🌋 A Night in the Volcano

So, it’s February 2020. Java Island, Indonesia.

Our small group, along with a young guide, is standing at the base of Mount Ijen. A few facts about it: the volcano’s elevation is 2,803 meters above sea level, the crater is about 200 meters deep, and its diameter is roughly 1,000 meters.

The last time it erupted was 18 years ago, in 2002, and it’s considered dormant. The members of our group are also pretty much dormant, as our ascent is scheduled for 1:30 AM, and we had spent about seven hours traveling by car and ferry from Bali to the starting point.

We needed to start the climb at night to reach the summit during a comfortable temperature window, although even at night, the air was a warm 28°C. Our guide also mentioned the incredible sunrise we should witness as we reached the crater, as well as the fantastic blue lake at the center of Ijen. He handed out respirators and suggested we stock up on water. At that moment, we thought the respirators were for dust protection. How wrong we were!

We started from a point 1.5 kilometers above sea level. The elevation gain we needed to cover was only 1,300 meters, but since we weren’t moving strictly vertically and were walking on fairly wide, well-trodden paths, the route’s total length was about 7 kilometers. We managed to get through most of the route without any issues, despite the constant heavy fog. But the closer we got to the summit, the more noticeable and sharp the sulfur smell became.

The crater of this volcano contains a sulfur lake. And at the bottom of this crater, hydrogen sulfide continually burns, which results in a blue glow at night. The sulfur made our eyes water, and we started coughing. Breathing through the nose became impossible as it caused a sharp pain in the mucous membranes.

The respirator did reduce the impact of the fumes, but it was still extremely uncomfortable. That night, there was absolutely no wind, so a dense cloud of sulfur-laden air had settled inside the crater. Visibility was reduced to a few dozen centimeters, and even the fingers of an outstretched hand were sometimes indistinguishable, lost in the white-yellow fog.

After about half an hour, the acrid smoke began to dissipate, and our guide told us we could descend to the bottom of the crater to see the “burning stones” and sulfur mining process. Most of our group preferred to climb out of the crater to breathe some fresh air (as fresh as it gets on the summit of a volcano). My friend Denis and I, however, decided to descend all the way down. The descent and return took no more than an hour, but it felt like an eternity in a surreal hell. Although visibility increased to about 10 meters, it was still challenging to navigate. Our path was lit by two headlamps, one on each of us. The path itself was a jumble of rocks of various sizes, which we used as steps (it was literally a case of "the floor is lava"). It felt like a post-apocalyptic scenario: polluted air, darkness, something burning in the distance, and occasionally, people with flashlights appearing out of the fog, also searching for their way...

Among the many tourists, the local sulfur miners stood out. These people work at night, and their task is to descend by foot (there are no stairs!) to the bottom of the crater and collect sulfur chunks (formed by the condensation of burning hydrogen sulfide) in two baskets. Then they carry these baskets to the local Jambu factory, located about three kilometers from the crater, hoisting them onto their shoulders using a yoke-like pole.

There’s a quota that requires each worker to deliver at least 350 kg of sulfur per shift. Our guide told us that these sulfur miners usually meet the quota in five trips, meaning the weight on their shoulders averages 70 kg!

Judging by their appearance, these porters had been working there for a long time, and the smelly, hot air was just another “sulfur-soaked day” for them (how’s that for a pun?). Not a single one of them had a respirator or protective goggles. Some were even climbing back up the rocks barefoot, without any shoes.

It was an utterly horrifying sight for someone used to cushy office work. Where are their labor unions? Here’s an interesting fact: the government once seriously considered the inhumane working conditions of the sulfur industry and proposed building a conveyor belt to transport sulfur chunks from the crater directly to the processing plant. But this noble idea faced incredible resistance from the miners themselves. Afraid of losing their jobs, which, by local standards, are high-paying (up to $15 per shift), the sulfur miners declared a boycott against the government, vowing to sabotage the conveyor's construction, even threatening to destroy it.

Anyway, I digress. It’s difficult to describe what we saw (and especially how we felt) during the descent into and ascent from the crater, but I highly recommend trying it yourself. As we climbed back up to the summit of Ijen, it was already close to the time when the much-anticipated sunrise was supposed to begin. The sulfurous, eye-watering air began to lighten, but the sulfur cloud showed no sign of dissipating. The air was perfectly still. An hour passed, and nothing changed. We saw other disappointed tourist groups starting their descent. Our guide subtly hinted that we wouldn't see the promised sulfur lake today. He suggested we head down and buy some sulfur souvenirs instead.

And here’s where our knowledge of geography came in handy… believe it or not, thanks to my teacher! Indonesia is a sunny country, so we believed that as soon as the morning sun warmed the ground, air currents would start moving and blow away this sulfurous yellow-white cloud. After about 15 minutes of explaining the laws of nature to our guide, he either agreed with our arguments or realized that arguing with these stubborn idiots was pointless.

We waited another hour. Almost lost faith in geography. And finally, a breeze started blowing from somewhere. The landscape around us gradually emerged from the mist.

Another 20 minutes, and the cloud had almost completely dissipated, revealing the breathtaking view of the lake.

Of the dozens of groups that climbed Ijen that night, only we and another group of six remained at the summit. They must have been as persuasive as we were and convinced their guide to stay.

And finally, here are some photos taken during our descent: