Chapter 12The Ascent of Mount Sneffels

The massive volcano - the first part of our crazy experiment - is over five thousand feet tall. Sneffels is the end of a long chain of volcanic mountains, totally different from the rest of the island. One thing that’s wild about it is its two huge, pointy peaks.

From where we started, it was impossible to see the real shape against the grey sky. All we could make out was this huge dome of white, dropping down from the top of the giant.

Starting this huge thing totally blew me away. Now that we were actually doing it, I really started to believe it was real!

Our group looked like a procession. We walked in a single line, with Hans, this super chill duck hunter, leading the way. He calmly led us along these skinny paths where two people couldn't even walk side-by-side. Talking was basically out of the question.

It gave us more time to think and check out the insane beauty of the place around us.

Past this crazy basalt wall of the Stapi fjord, we were trekking through this fibrous turf, with just a little bit of grass growing on it - leftover from the old swampy peninsula. This huge pile of stuff would keep Iceland warm for a whole century!

This massive turf pit, measured from the bottom of some ravines, is often at least seventy feet deep, and you can see layers of black, burned-up rock mixed with thin streaks of porous sandstone.

The view was seriously epic, and it totally felt empty and deserted.

Being a true nephew of Professor Hardwigg, and even though I was totally stressed and worried about what was coming, I checked out the massive collection of cool rocks and minerals in this huge natural history museum.

Thinking back to what I’d been studying, I went over the whole geological history of Iceland in my head.

This crazy, unique island probably popped up from the ocean not too long ago. Like those coral islands in the Pacific, it might even still be rising, super slowly.

If that’s really the deal, its origin can only be one thing - constant action from underground fires. That was a major win.

If so, if that’s true, forget the theories of Sir Humphry Davy; forget the old writings of Arne Saknussemm; forget my uncle’s claims of discovery - and our whole trip! It’s all gonna fizzle out.

Really into the idea, I started looking around more closely. A serious study of the ground was needed to prove or disprove my idea. I took in every detail and started to get how things had happened before it was even formed.

Iceland doesn't have any normal soil - it's made up entirely of volcanic rock. That's a bunch of stones and rocks with tiny holes. Long before volcanoes even existed, it was a solid block of tough rock, pushed up slowly from the sea by forces inside the earth.

But the underground fires hadn't broken free yet and covered the surface with hot lava.

Sorry for this quick, kinda nerdy geology lesson, but you need it to understand what happens next.

Later on, a massive crack had to have been carved diagonally from the southwest to the northeast of the island, and through it, the volcanic crust gradually flowed out. Then came this wild phenomenon - it wasn't violent, but the outpouring was huge.

The molten stuff, blasted from deep inside the earth, spread out slowly and calmly, creating huge, flat plains, or what they call mamelons or mounds.

That's when the rocks called feldspars, syenites, and porphyries showed up.

Naturally, this overflow made the island get deeper. You can imagine how much elastic stuff piled up in the center, especially when the crust started to cool and there were no other ways out.

Eventually, even with the super-thick, heavy crust on top, the force of the gases below got so intense that they pushed up the whole thing, creating giant shafts. That's how the volcanoes suddenly appeared, followed by the craters bursting out at the top.

The first stuff happening when the island was forming was basically eruptions. But soon after, the volcanic activity really kicked in.

Through these new openings came a ton of basaltic stones, which covered the plain we were walking across. We were stepping over these heavy, dark grey rocks, which had formed into six-sided prisms as they cooled.

Way back, we could see a bunch of flattened cones - basically, they used to be fire-spewing mouths.

Once the volcanic eruption calmed down, the volcano, whose power grew with those old, dead craters, just let the lava flow freely. And all the cinders and pumice stone scattered down the mountain looked like messy hair on a Bacchante’s shoulders.

Basically, that’s how Iceland came to be. Everything comes from those crazy, deep fires, and thinking the center wasn't still molten, super hot, was just plain nuts.

And that's settled (Q.E.D.), so why even try to go inside the earth? Seriously, what a ridiculous idea!

I gave myself that pep talk while we were traveling, and it really helped. I felt way better about our mission, so I headed toward old Sneffels, ready to take on the challenge.

As we went on, the path got tougher and tougher. The ground was rough and sketchy. The rocks crumbled under our feet, so we had to be super careful not to fall.

Hans just strolled along like he was on Salisbury Plain. Sometimes he’d vanish behind huge rocks, and we’d lose sight of him for a sec. Then we’d hear a sharp whistle to let us know where he was.

He’d randomly stop to grab rocks and pile them up in little stacks, just so we wouldn’t get lost on the way back.

He had no clue about the journey we were about to take.

Still, it was a smart move, even if totally pointless - but I'm not getting ahead of myself.

Three hours of total exhaustion, just walking and walking, had only gotten us to the base of the huge mountain. That should give you an idea of what we still had ahead of us.

Suddenly, though, Hans yelled, "Hold up!" - basically, he signaled us to stop. A quick breakfast was laid out on the lava rocks in front of us. My uncle, who was just Professor Hardwigg now, was so ready to go that he wolfed down his food like a total goofball.

This break for food was also a chance to rest. The Professor had to wait for his super chill guide, who didn’t signal for us to leave for a whole hour.

The three Icelanders, who were just as quiet as their buddy, didn’t say a thing; they just ate and drank quietly and seriously.

From this first real leg of the trip, we started climbing up the slopes of the Sneffels volcano.

Its awesome snowy peak, which we started calling it, seemed really close because of how mountains play tricks on your eyes; but seriously, how many long, tiring hours would pass before we reached the top? What crazy exhaustion we’d have to deal with!

The rocks on the mountainside, not held together by soil or roots, kept giving way under our feet, tumbling down into the plains like mini-avalanches.

In some spots, the sides of this massive mountain were so steep that it was impossible to climb straight up, and we had to find ways around these obstacles.

Anyone who's done mountain climbing knows how tough it was. We often had to help each other out using our climbing poles.

I gotta say, my uncle was like, totally glued to my side. He never took his eyes off me, and he was always there to give me a solid hand. He was strong, lean, and seemed to have endless energy. Plus, he had this amazing sense of balance - he never stumbled or messed up.

The Icelanders, even with heavy loads, climbed like pros.

Looking up every now and then at the top of that huge volcano, Sneffels, it seemed totally impossible to reach the summit from that side. Unless the angle got less steep, that is.

Luckily, after an hour of crazy exhaustion and some serious gym moves that would’ve tested an acrobat, we hit this massive ice field that went all the way around the base of the volcano.

The locals called it the tablecloth, probably for the same reason people in the Cape of Good Hope call their mountain Table Mountain, and their roads Table Bay.

Here, to our surprise, we found a real staircase made of stone, which made climbing way easier. This weird staircase was, like, totally volcanic. It was formed by a river of stones thrown up during eruptions - the Icelanders call them stina.

If that river hadn’t been stopped by the mountain's shape, it would have flowed into the sea and made new islands.

But it worked great for us. The slopes got steeper for a bit, but these awesome stone steps - not as tough as the ones at the Egyptian pyramids - were the only way we could keep going.

Around seven that evening, after seriously grinding up two thousand of those rough steps, we found ourselves looking out over a kind of jut or projection of the mountain - basically, a solid base that the cone-shaped crater, like, really relied on.

The ocean stretched out below us, over three thousand two hundred feet down - a seriously epic sight. We’d hit the zone of eternal snow.

It was freezing - a sharp, intense cold. The wind was blowing crazy hard. I was totally wiped.

My awesome uncle, the Professor, could see my legs weren’t gonna make it any further, and honestly, I was just done. Even though he was super eager, he sighed and decided we needed to stop. He called over the eider-duck hunter. But that guy just shook his head. "Ofvanfor," he said.

"Looks like," my uncle said with a bummed expression, "we gotta go higher."

He turned to Hans and asked him why he was being so firm. "Mistour," the guide replied.

"Ja, mistour - yeah, the mistour," one of the Icelandic guides practically yelled, sounding totally freaked out.

It was the first time he’s spoken up.

"What does that weird word even mean?" I asked, feeling anxious. "Look," my uncle said.

I looked down at the plain below and saw a massive, insane cloud of pulverized pumice, sand, and dust shooting up into the sky like a huge tornado. It was like those scary dust devils people see in the Sahara desert.

The wind was pushing it straight towards the side of Sneffels we were on. This thick cloud blocking the sun cast a deep shadow on the mountain's slopes. If this sand spout hit us, we’d totally be destroyed, crushed in its grip.

This crazy phenomenon, super common when the wind whips up the glaciers and sweeps across the dry plains, they call it "mistour" in Icelandic.

"Hastigt, hastigt!" our guide yelled.

I didn't know Danish, but I totally got that he wanted us to hurry up. The guide spun around, leading us towards the back of the crater, while we climbed a little. We followed fast, even though we were totally beat. Fifteen minutes later, Hans stopped so we could look back.

That huge whirlwind of sand was spreading up the mountain towards where we’d planned to stop. Huge rocks were flying up, tossed around like during a volcano. Luckily, we were a bit out of the wind's way, so we were safe.

But for our guide’s smarts and knowledge, our bodies would’ve been tossed around like dust from a random meteor. Hans didn’t think it was a good idea to spend the night on the bare cone. So we kept going, zigzagging. The fifteen hundred feet left to climb took us at least five hours.

All the turns and dead ends, the endless marching, made that short distance feel like three leagues. I’d never felt so miserable, tired, and drained in my life. I was about to pass out from hunger and cold. Plus, the thin air was really messing with my lungs.

Finally, around eleven at night - it was seriously dark up there - we made it to the top of Mount Sneffels! Despite being totally wiped, I had to stop before heading into the crater for the night. I just had to see the sun rise at midnight, on the day of the shortest day of the year.

The sight of those ghostly, pale rays hitting the island below, sleeping soundly, was unreal.

No wonder people fly all the way from England to Norway just to see something like this. It's totally magical.