Editor’s Note: Catharine Fulton He is a Canadian journalist and editor-in-chief. Reykjavik Vine. He lives in Reykjavík with his Icelandic partner and two children. The opinions expressed in this comment are his own. Read more CNN’s Opinion.
I remember the first time I experienced an earthquake in Iceland. I ran towards the nearest doorframe; That’s what you should do, right? – Beneath the sloping ceilings of my attic apartment in one of Reykjavík’s iconic bárujárn houses.
I remember being terribly aware of my fate should the old timber frame and corrugated iron cladding decide to collapse.
The shaking ended within seconds, but my knees shook and my heart pounded for a while longer.
I remember the first time I saw an active volcano. It was the eruption of Fimmvörðuháls in March 2010; a precursor to the infamous Eyjafjallajökull eruption, which began just a month later and spread ashes and memes in equal measure related to its unpronounceable name.
In a moment that now seems like a dream when I look back, I donned a snow suit, boots, balaclava and helmet and, as the sun was setting, rode a snowmobile across the crackling, crackling, crevassed surface of the Sólheimajökull glacier to witness the crack vent spewing glowing ice. As liquid magma rose into the air, a shower of lava rained down from the soot-black portion of the newly formed crater.
The place was a wonderfully multi-sensory place. The flash of lava against the night sky, the heat waves from the eruption providing intermittent relief from the crippling cold at the top of the glacier, the sound of the churning earth. This sound remained his most vivid memory; The sound of the Earth’s pulse.
Such distinct reminders of tectonic plates moving beneath me were not something I was used to. Growing up in a suburb close to Toronto, earthquakes and volcanoes were events I saw on television or described in the pages of back issues of National Geographic.
The closest my house came to experiencing an earthquake was when I slammed my bedroom door with a little too much teenage angst.
It wasn’t until I moved to Iceland in March 2009, attracted by the opportunity to witness and report on a nation emerging from an economic collapse, that I was able to understand and appreciate the explosive qualities of the world.
It’s easy to appreciate the physical beauty of Iceland. Due to its lack of dense tree cover and vast lava fields that are sometimes barren and sometimes covered in moss, it has come to be described as “otherworldly” to an almost clichéd degree.
But curious visitors will soon learn that Icelandic nature must be respected not only for its preservation, but also for their own safety.
This is something all Icelanders know. Their country is beautiful, but the potential for danger is always there.
Icelanders were reminded that residents of Grindavík, a small town on the southern coast of the Reykjanes peninsula, 50 kilometers from Reykjavík, are now staying with friends and family and in Red Cross emergency shelters across the country. Although the majority of the country remains safe, a large area of this peninsula has been evacuated as the Icelandic Meteorological Office continues to predict that an eruption is imminent.
Perhaps Iceland’s “it is just the way it is” mentality previously enabled the people of Grindavík to stay put when the ground began to tremble not far from their home in recent years.
The peninsula entered a new volcanic cycle in 2019; An increase in earthquakes and measurable ground elevation around the Fagradalsfjall volcano resulted in an eruption in March 2021. The near-constant cycle of earthquakes heralding an eruption near Fagradalsfjall was repeated in July 2022 and in 2022. July 2023.
News reports during these seismic and explosive periods noted that earthquakes were a nuisance for nearby Grindavík; nearby, but far enough away from the epicenter of volcanic action to be completely out of danger. Three explosions over the years have been touted as “tourist explosions”, far from infrastructure and easily visible if you go for a 10 km walk.
We could feel larger earthquakes in Reykjavík as well. Now, in a sturdier concrete house, I can hear the approaching shock waves, like a large truck speeding down the street and then crashing into the building with a jolt and rolling.
The 140,000 people living in the capital experienced the latest turmoil on the Reykjanes peninsula in almost the same way. Strange shaking or occasional rumbling.
But the latest seismic activity, which started on October 25, was different for the people of Grindavík. Instead of interesting news that residents were taking seasickness pills to cope with the ever-moving Earth, the epicenter had been moved below the town; Reykjavík Vine was described by one resident as a “monster under his feet”.
This monster was restless, causing tens of thousands of earthquakes, and finally threw a tantrum on November 10, causing the ground to be pulled out from under people’s feet repeatedly. Late that night, 3,700 residents of Grindavík were ordered to evacuate.
The monster had dug a 15-kilometer lava tunnel beneath the town.
Nobody is at a loss anymore. Although earthquakes have decreased somewhat – we haven’t felt them in the capital since the November 10 raids – but the explosive nature of this country located on tectonic plates and its potential impact on people has been brought to the fore.
No entire town has been evacuated since the Westman Islands were awakened by an explosion in their backyard in 1973. Now everyone is waiting, watching and wondering if the residents of Grindavík will return home. Will they want it?
I remember my first volcano. I don’t want the memory of someone who destroyed people’s homes.
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