Reykjavík Grapevine - júl. 2020, Blaðsíða 36

Travel distance
from Reykjavík:
40 km
"I grew up in this field,” Baldur Bergs-
son, a specialist in monitoring at the
Icelandic Met Office, tells us as we
drive to one of two sites where we will
see if a volcanic eruption is imminent.
“My father's been installing seismic
meters since I was born. I studied nat-
ural geography at university and was
very fond of volcanoes, since I grew up
around them."
Earthquakes and volcanoes are
iconic of Iceland. They literally cre-
ated the country itself. While images
of giant ash plumes and fountains of
lava ignite the imagination, what all
too often go ignored are the scientists
on the ground who do the quiet, often
repetitive work of gathering the data
that helps detect them before they hap-
pen.
Baldur is one of the many scien-
tists in Iceland whose job it is to do just
that. Today, we’re going to two sites:
Eldvörp, a string of volcanic craters
along the Reykjanes peninsula, and
Svartsengi Power Plant, the geother-
mal plant whose waste waters cre-
ated the Blue Lagoon—and happens
to be in the shadow of Mt. !órbjörn,
a volcano that made news last March
when earthquake clusters and ground
swelling caused by magma making its
way towards the surface were detected
around it.
Evacuation plans for
everyone
When Mt. !órbjörn began acting up,
readers abroad were particularly con-
cerned about its closeness to Kefla-
vík International Airport. Closer to
home, the main concern was the town
of Grindavík, which lays in the shadow
of the volcano.
While an eruption at Mt. !órbjörn
would possibly spell the end of the Blue
Lagoon, and likely cut off electricity
and hot water to the airport, the people
of Grindavík would be in good hands.
The Department of Civil Protection
and Emergency Management has been
holding regular town hall meetings
with the townspeople, keeping them
apprised, and there is a detailed evacu-
ation plan in place that everyone knows
how to follow.
"For every town in Iceland there is
a very detailed plan of evacuation in
place in the event of a natural disaster,”
Baldur tells us. “There is a very compli-
cated but effective strategy for this."
At the mouth of the
volcanic crater
As we reach the area of Reykjanes near
the Blue Lagoon, we take a service road
deep into the lava field that comprises
much of the peninsula. Soon we arrive
at what looks like a large mound of
lava rocks, steam pouring out of every
crevice. As Baldur unpacks his instru-
ments from the back of the jeep and we
approach the mound, the heat from it
is palpable. “Some time ago there was
lava shooting out of this,” Baldur says
matter-of-factly.
The top of the mound does have a
distinct crater within it. Seeing it now,
covered with moss and flowers, it’s dif-
ficult to imagine that 900 years ago it
was spewing lava everywhere, but if
you clamber to the top you can see the
row of similar crater mounds that were
formed when the earth split open for
several kilometres across the country,
way back in the 13th century.
The first thing Baldur does is set
down a small green box with a pair
of tubes sticking out of it, making a
constant whirring reminiscent of an
electric air pump. This device moni-
tors the presence of certain gases that
are the tell-tale signs of volcanic activ-
ity: carbon dioxide, sulphur dioxide,
hydrogen sulphide and hydrogen." I
don't expect to see much here now,”
Baldur says. “But if we do see much
here now, we'll know that something's
changing."
The science of waiting
Next, Baldur hammers a long iron tube
into the ground, affixes a thin hose
to the top of it, and connects this to a
clear plastic cylinder filled with what
looks like blue aquarium gravel (it
turns out it’s a substance used to keep
the instruments inside dry), which is
in turn connected to a black box used
to detect radon levels.
And then we wait. This, Baldur says,
is most of what volcano specialists do:
set up their instruments, wait for the
data to come in, and then record it. It
can be tedious, but it’s crucial work for
keeping people safe.
"My first project was to map out the
gas-emitting areas around Hekla, and
I don't know how many hours I spent
at this,” Baldur recalls. “Putting an
instrument on the ground, waiting a
minute and a half, picking it up and
walking ten steps, and doing it again.
But now we know where the gas-emit-
ting places are. It just took 22 trips to
the summit of Hekla."
Baldur takes his readings of the ra-
don levels, writing them in a notebook.
Nothing new here. It appears we are
safe from an impending volcanic erup-
tion for now.
36The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 05— 2020
Listenin! To
Volcanoes
Volcano science is a quiet job—until it isn’t
Words: Andie Sophia Fontaine Photos: Art Bicnick
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A volcano, looking very much like a regular mountain
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