On September 20th, 2022, the Endurance followed a pilot boat through a foggy morning into the harbor of Heimaey, the largest island in the Vestmannaeyjar (Westman Islands) archipelago, just four nautical miles south of Iceland. She glided slowly through the narrow opening on the north end of the island to reach the equally constricted harbor, as shown by the blue line below.
Joan and I had signed up for the Volcanic Hiking Tour, which would take us to the top of Eldfell (red circle), the volcano that erupted in January, 1973, destroying half the town and threatening to close the harbor. For an intensely detailed history of the eruption, try this site.
First, our guide showed us a "puffling," or juvenile puffin. The Westmans are a major breeding location for puffins, but the increased artificial lighting causes many of the pufflings to fail to find the sea. Many residents patrol the town to rescue disoriented pufflings; our guide's son would later release this one.
Puffins don't have the famous beak coloration until they are adults. (Click on any image to enlarge.)
Our walk first took us through the outskirts of the town. Soon, we passed a replica stave church given to Iceland in 2000 by Norway, marking the 1000th anniversary of Iceland's official adoption of Christianity.
The ferry between the mainland and Heimaey arrived before we were out of sight of the harbor. It switched from diesel to electric in 2020.
Our trail gradually climbed at first, with many interpretive signs in multiple languages. This one shows an aerial photo of what the ground we were walking on looked like before 1973.
Vegetation lined the path for a while as we gained altitude.
Our group hadn't reached the cloud layer yet, but looking back, we saw the distinct curtain it made.
On such a small island, any land that is not the airport, the golf course, or a volcano is built upon.
The real climb up the Eldfell's slope began, and we left the vegetation behind. Clouds ahead!
Eventually we reached the rim of the volcano.
Much detritus was thrown out during the eruption.
A traditional way to bake rye bread in Iceland is to take advantage of geothermal heat. It takes about 24 hours. Our guide invited us to check out a hot spot up here on the volcano. Here, Joan checks the temperature.
Some wanted to get a good sniff.
The local guides tell a story about a visit King Juan Carlos of Spain made to Iceland. He was scheduled to inspect a site where a loaf of this "geothermal rye" would be ready to pull out and taste. However, there was a mix-up and no dough had been put in place, so in a panic, a store-bought loaf of bread was re-wrapped and placed in the hot spot before the King's arrival. When he unwrapped it, he said, "I see the heat has even sliced the bread!"
On our return down the volcano, we could see the island's airport through the fog.
Our group had time to visit the Volcano Museum at the foot of the eruption, which had fascinating exhibits -- videos, a home excavated after the eruption, and so forth. One house sat adjacent to the museum, an undisturbed reminder.
Back aboard the Endurance, I took this photo of the dock area. Fishing is the dominant economic engine of these islands.
At the mouth of the harbor we passed this sculpture.
A pilot boat escorted us out to sea.
The Endurance sailed down to the volcanic islands of Surtsey, which emerged from the ocean between 1963-1967. Alas, the low clouds obscured much of the view.
Joan and I participated in a galley tour aboard the ship, now headed towards Reykjavik. The preparation and planning for so much time away from resupply is immense. For example, the cooler for vegetables and other perishables is not opened casually and often, as it might be at home. The needs for the day are figured out and the fridge is opened only once to avoid temperature swings within. After all, a given trip might last for two weeks or more.
The next day would bring day tours in the Reykjavik area and then flights home.
