Bill-on-the-Hill

The last full day of our Volcano Discovery outing, and we've saved the best for last. This was the day for descending the Valle del Bove, a massive collapse structure on the side of Mount Etna. I've been in a lot of mountain valleys in my life, but it's fair to say I'd never been in one quite like this before, and with a fantastic going-away banquet afterward in Nicolosi town to boot.

Rather than explain from a "scientific" perspective what the Valle del Bove is, let me aim you at the Web Site du Jour, where someone far more qualified than I am can give you the low-down: http://boris.vulcanoetna.com/ETNA_VdB.html , part of an extensive collection of volcano-oriented sites maintained by German vulcanologist Boris Behncke. It's a worthy read, and explains why the scientist in me (and the rest of the family) finds this place fascinating. But the tourist in us found it fascinating because it is spectacular. It's a nearly 1-km deep chasm that runs essentially from the summit of Etna to sea level, largely carpeted with basalt and ash that is black as night. Just looking at it, you can get the impression that this great hole leads directly down to the nether regions of Greco-Roman mythology -- and we were going to do a lot more than just look at it.

The itinerary for the day was simple: ride the funicular (same one as yesterday) to the top, get into the Valle, and point 'em downhill. However, there is more to it than meets the eye. The route to the ridges above the Valle was straightforward, more of the ash-and-snow hiking that we'd done yesterday, although not going as far as the summit. (WGMIL, who'd been intimidated by the snow yesterday, didn't have any trouble with it today -- just as expected.) Getting into the valley bottom, however, was quite an experience. The slopes leading to the bottom are at the "angle of repose," the maximum grade that a granular material can sustain without collapsing under its own weight and starting an avalanche. This is because the Valle del Bove is a recent creation, in geological terms, and hasn't had time to erode much. The "granular material" in this case is exceedingly fine volcanic ash that looks and feels like black talcum powder, and the angle of repose is somewhere around 40 degrees, which is a durn steep slope. So how does one get down this thing and into the valley bottom?

Well, the answer is "with gusto, if not outright abandon." One simply throws a foot out forward, lets it sink into the powdery ash until it stops moving, lifts the rear foot, and repeats the process. It's a variation on the mountaineering technique of "plunge stepping" used on soft but stable snow. We probably plunge-stepped down this thing for most of a thousand meters, pausing only a few times on the way to rest and see special sights, and it was great fun. Here's what it looked like (Marco has a much better picture but I don't want to use it here without his permission):

There was one mildly spooky moment on this part of the descent. Fairly near the top, Rosario, our Etna guide, called us to a halt near a small fissure in the slope, and he and Marco had an animated discussion in Italian. Presently Marco explained what was going on: "He says that he's worried because this fissure is wider than it was the last time he took a party through here. That may mean that it is getting ready to open and erupt." Well, the prospect of having a brand-new volcanic vent open literally beneath one's feet does get one's attention! We hot-footed it (so to speak...) down the slope from there, angling off to the side so that if something did open up, we wouldn't be directly in the firing line for stuff getting ejected downhill. In the event, nothing at all happened -- in fact the next eruption from Etna wasn't until weeks after we got home. I told you we have a soporific effect on volcanoes...

Once we got to the valley floor, the hiking became more conventional and familiar, a matter of scrambling alongside and over the lava flows that pave the bottom of the valley. What I remember about this part was its emptiness. From the moment we entered the Valle del Bove until we climbed out over the ridge near the bottom (by which time it didn't rise nearly as far above us), we saw nobody -- not one person outside our group, zero, zip, nil, nada, Nichts. (One of the guys said they did see one solitary hiker off in the distance, but I didn't, and I'm not convinced it wasn't imagination.) This amazed me; I didn't think there was anywhere in western or southern Europe like that, particularly a place as scenic and empty as this one. I get the impression that expeditions into the Valle del Bove aren't terribly common, but they're not that rare; for much of the way we were on a cairn-marked trail atop a lava flow that had obviously seen other hikers than just Rosario and the parties he guided. But we really did have it to ourselves. It was almost eerie, even though our whole family enjoys getting to off-the-beaten-path places like that. A couple more shots of the lower Valle del Bove for completeness:

Valle del Bove geology lesson Bill and Pete in VdB

Eventually we hiked out and were picked up by a car arranged by Marco that delivered us to the Hotel Corsaro. After cleaning up, we headed down the mountain via our trusty van service to the pleasant town of Nicolosi for a final, good-bye dinner. I wish I could remember the name of the place where we ate, because this was quite a meal. (Trattoria Tucano? Maybe something like that.) The specialty of the house was funghi -- mushrooms -- and it was possible to get, as indeed I (and probably some others) did, an entire five-course meal built around the porcini mushrooms that are essentially the Sicilian trademark dish. The wine flowed freely, the conversation did likewise, a grand time was had by all.

All told, a really memorable day, and in most regards the high point of the entire trip. There was a wonderfully special feeling to getting into this place where few have gone, a place that may not even be the same place after the next eruption of Etna. I'd go back in an instant.