Vulcano Tour Part 2: Stromboli

The magnificent cone of Stromboli!  The huge and obvious crater on top has five very active craters inside spewing liquid magma high into the sky.

Our memories of Stromboli have been dramatically shifted.  Not only full of awe for the fierce display a seemingly angry mother nature put on for us and the unique hikes up and down the desolate slopes but the fact that only two weeks later an enormous and deadly explosion rocked the island just as the evening hikes would have been starting out from town.  https://www.planetxnews.org/huge-explosion-just-rocked-italys-stromboli-volcano/  We are so sorry for the tragedy and so very grateful to have seen Stromboli safely.

The last major eruption before we had arrived was in 2014, cancelling tours to the summit for months.  Prior to that 2007, 2003 saw eruptions and a tsunami caused damage and injury in 2002.  When we paid for our tour we were told that the volcano had been much more active over the past month. We felt a little bit crazy with what seemed a tad risky but the curiosity was too strong.

The village of San Vincenzo is a very laidback little place hugging the coast on the "safer" side of the crater.  The population seem remarkably relaxed about the smoking, rumbling mountain they are living on.

We dragged poor TomTom onto the volcanic rock "beach", clear evidence of Stromboli's activity, with Milly in the crowded anchorage.

Hiking to the rim of the crater is only allowed with a guide.  Giuseppe, our guide, hiked the mountain every day, sometimes twice a day and was a snowboard instructor in France during the winter.  He liked to swim out to that little island in the photo before the hike.  A very friendly, kind and passionate guide who knew every plant and flower, took pictures as if he had never been there before and exclaimed about the colour combination of the blue sea and the yellow broom.   He loved that we were "adventurers".  He made a special hike extraordinary! 

From the green and blossoms of the lower half of the mountain, we moved to ash and rock in the higher portion.  The entire hike up took a sweaty  two and a half hours.

Our first view of the smoking crater was amazing with a sunset background but we weren't yet at the summit.  At this way station, we all put on helmets - Peter and I hadn't been given helmets at the bottom much to Guiseppe's distress.  He gave me his and found Peter one, explaining that they were symbolic - if a rock was thrown at us, the helmet wouldn't do much. In case of a "major explosion" there were two concrete shelters that looked like bus stops at the station - considering there were about 100 people at the top when all the tours were viewing, the shelters, too, were symbolic.  If we were on the summit at the time of a major explosion, well, I realized there was really nothing anyone could do.  At the way station we also changed to a dry t-shirt and put on long pants for the hike down the mountain - more about that later.

Our first view from the rim of the larger crater looking down over very steep ash fields strewn with volcanic boulders at five active craters taking turns exploding with a hiss and roar.  The guides drew a line in the sand telling people not to go beyond the line.  If anyone fell down the steep slope toward the craters, "they would die".  No railings, just a line in the sand - we sure weren't in North America!

This narrow crater was particularly spectacular shooting magma 300 m into the sky with incredible sound effects.  Truly scary!

We could view more of the inside of this larger and closer crater that was continually red hot and chucking rocks over on side where they would roll down the steep slope, leaving an orange trail.

Fireworks are going to seem lame after this - but relatively safe.

We stood at the top of the crater mesmerized and awestruck watching the display for about an hour.  And then the descent began.  Of course it was dark so we each wore headlamps.  The path down was straight down the steep slope which sounds horrendous for knees but in was in 20 cm of ash so was like striding down a hill of very dry, light powder snow.  Long pants kept the ash and small pebbles out of our shoes.  We kicked up a cloud of dust and wore masks covering nose and mouth.  Down the long upper portion, we weren't allowed to stop - the risk of avalanche from hikers above was too great.  It took about an hour and a half to get all the way down to my great relief.  TomTom was waiting as was Milly.  We could see trains of tiny white lights descending down the slope.

The next morning the demarcation between fertile and desolate were obvious.

The trail up is the zigzag of hairpins.  The faint path to the left in the very grey broad band of ash was the path straight down.

Peter took several videos.  This one is the end of an eruption from the narrow crater that shot high into the air.

We were left incredibly exhilarated by this experience.  Unfortunately, the mountain is now closed to tours.  However, I would still say that once the volcanologists give the okay a view from the crater is very worthwhile, even if intimidating.  It was truly amazing!

Vulcano Tour Part 1: Isola Vulcano

We had just reached the crater.  The smoke in the background is sulphuric gas.  There were dire warnings to avoid getting close to the gas because of "intoxication".  Burning eyes, coughing - toxic, indeed.

Vulcanos are terrifying, mysterious, intriguing, threatening and always a curiosity.  We have seen several in the past years, the Azores, Dominica, and most recently, Nisoros, being the most active and Mt Etna the most spectacular.  But we anticipated Isla Vulcano and Stromboli in the Aeolian Islands, an archipelago off Sicily named after the god of wind, would be the most dramatic - still smoking, smelling and spewing.  And they did not disappoint in a frightening way.

Clear demarcation of living from non-living.  Our view from Milly's cockpit at the base of the active Gran Cratere.

The 'minor' activity within a 200m dash.  The yellow sulphur crystals on the rock face showed plenty of action.

We began with Isla Vulcano.  Our anchorage at Porto Di Levante placed Milly not more than 100 meters from a bubbling hot mineral spring in the water off the beach.  It looked like a low energy fountain or the underwater jets of a jacuzzi about 1 m in diameter.  Two hundred meters away was a rocky promontory covered in sulphur yellow.  And, yes, we had definite whiffs reminiscent of the stink bombs my dear brother put under his little sister's bed in many days gone by.  Milly was in the midst of volcanic activity with people cavorting in the water all around.  Strange.

A hot mud bath with a distinct sulphur odour did not appeal to us on a hot day.  Many others were taking part despite the poster full of warnings at the gate.  Included were exact bathing, rinsing, inhaling, robing, sitting in the shade/dark at home, number of days to repeat etc. directions for different ailments with strict timing.

Although we have no pictures, we snorkelled over  the mineral spring which bubbled up between rocks and then ventured over to the rocky promontory.  As the water warmed the fish life grew but as the water became bath water hot, the fish disappeared and there was no growth on the sea bottom.  And the smell was overpowering - we were glad to be breathing through our mouths with eyes masked.  Bubbles of all sizes escaped through rock crevices and holes on the bottom over a very large area making it seem like we were swimming in a giant champagne glass.

An entrepreneur took full advantage of tourists with only flip-flops to hike in.

Green turns to barren.  Lipari island in the distance.

View of Milly from the beginning of the hike up.  An extinct crater in the background.

The only real village on the island sits right at the base of the active volcano, Gran Cratere, where we were anchored. We hiked up the slope beginning in lush green growth of oleander and pine and ending in a lunar landscape of rock and sulphuric gas vents.

As long as we were downwind, we could get up close and personal with the vents along the crater's ridge.

The crater looked like solid mud.  The smoke is coming out of the cracks and holes along the ridge.

Miracle flowers in this vast expanse of wasteland.  

From the highest part of the crater crest

Snaking ash and rubble path down the rather steep crater ridge and into the sulphur.

Where the gas was venting, the sulphur condensed into beautiful but smelly crystals.  Peter was downwind.  I was quite far away.

It was amazing!

Those behind us looked like they were getting a dose of sulphur.

An experience that was otherworldly and strange.  It didn't seem dangerous, the last time it erupted was in 1890.  Now, Stromboli was something else altogether and our next stop.

Sweet Scilla, Sailors' Terror in Days Gone By

The rock where the monster sat to ravage passing ships.  Now a quaint town with houses creeping up the steep slope of the saddle topped by a castle.

Our two night cruise to Italy was uneventful, comprised entirely of motor sailing in the fickle Mediterranean breeze, until the end.  The only tragic situation, still miles offshore, was spying a very small owl sitting on our genoa sheet.  When it saw my bright pink t-shirt, it took off with a tired flutter toward the distant shore.  Thinking about it’s almost certain demise haunted me for hours.  Poor little guy!

We wanted to beat an increasing north wind that was forecast to last for several days in the Messina Strait, the channel between Sicily and mainland Italy of Odyssey fame.  The north wind funnels through the narrow 1.5 miles wide northern end, gaining strength as it blows into the wider bay at the southern end.  This combined with a tidal current to fight or use to advantage has made the strait notorious and, in antiquity, perilous. The northern end is bounded by Scilla on the mainland where the dreadful the monster with six vicious dogs' heads plucked sailors from their ships and Charybdis on the Sicilian side where a giant whirlpool sucked ships under water. To beat the wind and not get stuck at the southern end of the strait meant getting through it as fast as possible during the very early and dark hours of the morning - my shift.  

The wind did pick up as we rounded the Italian point into the southern approach to almost 30 knots on our nose but the current was with us.  The biggest concern was the constant shipping traffic, whether ferries crossing the strait or container ships in the shipping lanes.  It is always difficult to discern, when so close to land, the lights on shore versus the lights on ships.  I had forgotten.

As dawn broke - and Peter woke up - we were able to view the coastline while negotiating the increasing numbers of ferries and eventually sword fishing boats.  After 320 NM and almost 48 hours we anchored in the beautiful bay of Scilla.  No monsters, no whirlpools.  (To be fair to history and mythology, an earthquake in 1783 changed the topography of the sea bottom and tamed Scilla and Charybdis.)

Milly at anchor in the lovely Scilla bay.

Swordfish regularly migrate through the Messina Strait and a fleet of these boats is out in force from dawn to dusk to try and catch them.  The masts - double Milly's in height - and the 15m long bowsprit are elaborately rigged with stays to keep them in place.  We saw as many as four crew standing on top of the mast, looking in different directions for the fish which "sleep" on the surface or jump.  Then they race off, while other crew walk the bowsprit to harpoon the catch.  

From the terrace overhanging the water where we had lunch, we had front row seats but didn't see a catch -  disappointing but also a relief.  Apparently the captain steers from his position on the top of the lattice steel mast.  As you can see, the bowsprit is longer than the boat.

The fishing district of Scilla, Chianalea, is definitely a working village mixed with small hotels and restaurants.  

A delightful spot.

Charming pedestrian and scooter only lanes.

Lovely wooded and mountainous coastline where only Italians and those of Italian descent visiting their homeland tour along with the odd cruiser or two.

Graffiti in the castle by a soldier on duty.

We had to try the local specialty and did it in pizza form - swordfish, fresh and smoked, on homemade crust overhanging the sea along with a very gregarious owner/chef/waiter.  He practiced his English by regaling us with tales of sword fishing.  It is wonderful to be in Italy again!