“The mountain was in one of its more active phases chucking out occasional chunks of rock from its crater and our local trekking guide judged that we just might just see some spectacular sights if we set out in the early hours and made our way as close to the summit as it was reasonably safe to go.

The ascent of Mount Etna was for me the highlight of a most enjoyable week’s group trekking in Sicily and the nearby highly fertile Aeolian Islands, including picturesque Lipari and the dramatic cone-shaped island volcano of Stromboli, which is continually active.

But while climbing to the summit of Stromboli on a previous evening to sit and watch its continuous pyrotechnics from the comparative safety of a nearby ridge, was spectacular, this did nothing to prepare me for what lay ahead early that morning on Etna, the highest volcano in Europe.

It was around 3am when we slipped quietly out of our darkened lodge at the wooded base of the mountain and climbed into a sturdy and already quite battered four wheel drive truck which would take our party a good way towards the top of the 3330m high peak.

Journey over, we climbed out, put on our head torches, and set off slowly across an extremely rugged lunar landscape following our guide in a meandering file. 

After a while, picking our way over some extremely tortuous terrain and trying not to stumble and gash a hand, arm or leg on the razor sharp surfaces, we suddenly saw a strange glow rising above a darkened mass of volcanic rock a little way ahead.

Our guide signalled to us to stop and went to investigate while we quietly and expectantly stood around like a small illuminated centipede with flesh and walking pole legs that had suddenly lost its head.

A few minutes later his nimble figure detached itself from the surrounding inky darkness and beckoned us to follow.

Luckily I was close to the front and climbing slowly and carefully around the rocks shielding us from the orange glow, I was suddenly confronted by a spectacular river of molten lava spewing silently out of a fissure in the rock.

Suddenly I felt what I can only describe as a huge surge of excitement and began making my way steadily towards it, completely oblivious of those around me.

As I get closer, I was suddenly aware that my boots were getting very hot and instinctively began hopping from one foot to the other while still being drawn ever closer towards this fantastic and, for me, completely mesmerising sight until an invisible wall of intense heat suddenly pulled me up short about three metres from the flow.

I began taking pictures, which was not at all easy, when one is continuously moving from one foot to the other, but I went on as if I was held in some death defying trance by the very sight of the slowly moving trail of lava.

After a couple of minutes, the immense heat broke the spell and drove me back and I turned to see that all my companions had sensibly come to a halt at least 20 metres behind me.

And when I picked up my day sack, which I had abandoned in my excitement after snatching out my camera, I discovered that a small round hole had appeared at the point it had been resting on the rock. 

Riding back down the mountain in the dawn light I felt quite emotional and hugely privileged to have witnessed such a truly amazing sight.

I suddenly thought of my long departed dad who had witnessed the distant glow of an Etna eruption while serving on some Italian front during the Second World War.

If only he could have looked out across the years and witnessed the antics of a yet to be born son who was privileged to know a far better life than he was ever able to enjoy in his sadly shortened life time.

Published April 2010.

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