Together by the fire

Geldingadalur — eruption day one

Flying over my first lava with the Volcano Pilot, Haddi, I didn't know which of the two was more legendary. Sometimes the best experiences are merely there to bring the people witnessing it closer together. And even though this was the most remarkable experience of my life to this day - the first time seeing actual lava, - it's the people I shared it with, especially Haddi, that I remember, cherish, and will forever miss the most. This moment meant more than a volcano ever could.

Geldingadalur — eruption day two

We arrived at 7. There were a few hundred cars pulled over on the road in front of us already, so we abandoned ours there. Yesterday, someone had walked to the volcano. And survived. Everyone else semi-adventurous had waited for the second part of that story. If that someone survived, so would probably we. So we had all set out to chase the fire.

The volcano had placed itself in a valley, perfectly tiny and innocent to be walked around, and experienced as the greatest, but also most humble outdoor live show in the world. We arrived there to meet everyone we knew. A reuniting that in covid days meant almost more than the heat itself. And we did follow the heat. Whichever way the lava was spilling, the crowds quickly migrated towards it to stay warm in the Marchly emergence of new light and lava.

It took a volcanic eruption to bring people to unconditionally stop what they’re doing and get out to find each other by the fire, and stay not for the show, but for each other's company.

This was a volcano for the people, but more like a giant bonfire festival. And I think everyone who was there gained a little bit more humanity from it, while also staying warm. Except for my friend who spent the night there next to me. She got hypothermia.

The volcano was the performer

This is insanely fresh lava pouring out of an eruption. And that eruption is 4 hours old. That’s younger than most of you. We really did run there.

As the lava moves over the land, looking for purpose but only finding the path of least resistance, it gathers the best kind of people around its spectacle. The crazies, adventurous explorers, the ones who want to connect back with nature. As we flock in our hundreds around the greatest outdoor show on earth, all watching the same forces, it brings some of the most primal feeling out of everyone. And we are all once again connected by fire. Something long forgotten.

Normally, getting close to a volcanic eruption has meant helicopters, planes or flying your drone over if it reaches. But in the last few years, something completely new has happened. On the Reykjanes Peninsula, the Earth cracked open just an hour's walk from the nearest road.

For the first time, tens of thousands of people could experience this wild, ancient force, not alone, not through a screen, but together. And somehow, that made it even better.

We like to think that nature is best experienced in solitude. That to really feel it, you have to be alone. But this volcano brings people together. It might be terrifying being there alone, but the chatter of the crowds, the bonfire smell, and the hundreds of headlamps shimmering as darkness set make it feel like an experience meant to be shared. Running into friends, old and new, sparked this festival feel into the valley of blazing lava. It's beautiful to enjoy this moment together. And after a few visits, I just started to go on my own, because I knew that I would always run into most of my friends out there. Sometimes filming, shooting, or just enjoying the show.

It brought something primal out of everyone. Watching the lava shoot out of the ground felt like staring straight into the heart of the sun, bringing us back to the days when fire was all humanity had and we would all gather around it. It made us feel tiny, and alive, and somehow more connected to everything around us.

The volcano was the performer. And we were lucky enough to be its audience, shoulder to shoulder in the glow of something far older and wilder than ourselves.