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Prepared by Harold Stephens
Travel Correspondent for Thai Airways International
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Indonesia's Mount Merapi volcano made world news recently when it began spewing black ash and fiery lava, prompting officials to start evacuating thousands of Indonesians who live within the shadow of the volcano. Fortunately, the volcano never blew its top and things are back to normal.
We tend to think of volcanoes as something of the past. Yet there are over a thousand active volcanoes around the world today, and over half a billion people who live within the boundaries of these mountains are at risk. The Rim of Fire of Southeast Asia is one of these most active regions in the world.
Of course, the question that comes to mind, and perhaps frightens many travellers away, is how safe is it to travel in a volcanic region? We would have to go to Hawaii to find that answer. Thousands of people travel to Hawaii each year to watch the volcanic action on the Big Island. In Southeast Asia the problem largely is the haze that the ash causes which can blank out the sun for days on end.
The study of volcanoes is relatively new. It wasn‘t until this last century, less than a hundred years ago, that scientists, called volcanologists, have turned to the study. In 1994, Merapi, one of at least 129 active volcanoes in Indonesia, erupted, emitting a cloud of gas that burned 60 people to death. Prior to that, Merapi erupted in 1930, claiming 1,300 lives. However, it is not the lava flow that is the worry because that flow has only an impact within the flow itself. The immediate concern with an explosive volcanic eruption is the pyroclastic flow. This is a high-density mixture of hot, dry rock fragments and hot gases that moves along the ground at high speed away from the vent. The flow destroys everything in its path and a turbulent cloud, that is part of the flow, deposits ash over a wide area. A vertical column of ash-laden hot gas, from the eruption, can cause even a high flying aircraft to be required to divert its course.
There’s no question about it. One of nature's most spectacular and perhaps most awesome sights is that of an exploding volcano. I witnessed one such volcanic eruption from the deck of my schooner Third Sea in the Santa Cruz Islands in the South Pacific. It was a terrifying experience to watch it the way we did.
It happened at night, on one of those black, evil nights when there is no moon. It was impossible to tell where the sky and sea met. For all practical purposes, we were traveling through a black, velvet void. The only light was the dim, red glow of the binnacle reflected on the face of the helmsman. It's eerie sailing on nights like this, when the sails are set and the schooner heels into unseen seas. The only sane thing, it seems, is the compass, which points out the vessel’s heading.
We knew we were nearing the Santa Cruz Islands in the Western Pacific, and that out there coming up on our starboard side was a small dot which on the chart read Tinakulu Volcano. We gave it a wide berth of several kilometers.
Suddenly in the blackness of night there was an explosion, and shortly afterwards the sky turned crimson and then a fiery red. Belching clouds of smoke bolted skywards, followed by a rumble that seemed to come from the core of the earth. Those of the crew who were below deck scrambled topside, and we all stood dumbfounded, uncertain. Was the earth disintegrating before our eyes? Twisting balls of fire hurled upwards like rockets out of control, and sparks and flames spewed umbrella-like into the surrounding sea.
Only when we saw the white-hot lava flowing down the cone-shaped slopes did we realize we were witnessing a volcano erupting. In those few brief moments we felt the God-awful fury that would certainly prevail if the earth did explode. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.
For the next twenty minutes we lined the deck, not knowing if it was the beauty of the spectacle or the fear of it that kept us spellbound. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
When dawn came and we looked astern at the still silhouette of Tinakulu, it all seemed strangely unreal. Had the volcano really erupted? There were no other islands about, no other ships. We were the only witnesses. Then, as we sailed ever so slowly away, and Tinakulu vanished into the blue of the sea and sky, we wondered if even the very mountain existed at all.
The incident deeply impressed me and made me realize how we who live in Southeast Asia also live in the shadow of volcanoes, and, more often than not, we are only dimly aware of them.
Most of my life I have been chasing these wonders of nature. I fell in love with the first volcano I ever saw, climbed it, and thereafter had to climb those that crossed my path. There is something challenging about volcanoes, which makes one want to climb them. They have a magnetic attraction, a force that draws you towards them, that makes you want to stand on their summits and perhaps become akin with nature. Maybe they satisfy our need to conquer, not nature, but fear. Volcanoes are often beautiful, but they are always awesome—simply by virtue of their existence.
I was in my teens when I first saw Mount Vesuvius in southern Italy. I went to see the ruins at Pompeii and, when I saw the volcano majestically rising in the background, I had to climb the mountain. I was enthralled all the way to the summit, and I believed Vesuvius to be the most beautiful mountain in the world.
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Southeast Asia is noted for its many volcanoes.
Here we see a Bali landscape
Many volcanoes can be climbed
Volcanoes lend an air of mystery to the land
It's only when they begin to rumble that there is a
concern
Mt. Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD. Photo by Stephens,
1950s.
Photo taken in 1950s. Still much of Pompeii is
covered by ash.
Vesuvius, first volcano Stephens climbed, 1952.
Photo by Peter Hannagan. First attempt on
Popocatepetl failed
Stephens at lower rim of Mt. Popo. Still not the summit
Finally, third attempt, the summit. Since then Popo
has erupted and the marker seen here no longer exists
For more about volcanoes, read Return to Adventure
Next week we travel via the author's schooner to
other volcanoes in Southeast Asia
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I was also to learn that volcanoes bring destruction. Pompeii was a flourishing city under the Roman Empire until early one morning in AD 79 Mount Vesuvius became angry and blew her top. While the people slept, she dropped thousands of tonnes of ash and cinders which completely covered Pompeii. The inhabitants died where they slept, and so complete was the destruction that nearly 1900 years were to pass before the ruins were partially uncovered.
My next adventure with a volcano was Mount Popocatepetl in Mexico. I had gone to Mexico City to do graduate work, and one morning, far in the distance, rising above other mountains in the range, I saw two snow-capped peaks—Mount Popocatepetl at 4,200 metres high and Mount Ixtaccihuatl at 5,300 metres.
The view of these two mountains was hypnotic. I couldn't take my eyes away from them, and especially Mount Popocatepetl, a perfect cone, perhaps even more beautiful than Vesuvius. Then and there I made up my mind to climb the mountain. I joined with Peter Hannagan, another student from the university.
It took careful planning, with full mountain-climbing gear—ice axes, crampons, ropes, cold weather clothing. Our first attempt was unsuccessful. Less than 300 meters from the crater, a fierce lightning storm forced me to abandon the mountain. A month later a second attempt put us at the lower rim of the crater, but so dense was the cloudbank, and so thick the sulfur fumes, that I could not make the final distance to the top of the rim.
Four years passed before I returned to make a third attempt, but this time I stood on the summit. Each step had been agony. My boots felt like lead weights. Each step was a victory. First came the lower rim of the crater. The sight, looking down into the pit, is frightening. It's all hell and ugly. There's little beauty looking down into the evil depths of a boiling crater. The walls were sheer and almost five hundred metres to the bottom. Foul! Gaseous yellow smoke rises from every crevasse and every crack.
The summit was quite something else. It is all rock and windswept with a metal cross. Far below was the great Valley of Mexico, stretching in every direction for miles.
Two years ago Mount Popo erupted again, and volcanologists say another one is due.
Mount Popocatepetl is the highest volcano I have scaled, but it wasn't the most dramatic climb. I reserve that for Mount Agung on Bali. Here, truly, is a mountain with mood. I will save that account , and tales of other volcanoes in Southeast Asia, for next week.
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QUESTIONS & ANSWERS
Q. To the one it may concern, I have read the article on the THAI website "Visit The Neka Museum" written by Harold Stephens. I don't know if the author has done the research about the Neka Museum or he just have copied from a book. In the article it has mentioned the artist Han Snel who still lives in Bali. Han Snel has passed away at least 7 years ago. —-sincerely yours, Varit Hirunyasiri, Bangkok
A. Dear Varit, I am sorry about that mistake. Hans Snel was a very good, close friend, and I was aware that he had passed way.
I really don't know how I could have made such a horrible mistake. I was greatly moved by his death, and I was also aware of the passing of Mario Blanco. He too was a friend. If you send me your address, I will post to you my book AT HOME IN ASIA. It has a chapter on Han Snel. Han allowed me to use one of his paintings for the cover. I will print you letter and I apologize to all readers. Again, thank you. —Harold Stephens
Harold Stephens
Bangkok
E-mail: ROH Weekly Travel
Note: The article is the personal view of the writer and does not necessarily reflect the view of Thai Airways International Public Company Limited.
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The cover of At Home is Asia is a painting by Han
Snel who has since passed away
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