How to use this Page

Tweet

By Jan Zalasiewicz

To a geologist, the presence of a volcano on Iceland isn’t at all surprising. After all, Iceland is literally, and continuously, splitting apart, as this island sits exactly on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. That mighty planet-sized fracture is continuously oozing magma, as the Americas pull ever farther apart – by a couple of centimeters a year, maintained for over a hundred million years – from Africa and Europe.

What raised a few eyebrows, though (mine, for sure) was the sheer filthiness of the eruption, and the amount of ash that it hurled high into the atmosphere, to the alarm of airline companies just about everywhere. For volcanoes that sit astride mid-ocean ridges are by nature generally placid by nature. For sure, they produce what seem like spectacular firework displays for the TV cameras, and flowing lava can, here and there, play merry hell with real estate values.

This is nothing, though, compared to the paroxysmal eruptions – Krakatoa, Pinatubo and the like – that occur in those parts of the world where tectonic plates are colliding. The violence of such cataclysms can destroy a whole country (and even Krakatoa was small compared to the great eruptions of the deep geological past). So why was Eyjafjallajokull trying to behave like one of the bad boys?

One answer is ice. Lying far north, Iceland is a land not just of volcanoes but of glaciers too – one of which lies on top of Eyjafjallajokull. As the uprushing magma came into contact with this, the ice flashed into steam, the expansion of which added quite a bit of oomph to the eruption. The lava, in turn, rapidly chilled by the ice, solidified quickly as it emerged, the thermal stresses shattering it into countless tiny fragments. This produced lots of ash, to be carried high into the atmosphere in the steam-driven (turbo-charged, if you like) eruption plume. It’s a bit (only a bit, mind) like putting a lot of wet wood and leaves on to a bonfire. This was one smoky volcano, and it seriously annoyed the neighbours.

Volcanic ash, of course, is feared by airline pilots, and justifiably so. One of the scariest experiences in all of flight history took place in 1982 when a British Airways Boeing 747, carrying 263 people, flew into an ash cloud from an erupting Indonesian volcano, Mount Galunggung. Ash particles entered the jet engines, melted against the hot metal, and, in effect, clogged them with reconstituted magma. All four engines failed, and the airplane, now completely without power, began to plunge towards the Indian Ocean.

The pilots kept their nerve, and prepared to ditch into the sea, while at the same time trying to restart the engines. The attempts failed until, when just a few thousand meters above the sea, the engines – amazingly – coughed back into life. They were able to fly to Jakarta, and landed safely (though not without difficulty, as the windscreen was almost opaque through being sandblasted by the sharp ash particles).

They had been saved by the same phenomenon that made Eyjafjallajokull such a disruptive volcano: thermal shock. As the stricken airplane descended, the cold air rushing through the lifeless engines chilled the molten ash, freezing it into solid volcanic glass. The chilling was fast enough for thermal stresses to shatter this glass, causing enough of it to break off to allow the engines to re-start. It was a lucky squeak.

That

1.  Arrive at the airport ridiculously late and then insist on jumping every queue because your plane is about to leave.  Even better, get a luggage trolley and use it as a battering ram.

2.  Wait until you get to the very front of the queue at the check-in desk and then suddenly remember half a dozen banned items in your carry-on luggage.  Open all your cases and begin re-packing procedures, making sure to spill most of your belongings all over the floor.

3.  Get one of those carry on cases with an extra long extendable handle and be sure to hold it behind you at arm’s length where you can be certain of tripping up the most people.  This is especially effective in the shopping area.

4.  Fill your arms with as many miscellaneous items as you can carry at the duty free shop.  When you get to the cash register spend ages fiddling in your purse/wallet until a major queue has built up and then ask if you can pay in a really obscure currency.  When you receive a negative answer from the cashier, simply say, “Oh, never mind then,” leave all the items on the counter and walk away dragging your over-sized carry-on bag precariously on its 8 foot handle.

5.  On the way to security, stop at Starbucks and order a bucket of whatever coffee suits your fancy.  Then try to take it through security.  When you are refused entry, insist on standing there holding up the queue until you have drunk the entire thing.  After all, you paid for it!

6.  Alternatively, stuff your carry-on bag with as many jumbo-sized bottles of shower gel and shampoo as you can carry.  When security stop you and refuse to let the items on the plane, offer to go to the bathroom and empty some from each bottle down the toilet until they all only have 100ml.  This should get everyone laughing along!

7.  Bring along a mobile phone, ipod with leaky earbuds, hand-held games console and any other potentially noisy electrical gadget you can find in your house.  Then go to the part of the airport where all the frazzled long-haul transfer passengers are trying to get a couple of hours sleep and turn them all on.  If you can listen to a humourous audio book on your headphones and occasionally laugh out loud, not only will it annoy people, it will also make them a little afraid of you, thus ensuring you those coveted empty seats to put all your bags on.

8.  Head purposefully towards every travelator and walk onto them with speed.  Then immediately stand stock still and put your bags down so that nobody can get past you.  At the end of the travelator it is imperative to dither while stepping off the walkway and then immediately stop to extend the handle on your bag, causing a pile up of disgruntled travellers behind you.  Then walk off, oblivious to the carnage.

9.  About ten minutes before your plane is due to board, randomly stand somewhere close to the embarkation point.  This will cause other nervous and sheep-like passengers to stand behind you forming a pointless queue when in reality they could all have stayed in their seats until the flight was actually called.

10.  When boarding the aircraft, make sure to take your time putting things in the overhead lockers while everybody else waits behind you in the tiny aisle.  If possible, change seats at least twice, moving all your belongings each time, and be sure to smash your enormous hard-edged carry-on case into somebody’s laptop bag in order to make it fit into the compartment, thus damaging their screen.  They won’t realise what’s happened until they get to their destination and by that time you’ll be long gone.

The sad thing is that most of these suggestions are drawn from things I’ve really seen at various airports around the world!  Feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments below.

Or for some more gentle humour, try these articles by the same author:

Fans Who Love Their Team Too Much

Famous for all the Wrong Reasons

This is what I had: New shoes and a turquoise dress. My head filled with the fine craftsmanship of my fellow would-be ALAN panelists. My camera, for I've always wanted to see San Antonio. Two books for the plane. A bag of M&Ms.

This is what happened: The computers aren't working well at the A 12 terminal of the Philadelphia airport—Boston flight posted on the San Antonio screen, those in charge scratching their heads and asking each other the sort of questions we passengers had hoped to ask them. An inconvenience, only.

Up next, though, the plane I am to take is three-quarters boarded when somebody mentions a Whoops. Whoops as in, Um. We're sorry. This plane isn't actually headed southwest. It's headed for New York.

(The woman in charge running across the tarmac, gathering the passengers who must now gather their bags, saying, I'm sorry. We got that wrong.)

Afterward, another whoops. Whoops as in, Your plane—the one that is actually headed southwest—is in maintenance. We don't know what's wrong. We don't know when it will be fixed. Give us an hour. Whoops as in another hour goes by, and now the terminal printers don't work and the sign still reads: Boston 9:50, even though by now it's 11 o'clock and all we want to do is head southwest. And now the word goes out that Maintenance is still having trouble with the would-be (ersatz?) plane and they don't know when they'll get it fixed.

There were five us headed for San Antonio. One by one we began to peel off. Too much of this didn't feel right for any of it to be right. That was the decision we singularly made.

This is how it went. This is why I am home and not in San Antonio, at the ALAN conference, where I had looked so forward to being.

This is what I thought as I drove home from the airport, where I'd spent the past five hours: I love my husband. I love my son. I love my father and family. I love my tiny house. I love my friends and the books on my shelf.

I love this life.

I'm very disappointed that I'm not in San Antonio. But I'm still here, alive to the cold brisk air. With a pair of new shoes I may someday have a place to wear.