Thursday 11 December 2014


Why I want to monitor volcanoes

This post provides a brief insight into why I am interested in pursuing the study of volcanoes, or volcanology, as a career path.

If someone were to ask me, why do you want to study volcanoes?, I could give you a short answer or a long one. The short answer would make you laugh (hopefully!) and perhaps nod in agreement, but I think the longer answer is better. Such a career choice requires a longer examination of the deeper sources behind your passion.


For the short answer:

Volcanoes are badass!

They're light and heat, awe and fire; a reminder of the days when we were ruled by the pagan gods. They provide a natural spectacle far more amazing than any show on TV, including the auditions of the X Factor. Furthermore, I love that people's eyes light up when I tell them about volcanoes, because I have something that they can immediately relate to. We have all of us felt at some point in our lives awe at the natural world around us, at some phenomenon that we have witnessed, a moment that we know will never come again.

Volcanoes are both hot and cool. Superficially, I want to visit them so that I can toast a marshmallow on lava. The fact that the world's most active volcanoes are found in exotic and tantalising foreign countries doesn't hurt, either!


For the long answer:

In all seriousness, however, I chose volcanoes for deeper reasons. This I think is proved by my assertion that I would study an active volcano if it were located in Swindon. If you look beyond the awesome pictures of viscous and livid lavas, you'll find a cornucopia of reasons as to why volcanology is a fascinating and deeply engaging science. If you'll allow me to walk you through the reasons as to why I'm so interested, I think that at the end you will wish you studied volcanology too.

I came to study Earth Sciences at University College London in the fall of 2014. I think the degree appealed to me so much because I was so indecisive about my future. I knew that I enjoyed science, and I knew that I like to travel; that seemed to be the extent of my understanding. Geology provided an outlet for me to explore the world through fieldwork, and develop my interests in varied scientific disciplines ranging from geophysics to palaeontology.

I believe that the study of volcanology takes this approach one step further. Of course it has a narrower focus than Earth Sciences in general; but there are so many areas within it that it seems mean to call it a specialisation. If you are working with the active earth, where can't your skills be put to use? Measuring gas flux from the crater? - a sound understanding of chemistry will work wonders. Monitoring car breaks down? - a mind geared towards mechanical engineering will help. Need to talk to the locals about potential hazards? - languages are invaluable.

Following on from that last point, another thing which attracted me to volcanology is the active and engaged position that you can take with the public. How often in your day-to-day life do you think about the water you drink or the gas in your car being due, in part, to the efforts of geologists? But with volcanic risk, the benefits of scientific communication are far more immediately observed. Take the disasters of Nevado del Ruiz (1985) and LÁquila (2009) as examples: when the Earth trembles, people look to the scientists. I want to be able to inform the understanding of many people when they wonder why a volcano is dangerous. It's that lighting up in people's eyes that I want to achieve, as I know that mine must have done when I first learned about volcanic processes a couple of years ago. I have been given so much from my degree; now I believe it is time to give things back.




Tuesday 2 December 2014




A day at the summit of Teide

We take the cable car up the volcano. As we rise, the slopes below us sprawl into blackened, frozen thunder. ‘Papi Teide’, as the locals know him, is the legendary demon that lives under the mountain of el Teide in Tenerife. He appears to have been cooking: made a delicious stew of molten rock, and in a temper upended it everywhere. The colours show the ingredients that he used: here a sun-dried and rubbled ochre lava flow, there a piquant sprinkle of scoria, over there a smooth lick of obsidian. Everywhere the melange is garnished with vegetation that crackles in the polished blue bowl of the caldera.

In ten minutes we reach the cable car’s exit, and the air is noticeably thinner. We wheeze like smokers up the last two hundred metres towards the summit. Natural levees of petrified rock direct our route at every turn. They hint of the awesome power of past eruptions, when Teide overflowed its top and lava ran down its sides to form these banks and flows. Our journey is otherworldly, surreal; in this land of legends I feel as though I could be struck down by lightning, or petrified in salt from the errant volcano.

Inside the crater it’s quite fantastic. As we zig-zag across the surface, a landscape of chemical foliage blooms under our feet. Puckered whorls of carbonates frost the ground in spirals and loops. Fist-sized vents can be seen here and there, the entrance into the underworld, and each opening is kissed by splinters of acid-yellow sulphur needles that glint under the sunlight; a sun that spins in the spotless blue bowl like a golden coin. We are at the highest point in the Atlantic, and the stars feel closer here.

Perhaps you would expect an active volcano to feel more alive: despite the otherworldly shapes there is no lava. But the mountain is still restless. I sit back against one of the walls (coloured a curious shade of pink; the colour of a baby’s cheek, unblemished) and spring up: it’s like sitting on a radiator. People laugh – that’s the volcano! 5 kilometres below us, a room of molten rock churns. If you look around, the steam rising in curlicues and cidillas from the vents whisper the secret of the magma chamber.

We rest in a shadow in the southern wall, backs warmed from the geothermal heat. A buzzing rises on the breeze. The noise drones on, and rises in pitch. What is it - have we awoken Papi Teide? But no: above us, in the sun, a few ink dots hum and flitter. These are bees that live by the crater. They are endemic to Teide and come for the heat that rises from the deep. They call this place home. Unbelievable!

Later, Davíd regales us with tales of his travels. He’s been to 15 of the 17 Decade Volcanoes. I ask him what his favourite one was, and he recalls the roiling lava lake at Nyiragongo. This is my first and, honestly, I can’t imagine another surpassing it.