Wednesday, July 6 (Part 2). Before arriving I had looked for a unique tour that would either include a flight over the mountains or some other special site. I found a not-inexpensive tour Into a volcano (whose name suffers from various spellings). I stress “Into”. After getting a confirming recomendation from our trip leader that it was fascinating, I booked it.

After an hour drive northest of Reykjavik, we arrived at a ski area. I assumed that we’d go up a lift to a mountain top, then descend. No. We were guided across the road on a flatish gravel path for two miles, pushed by a guide who seemed to be late for a date. Exhausting. The volcano, which was one of three in sight, was occassionally hidden in clouds. At the base of the volcano we stopped at a station for hot cocoa and instructions. We donned helmets and a safty harness, then climbed the remaining of the way to the top. (It was mildly foggy, with a moderate breeze.

The lift is identical to a window-washing rig for skyscrapers. Seven of us were loaded aboard and we were lowered almost 400 feet down in just over 5 minutes. The opening was just large enough for the lift, but as we descended the “hole” began larger in circumference. The bottom was about 200 across. White lights highlighted the intense and varied rock colors. It was dead silent. As there were only 14 at the bottom at any time, there were times when it was just me and the volcano.

After about 40 minutes we returned to the surface, into gale force winds and dense fog full of moisture. The two mile return was agony, but at no time did I feel that the trip was unworthy. It was a surreal experience.