Lava lovers go dashing toward a rain of fire

John Seach was taken by surprise while descending into the crater of Mount Etna in Italy. The volcano started erupting.

"It was throwing lava about 1,000 feet into the air," said Seach, who had gone into the cone on his 1999 trip to take photographs. "Big molten blocks of lava were landing all over the place. One landed about 10 feet away from me."

Seach, based in Australia, runs some of the world's more unusual tours, providing last-minute visits to volcanoes that look like they might be about to blow. Those interested may have to fly halfway around the world on just a day or two's notice.

A client who traveled from Alaska to Papua New Guinea in 2005 was rewarded when the Manam volcano erupted with such force that it threw a cloud of ash 60,000 feet into the air, the biggest eruption that year. About 9,600 people had been evacuated in the previous weeks as seismic activity increased, a tip-off for eruption seekers like Seach.

This is extreme tourism and not for the fainthearted.

"On a volcano, you can get killed in ways you wouldn't even think of," Seach said. As well as the dangers from lava flows and volcanic bombs, he listed methane explosions, poison gas and eggshell lava — a thin crust of rock that could crumble under your feet, dropping you into an underground cavern.

About 50 to 60 volcanoes erupt each year, mostly at a level of 0 (nonexplosive) or 1 (gentle) on the nine-stage Volcanic Explosivity Index. A rupture the size of Mount St. Helens in 1980 — level 5 or paroxysmal — typically happens about once a decade.

Lava lovers unwilling or unable to drop everything at a moment's notice can opt instead for a volcano that erupts on a regular basis. I chose Mount Yasur on Tanna Island in Vanuatu, which has been blasting out sulfur, ash and chunks of lava more or less continuously for some 800 years.

After a two-hour flight from the capital, Port Vila, I arrived on Tanna, a small island in the South Pacific. The island is part of the Ring of Fire, a line of active volcanoes that stretches around the Pacific Rim.

I went with Loui Nakou, a guide from White Grass Ocean Resort. With four fellow guests from the U.S. and New Zealand, we made the 1 ½-hour trip across the island on dirt roads, ending in a dash across the vast, black desert of ash below the mountain.

We parked at the foot of the crater path, where there is a small hut with a bush toilet, a post box for mailing volcano postcards (cleared every day by some brave soul) and a large sign warning that the crater of an active volcano is an inherently unsafe place.

Every minute or so there was a loud explosion, similar to a thunderclap, overhead, followed by a plume of ash rising into the sky. We marched up the track, littered with basketball-sized rocks, to the crater's edge.

With ash raining down and the wind blowing grit in our faces, the spectacle of the volcanic blasts was startling. Nakou had warned us not to jump backward or run away when there was a big eruption, rather to scan the soaring column of gas, ash, rocks and lava for any boulders that might drop from the sky.

Then came an almighty bang. More explosions followed, and even Nakou began to look nervous. "It's very active now," he said. He pointed to a large glob of solidified lava about 3 feet across, behind us on the path, and motioned to me to put my hand near it. I did so. It was hot enough to fry an egg.

Still, I was determined to stay until after the sun set a half-hour later. As the other guests, coated in ash, headed back to the vehicle, Nakou and I retreated to a safer distance and waited. When darkness fell, the eruptions became truly spectacular, with pyrotechnic displays of molten rock firing hundreds of feet into the air and landing with a series of splats in the darkness in front of us.

It is an experience not to be missed. Just remember to keep an eye on the sky.