Expedition logbook
Dr Debbie Austin
October 9th
I think the roof is going to blow away. Great gusts are surging down the valley from the ice cap high above, buffeting the hut and rattling the roofing sheets against the rafters. It will only take one rusty rivet to fail before our shelter is prised open.
Björn is unconcerned. He insists the hut has survived worse. I hope he is right, as this tin shack, perched on the edge of a barren lava field, will be our home for the next few weeks.
It was considerably calmer when I flew into Faxaflói Airfield this morning. Björn arrived in his truck soon after, an unmistakable bear of a man in a threadbare woollen jumper, who I immediately recognised from his picture on the Icelandic Geological Project’s hub page. We waited for Mike and Lisa’s flight from the US to arrive, by which time the wind was strong enough to make their plane pitch and roll as it approached the runway. Mike looked somewhat queasy when he disembarked.
We stopped in Reykjavik to pick up Björn’s colleague Arnar, together with his Icelandic Sheepdog Latur, before taking the road towards Grímsvötn. Amid squalls of snow, Björn coaxed the heavily laden truck along a series of increasingly rough tracks and through swollen meltwater rivers to the hut. There we spent the rest of the day unpacking supplies and sheltering from the worsening storm.
October 10th
The wind dropped during the night, allowing me to finally fall asleep, though only until dawn, when Latur nuzzled us all from our slumber.
I forced myself out of my sleeping bag, breaths clouding before me, and helped Björn rekindle the stove. Once we had prepared a warming pot of porridge, discussions turned to the day’s tasks. This being Mike and Lisa’s first expedition, Arnar offered to guide them to some nearby fumaroles to collect emission samples. Meanwhile, I prepared myself for my first excursion onto Grímsvötn.
Björn and I drove the truck up the Hrafndalur Valley until the ground became too broken to continue, at which point we proceeded on foot. We spent much of the day on the ice cap, trying to repair a broken anemometer on the weather station while battered by a glacial wind. My fingers were numb and my cheeks windburnt, yet when I thought of my colleagues back home, lecturing undergraduates or writing grant proposals, I could not help but smile.
With a few hours of daylight remaining, we retreated to the relative shelter of the upper valley to collect meltwater samples from beneath the glacier. Björn claimed the ice had retreated considerably this summer, as evidenced by an unusually dark patch of tephra he spotted on a newly exposed slope above us. We would have investigated further, but the intensifying wind was driving a dark, anvil-shaped cloud towards us, so we escaped back to the truck. If we have time we will return to collect samples of the tephra.
I am now sitting in the hut in front of the stove, a mug of hot chocolate before me, while another storm shakes the roof. Latur, who seems quite taken with me, is dozing on my lap, rebuking me with a whine whenever I move. It has been a productive day, though being delayed by equipment malfunctions so early in the expedition does not bode well for our primary goal, which is to collect cores from the icecap.
October 11th
I can barely see the truck for the blizzard, despite it sitting only a few body lengths from the door. Björn and Arnar have urged us not to leave the hut, so I have spent the morning showing Lisa how to analyse the gas samples she and Mike collected yesterday, while sharing stories of past expeditions.
Later:
The whiteout has worsened. The confinement makes me restless; we cannot afford to lose more time to the weather. I am ashamed to write that I miss my office back in Cambridge.
October 12th
The storm finally blew itself out overnight, leaving in its wake clear skies and knee-deep powder.
Having spent yesterday in the hut, I welcomed the chance to expend some energy wading through the snow to the weather station. Björn seemed less enamoured at the prospect of such physical activity but grudgingly accompanied me once I had pointed out that if we delayed repairing the anemometer we might not have enough time to collect the ice cores. The repair job itself was mercifully quick.
When we returned to the upper Hrafndalur Valley, I noticed that the newly exposed tephra we had seen the other day was still visible despite the fresh snow. Knowing this could only mean one thing, I persuaded Björn to wait for me as I fought my way up the slope. Sure enough, what we had taken to be a patch of dark rock was in fact the entrance to a lava tube, the warm breeze gently emanating from its depths keeping it clear of snow. I have logged its location and will return if I can.
We had not been back at the hut long before the others returned from gathering rock samples from Grímsvötn’s latest eruption. Lisa effused at length about the heat emanating from the new lava field. Such enthusiasm stands her in good stead for a career in volcanology.
October 15th
Björn has the ideal stature for breaking trail, though I fear he would not say the same of me. Nonetheless, several days of labour has seen us clear a route deep onto the icecap. Arnar joined us today, having decided Mike and Lisa can safely explore the lava flow themselves, and Latur took great delight in cavorting in the waist-high drifts on the leeward slopes. I would have joined in had my legs not felt so heavy.
Our original timetable had us collecting ice cores three days ago. Mike and Lisa have kindly offered their help, insisting they are happy to take a break from gathering lava samples. But I am still unsure we will be able to harvest the cores in time; we can afford no further delays.
October 16th
I spent much of today with Arnar, ferrying boxes of equipment onto the icecap. The work was too punishing for us to speak much, beside which Arnar is somewhat taciturn, but at least it kept us warm (though cuddles with Latur helped too). Mike, Lisa and Björn, meanwhile, suffered under the onslaught of the biting wind as they unpacked boxes and assembled the boring machine.
My knees were ready to buckle when we crested the rise to the icecap with the final load. But to see the rime-covered machine fully assembled and glinting in the setting sun was most uplifting.
In spite of my weariness, I am unable to sit still as I warm myself by the stove. I cannot shake from my head the image of the lava tube, whose entrance we passed so many times today, but whose passages I may never get the opportunity to explore.
October 22nd
Björn, Arnar and I have spent every hour of daylight during the past few days operating the boring machine in an effort to collect our samples before we have to dismantle it tomorrow. This evening, while being scoured by spindrift, we successfully extracted the final core.
There is a celebratory mood in the hut tonight. Björn is passing round a bottle of brennivín, which he had hidden in the snow on the windowsill. With the expedition’s primary aim now complete I feel only too willing to partake. Tomorrow, sore heads notwithstanding, we will begin transporting the machine off the ice cap. It will be a struggle to do so before we have to leave Grímsvötn, but we will enlist Mike and Lisa’s help, as they have now finished their own fieldwork.
October 25th
Two days of calm weather allowed us to disassemble the machine more quickly than expected. So this morning, our last in the field, I sensed an opportunity to explore the lava tube.
Mike was intent on investigating a newly opened mud pot beyond the lava field and persuaded Lisa and Björn to join him. Arnar reluctantly agreed to accompany me up the valley, though he declined the offer of a trip underground, citing the importance of ‘surface support’ (I think he is claustrophobic).
We drove as far up the valley as we could. Then, after assuring Arnar that I would be back well before dark, I grabbed a helmet and headlamp and set off towards the lava tube, Latur bounding through the snow beside me. A cold mist clung to the mountainside and I was glad I had recorded the location of the entrance, which was not visible until we were right upon it.
A round, standing-height passage beckoned me into the hillside. I took a few steps then stopped and let the cave’s exhalations warm my face while my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Then, with a shudder of excitement, I set off where no-one had been before. Arnar had assured me that Latur, who has visited lava tubes previously, would remain within the area illuminated by my lamp, and sure enough the hound padded contentedly beside me.
I must have been deep in the bedrock beneath the ice cap by the time the floor finally rose to meet the ceiling. I lingered at the end of the passage, photographing the mesmerising shapes formed by the once-molten rock. Then, not wanting to keep Arnar waiting any longer, I put away my camera and started to make my way out.
It was then that I realised Latur had vanished.
I cast my lamp frantically about and called him, but received no response. Then, as my echoes died away, there came a faint, yet unmistakable, whining from the solid rock beyond the end of the tube.
I scrambled up the slope to where it met the ceiling. Hidden behind a rock was a tiny gap through which I could hear Latur’s plaintive howls. I tried to coax him towards me but to no avail. His yelps became increasingly distressed.
Scrabbling frenziedly at the rubble, I managed to widen the gap sufficiently to squeeze in on my belly. The roof and floor tore at me as I pressed myself forwards.
For an instant I was convinced I saw a flash ahead of me. But when I craned my head forwards my helmet wedged itself between the floor and ceiling. Fighting a rising wave of claustrophobia I unclasped the chin strap and peered ahead, but saw only darkness. Putting it down to a trick of my lamplight, I yanked my helmet free and struggled on, cursing Arnar for letting me take Latur underground.
After several painful body lengths, the passage enlarged enough to allow me to stand. Latur sounded close now, and as I rounded a bend, a barking blur of fur cannoned into my arms. I laughed with relief as Latur licked my face.
It was clear now that Latur had unwittingly discovered the continuation of the lava tube, but I was no longer in the mood for adventure. Besides, we had already kept Arnar waiting long enough.
But as I shone my lamp down the tunnel one last time, I noticed something embedded in the wall. At first glance it appeared to be a large dome of obsidian, waist-high and perfectly curved, not a single blemish marring its exterior. Yet something about the way my lamplight interacted with its surface seemed … wrong. When I looked closer, I realised the light might actually be passing straight through the glass and reflecting off the rock behind. By shifting my focus, I could move between the two interpretations: one moment I believed I was looking straight through the crystal, the next I was convinced I was looking at its surface. My eyes were unable to process what was in front of them.
I reached out tentatively, then frowned. My hand slid around the surface, yet I felt I was touching nothing but air. The closest sensation I can compare it to is that of pushing together the matching poles of two magnets.
I ran my fingers over the intangible crystal as I puzzled over its provenance. No geological process I know of could have created volcanic glass of such clarity, especially on this scale. And no other mineral feels like this to the touch.
My musings were interrupted by Latur pawing at my feet, begging me to leave. After hastily taking a photograph, I extruded myself back through the tiny gap, while Latur padded effortlessly in front of me. When we arrived back at the entrance, I was shocked to find it was dusk, my watch having lost over an hour during my time underground. Back at the truck, Arnar was in a state of agitation, having convinced himself an accident had befallen me.
In the morning we will return to Reykjavik and I will fly back to Cambridge, where the mundanities of academic life await. But there is a feeling of unfinished business surrounding my discovery. When I showed my photograph to the others and attempted to describe what the material felt like, nobody could offer any explanation.
I have resolved to return next year to investigate further. Björn is eager to be involved too, and it will be a pleasure to work with him again. If this truly is a new mineral, then I will call it neckerite.
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