Inside the volcano

The ground shakes, and with a deep bellow, clouds of volcanic ash rises high above Mount Yasur in Vanuatu. Molten lumps of magma spear through this toxic cloud, rising hundreds of metres before falling back safely into the roiling vent. Safely – that’s never a guarantee when you’re peering over the precipice of the world’s most incredible volcano. As anyone grounded by April’s surprise eruptions in Iceland can tell you, these are unpredictable, often deadly phenomena. And utterly captivating, too.

Standing alone on the rim of Yasur, one of the most continually active volcanoes in the world, is a humbling experience. Volcanoes have always fascinated me, even spending a month researching on Mt Etna, but to witness the raw power of an eruption at close quarters is both terrifying and magnificent. At any moment a boulder – or more likely a barrage of them – could fly my way, with split-second decision-making needed to avoid them.

But these eruptions have a lethal beauty. Watching the dust clouds unfold into strange shapes as they billow forth, layering the sky with a multitude of colours against the setting sun, is somehow addictive. An addiction that regularly takes the lives of visitors to Yasur.

The climb begins

First noted by Captain James Cook, who was attracted to the glow of the volcano during his journey to the island in 1774, the mount is sometimes known now as the Lighthouse of the Pacific. It’s also a sacred area for the notorious John Frum cargo cult: a bizarre group who believe that a deified messenger, Frum, lives in the volcano. 

As we left the cover of the jungle and picked our way across the ash plain, Morris, our guide from Tanna, stopped more and more frequently. He began observing the geology closely.

"Ah, this one is new. Maybe a week old," he commented, pointing to flattened rocks the size of small cars. My wife and I were not too worried yet. We knew Yasur had been very active recently, and only days before had seen a Land Rover return from the area encrusted with sharp volcanic dust. Since then, the alert level had been downgraded to level two: a relatively safe and manageable risk.

Reaching the summit

We soon recalculated the real risk level. Nearing the summit, Morris stopped and held his hand over a boulder a good half-metre round.

"This one is fresh, it is still warm. Look, you can see the track," he said, indicating a gouge in the ash. Further up, there was a deep impact crater. "This is from today. Probably this afternoon."

Anywhere else and this evidence of fresh and dangerous activity would have sent tourist and guide alike sprinting for the nearest bombproof shelter. Not Vanuatu, the Happy Islands of the South Pacific. Home of the original bungee-jumpers, where kava, a potent local stimulant, is drunk every night. The concept of health and safety doesn't mean much.

"If you show fear, Yasur will take you just like that." Morris told us, clicking his fingers to demonstrate our mortality. Yet we'd travelled so far to witness Yasur's legendary eruptions that we weren't going to give up so close to the rim. We’d seen explosions of lava further off, but our chosen route of approach seemed safe.

Staring into the caldera

Morris motioned for us to hurry to the top, take pictures and come straight back down, so we scrambled up the last few yards of loose ash. Standing at the rim, looking down into the mouth of the earth, I expected to see a bubbling pool of lava glowing red in the late afternoon light.

Instead, there were two huge grey pits, with nearly vertical, boulder-studded walls. The nearest belched thick plumes of ash almost continuously. The other vent was not so visually impressive, but emitted a noxious stream of sulphur dioxide accompanied by a prolonged whistle, like a squadron of jets. Both vents were scored with deep fault lines and everywhere the ground steamed ominously.

We absorbed this all in seconds, knowing that the longer we lingered the more likely we were to end up like a recent Japanese tourist: killed by a rock which punched clean through her and landed ten meters away.

The bombs go off

Before we had time to think, an ear-splitting boom rang out, the ground trembled and our insides liquified. As the ash cloud rose with a terrible, lazy, inevitability we could see the magma bombs glowing red near the ground. These slowly blackened as they cartwheeled to eye-level and continued onwards, looping high above us.

Morris had warned us never to turn our backs on an eruption, so running wasn't an option. We each took an involuntary step back and hastily scanned the sky (and horizon) to make sure no bombs were locked on to us.

Even above the crazy whistling and roar of the vents, we could hear thuds as boulders smacked into the crater walls and tumbled back towards the lava. The seconds dragged out as we watched the trajectories of the highest boulders arc away from us until we knew that we were safe.

The biggest yet

Safe so far. But the rim’s highest point still lay some 50 metres off. It would be folly to return without just a snatch, a glimpse of the scene from its finest lookout, surely?

By the time I reached the top I was getting increasingly jittery, but had to just stand and wait for a big one - and hope that it wasn't too big. I unstrapped my camera, wiped the ash from my eyes and waited.

I wasn’t waiting for long. Another ground-shuddering explosion split the mountain, and in the gathering dusk I saw a momentary flash of bright red. The ground inside the crater ripped apart, releasing a swollen cloud of superheated ash with accompanying deadly boulders. Wide-eyed, I steadied myself, scanned for threats and shot as many photographs as possible.

Later, sipping Tusker beer in our tree house, we could see new and bigger explosions in the far distance. Even from here we could see them throw boulders way out of the crater, near to where we had stood. Really, we shouldn't have gone so close. The vulcanologists who risk their lives to protect the 30,000 inhabitants of Tanna shouldn't also have to deal with dumb tourists like me.

But would I go back up? I'm afraid that this addiction will be with me for life.

WideWorld would like to thank Morris Asen from Sunrise Bungalows for getting us up and down Yasur safely, and to Fred George for putting us up in Tanna Treetop Lodge