The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
In this corner of E
thiopia all the volcanic activity produces hot pots, boiling sulphur water and startlingly colorful pools. Not that a soak in a hot springs is on the agenda; unlike at home serious heat is the norm here and a cool pond would be more welcome. The Danakil is said to be the hottest place on Earth; temperatures regularly reach over 50c – that’s about 122f, if you don’t have Goggle open. November is the “cooler” month; there is a breeze to evaporate sweat, plenty of water to drink, and all in all it is not so uncomfortable for us tourists.
It is in this stifling heat that hominids evolved with a cooling system unique in the animal 
world and it started with rising up on two legs. Standing up gave us the advantage needed to become the most important mammal species on the planet. We don’t know the details – there’s that pesky 11 million years missing in the fossil record between an arboreal primate and an upright striding hominid – but we do know our cooling system works. Near Danakil in the hellishly hot Harar region Dr. Johanson discovered the famous Lucy fossil, she who stood on her two legs three million+ years ago. Her upright stance kept the sun’s radiation to a minimum and exposed more of her body to the cooling breeze offering her the opportunity to forage in the day’s heat while predators languished in the shade. Subsequent evolutionary adaptations gave us different hair – we have as many hairs as chimpanzee do, but ours are short and fine. They don’t inhibit sw
eat from reaching the surface where the breeze will cool us. Humans can survive in this cruel landscape but I wouldn’t want to do it naked like Lucy.
In the very early morning light we arrive at the Colorful Place, a fairly recently formed sulphur springs area. Quite small compared to the size of Yellowstone, these pools and yellow/green/orange colored rocks are far more accessible. Or maybe it is just that there is no authority in the area, you are allowed to tramp around and get close. Guards motion people away from known dangers but there are no signs, no barriers and no warnings. Like a lot of Africa, you are responsible for yourself. The morning light is picture perfect and more than one person said “I can’t stop taking photos!” – it is that spectacular. W
ith no preamble the guides lead us to what appears to be another hot pot, bubbles popping up and spreading slowly about the 20ft square pool. But then the guides reach their hands into the pool – how crazy is that! The pool isn’t filled with water, it is full of oil. Magnesium in the rocks mixed with who knows what else has created a pool of warm light oil. It runs nearly clear off our hands; some people fill bottles with it and we rub it on our wind-dried legs. I want to jump in, it is so amazing. I hope we don’t come back here one day and find an expensive spa at this magical pool.
Salt used in laser technologies is mined here using archaic but common techniques. Long camel 
caravans travel days across the desert carrying blocks of salt carved right from the ground, then they return for more. Salt is mined in likely the most arduous and lowest paying work in the country. Men chop a sizable section from the salt pan using axes then they pry it up using a long beveled pole polished smooth with use. A special tool is used to break up the big section into the correct size block (about five kilograms); blocks are stacked up to be loaded on the camels and on it goes. The men are whippet-thin, wearing sunglasses and colorful socks to protect from the constant exposure to the element. As we are leaving the breeze became a wind and sand begins to fill the air. The 
relatively comfortable conditions decline rapidly. We were fortunate to have seen this place so easily but the salt miners will stay through any circumstance and as our guide Haile said, they never complain. The camels do, they bawl and honk and spit, but as a beast of burden in this unforgiving place they are unsurpassed.
“We will drive to the volcano today and hike to the top tonight” our guide Mesfin announces in greeting at the Mekele airport. We’ve flown to this northeastern town from Addis Ababa and are off to a running start on our tour. There is a hint of regret that we did not attempt driving here. With all the ground we have covered in the Beagle, what’s one more country to pass through? Still, the language barrier is severe in this vastly different county where Amarhic is spoken more than English, and the alphabet is more akin to Sanskrit than anything else. For many reasons it was a good idea to leave the Beagle at JJ’s in Nairobi and fly into Ethiopia.
Five vehicles and 14 people including guides and drivers make up our group. At the lunch stop Jim 
and I take time to find a chemist, which involved wandering through rock-strewn alleys following a little boy who knew the way to the chemist storefront. We buy some Panadol – I am definitely feeling trepidation for the four-hour volcano hike. In a windblown sandy town we pick up a camel driver and a guard. It takes 1.5 hours to do the final 15 kilometers. Deep sand and sharp lava rocks pave the way and in the distance we can see the glow of Erta Ale. I imagine everyone is thinking of “The Lord of the Rings” and Frodo’s trek to Mount Doom. I know I am.
Volcano base camp finally looms in front of us in the dusk. We are set up with a kitchen staff and a couple of guides who show us the routine – first we eat, they say, then we hike. Dark falls like a blanket holding in the heat. The camel who will carry our sleeping gear is loaded, much to his dissatisfaction – he bawls throughout the process. Our guard is a tiny Afar man who might weigh more than his gun, but only 
just. The trek begins on flat desert ground and we wind our way along, stopping twice to rest. The cup of heavily sugared coffee I drank for dinner is serving its purpose. At first it is exhilarating to be in the desert in darkness but after a couple of hours it is simply a trudge, and well past our bedtime. Shadows created by my headlamp become surreal. No one speaks much. At last we arrive to the rim of the caldera, weaving around with fatigue in the darkness. It is still another few minutes to the very edge of the volcano; dropping packs and readying cameras energizes everyone. We climb down a cliff toward the glow.
Erta Ale is one of a handful of places where one can (somewhat safely) stand and look down into an active volcano’s lava lake. That is, until this past January. Unpredictably and witnessed by a group of tourists a vent exploded a few kilometers from Erta blasting lava and debris into the night sky. The roiling magma that had filled Erta’s crater to the rim was sucked out through a fissur
e, exiting into this new vent. Everything changed instantly. Looking into the crater now reveals magma flowing east to west, pouring down into a cauldron of fire but it is not close to the rim. Wind moves the magma and it rises like the sea, dashing onto rocks and flying into the air. Glowing red, magenta, orange and black, it is still mesmerizing. Two hours later we climb back to the sleeping camp where guides have laid our foam pads on the ground. I drop onto mine wearing the clothes I’ve been in for two days and I don’t remember anything else.
Recent Comments