive to the skiing area
of Bjáfjöll, I find myself trudging
across a tract of deep, brittle snow.
Bulging white sacks have been
dropped at intervals to trace the
deeply buried path that leads over
this eerie wasteland, which is to-
day enveloped by soaking drizzle
and impenetrable fog. Looking
back, I see a couple of our group,
dressed in ankle-length high-vis-
ibility jackets, staggering along
gamely. Ahead is the red jacket of
our guide, Gummi, who strides
forth with trademark Icelandic
stoicism.
I grit my teeth and power on.
Because today is one of the first
days of 2016 that the famous Þríh-
núkagígur (“Three Peak Crater”)
volcano is open to visitors. Dur-
ing the high season, we’re told,
this one-hour trek to the volcano’s
mouth is quite beautiful, with
rugged mountains views and tall
craters surrounding the high,
mossy plains. But today, it’s a re-
lief when the Þríhnúkagígur base
camp—a hamlet of conjoined con-
tainer units—appears through
the baleful murk.
What lies beneath
After warming up with some hot
soup and coffee, we strap on hel-
mets and harnesses, and head
up a short path to the elevator.
This small cage, studded with
spotlights, hangs by several thick
cables from a gantry positioned
directly over the inky black maw
of Þríhnúkagígur, and has been
lifting and lowering tourists for
the last five years. The wind has
picked up, and a fine rain comes
down as we clip onto a zipline and
cross the slick, swaying walkway,
peering through the mesh floor
into the gaping void beneath our
feet.
The lift jerks suddenly, and the
descent has begun. As the pale
daylight fades, the spotlights start
to pick up the texture of the walls.
At some point during the eruption
that created Þríhnúkagígur, the
pressure from below ceased, and
the magma receded back into the
earth, drying along the way into
solid waves and ripples of rock,
sculpted as if a comb had run gen-
tly down the cone’s interior.
It’s a rare place: magma cham-
bers usually either collapse as the
lava becomes dry and brittle, or
solidify entirely into a newborn
mountain. But here, for reasons
unknown, that didn’t happen—
the space broadens out around
us and we find ourselves, quite
suddenly, hanging high in the
cavernous, hollow magma cham-
ber. The spotlit walls are a rough,
natural cathedral in Rothko co-
lours: meaty maroon, arterial red,
viscous purple. It feels like we’re
coming down the throat of the
volcano, and as the 120m descent
ends, we set foot in its belly.
A rain of diamonds
Our trusty guide points out the
features, relating interesting
facts, but I find myself too awe-
struck to concentrate, and drift
away from the group, gawping up-
wards. The lift is winding its way
up through the space, the lights
illuminating the earthy spectrum
of the chamber, and catching a
shower of falling droplets that
gleam like a rain of diamonds.
The floor of the cavern is a heap
of broken boulders and shards of
rock, with a rough, pegged-out
circular path to clamber around.
I hear Gummi’s echoing voice re-
lating the story of one of the first
visitors to the cavern: an old Eng-
lishman who’d been reading Jules
Verne for many years. He sat still
for a long time, absorbing the
beauty of his surrounding with
tears rolling down his face, and
54 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 8 — 2016TRAVEL
Volcano
Swallowed Whole
Appreciating the inside of
Þríhnúkagígur magma chamber
Words by JOHN ROGERS
Pictures by ART BICNICK