CRATER ESCAPE
Lucy Clarke-billings explores the volcanoes of southern Italy on a walking tour unlike any other
Teetering on the crater’s edge, we all held our breath. The darkness fell away as the magma glowed in its chambers and, suddenly, the clouds lifted. Against a backdrop of twinkling stars, lava burst from a vent beneath us with a jet-engine boom, sending plumes of molten rock hundreds of feet into the sky – it was a breathtaking spectacle.
It had taken four hours to conquer Stromboli, Europe’s only permanently active volcano, on the fourth hike of a seven-day volcano walking trip. Only an hour’s boat ride north of Sicily, Stromboli is one of seven islands of the Aeolian archipelago, one of the most visually stunning and historically intriguing archipelagos.
Aiming for a nightfall display, we had set off at 5pm, equipped with helmets, extra layers and packed dinners, accompanied by a guide. Walking at a steady pace through a thick vegetation of caper plants, purple knapweeds and yellow cytisus, the singletrack path steepened, snaking through loose rocks and boulders as thick fog closed in. “It feels like we’re walking on the moon,” one hiker observed.
Rising from the seabed to a height of 2,400m, 924 of which are above sea level, Stromboli has four craters at its peak – three active and one extinct. It was on the latter that we ate our ham and cheese paninis, peering down into the smouldering vents and willing the clouds to lift so we could witness the breathtaking show. Thankfully, we were lucky.
The hike back down the volcano was an entirely different experience, sinking knee-deep in black ash it was as if we were bounding down a desert sand dune. I will never enjoy a glass of wine as much as I did on our return, and my boots will never be entirely free of volcanic sand.
The day before we had explored Vulcano, the most southerly of the Aeolian islands and home to a bubbling volcano of the same name. With its visibly smoking crater and acrid sulphurous fumes (think warm rotten eggs), it made an indelible first impression from the moment we hopped off the hydrofoil.
The last eruption took place between 1888 and 1890, but Vulcano is still regarded as active. And there was indeed a constant tremor, scoring 0.2 to 0.3 on the Richter scale, rippling under the ashy ground – it felt as we were tiptoeing over a sleeping dragon.
Our reward for reaching the summit was the majestic sight of multiple yellowpowdered fumaroles spewing out sulphuric steam and gases. We walked through the plumes of smoke, held our hands over the natural heat sources and peered into the eerie Gran Cratere. And the sight of Vulcano’s six Aeolian sisters on the horizon was breathtaking.
Back at sea level, I held my nose and
It felt as if we were tiptoeing over a sleeping dragon
slid into the muddy, thermal pools. But I could endure only five minutes. Sinking deep into my pores, sulphur became my signature scent for the next few days.
I consoled myself with squid at Ristorante Il Cratere. Chased with a large, cold bottle of Birra Moretti, it was the best meal of the trip.
Vulcano is like a wild beast – hissing, shedding and sweating. It is an exhilarating experience that will remain vivid long after the smell has faded.
We warmed up for Vulcano with two beautiful walks around Lipari, the largest of the seven Aeolian islands, on the first full day of our adventure, marvelling at the imposing Cathedral of San Bartolomeo, rebuilt by Roger the First after the Norman Conquest.
The town itself is quaint, with a pastel-coloured port and narrow streets lined with pots of geraniums, jasmine and bougainvillea. Family-run shops sell traditional ceramics, obsidian crystals and sweet Malvasia wine. But an optional drive around the island, before our walk to the south cliffs, was the highlight, while our afternoon countryside hike proved fascinating thanks to two geologists in our group.
The day after our epic Stromboli climb, we took an early ferry to Sicily, landing at Milazzo from where we drove to Novara di Sicilia to start our walk to the top of Rocca di Novara in the Peloritani mountains, known as the Matterhorn of Sicily.
Saving the most formidable to the last, our final two days were dedicated to Mount Etna, Europe’s most dangerous volcano. Standing at 10,990ft with 300 cones and five live craters, its credentials
are certainly impressive, and its landscape is ever-changing as new cones and calderas (collapsed, cauldronshaped chambers) are formed with each eruption. And thanks to Etna’s fertile volcanic soil, there are some fine vineyards and orchards cultivated on its lower slopes.
As we emerged out of forests of pine and oak we stumbled on to the paths of lava flow from eruptions as recent as 2002, while dry streams of monstrous, jet-black boulders and the charred remains of fallen trees cut through lush vegetation.
My walk among the volcanoes had been exhilarating, exciting and at times challenging, but no man-made pyrotechnic show could ever compare with nature’s own spectacular fireworks extravaganza on Stromboli.