The Night I Stood on the Rim of an Erupting Volcano in Vanuatu
The truck bounced over something that might have been a road in a previous geological era. We were twenty minutes from Mount Yasur's crater rim, rattling uphill through a landscape that looked like the moon decided to grow some grass. Ash-grey plains. Stunted trees. A sulfurous haze that caught the last of the sunset and turned it chemical orange.
"When we get to the top," said our guide, John, from the front seat, "stay behind the markers. The volcano is at Level 2 right now. That's normal. But she can surprise you."
He said "she" like he was talking about a person. In Vanuatu, he was.
Getting to Tanna
Let me back up. Tanna is one of Vanuatu's southern islands — a 45-minute flight from Port Vila on a small Air Vanuatu turboprop that holds maybe thirty people and rattles in ways that modern aircraft are not supposed to rattle. The flight costs around 15,000 VUV one-way (~$125 USD), and the views of the volcanic islands below are worth every vibration.
Tanna itself has one paved road. One. Everything else is red volcanic dirt that turns to mud in the rain and dust in the dry season. There are no traffic lights, no chain stores, no ATMs outside the main village. The accommodation near Mount Yasur is basic — bungalows with mosquito nets, bucket showers, and meals cooked over wood fires.
I stayed at Friendly Bungalows, about 30 minutes from the volcano. 8,000 VUV/night (~$67) with meals included. The "friendly" part is accurate — the family who runs it genuinely treats you like a guest, not a customer.
The Ash Plain
The approach to Yasur crosses an ash plain — a flat, grey expanse of volcanic ash that extends for several kilometers around the cone. In certain light, it looks like a moonscape. In other light, it looks like a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Either way, it doesn't look like Earth.
Small shrubs push through the ash. Horses graze near the road (Tanna has wild horses — nobody could explain to me why). And as you get closer, you hear it before you see it: a low, rhythmic booming, like distant thunder that doesn't stop.
That's the volcano. It erupts every few minutes.
The Crater Rim
We parked at the base and walked the last 300 meters up a gravel path. The sulfur smell hit hard. The wind shifted constantly, pushing volcanic gas one way then the other, and every time it blew toward us, my eyes watered.
Then we crested the rim and I stopped breathing.
The crater is maybe 400 meters across. Inside it, several vents glow red-orange, and from those vents, every three to five minutes, an eruption sends molten rock — actual glowing chunks of lava — arcing into the air. Some of the chunks go fifty meters up. They trail smoke. They glow against the darkening sky. And when they land back in the crater, the ground vibrates through your feet.
At night — we arrived at dusk and stayed until dark — the effect is almost hallucinatory. Each eruption illuminates the crater walls in orange light. The glow reflects off the gas cloud above. And the silence between eruptions is total — no birds, no insects, just the wind and the faint hiss of venting gas.
The Sound
Photographs don't capture what Yasur is really like, because they can't capture the sound. Each eruption produces a THUMP that you feel in your chest before you hear it with your ears. It's not a crack or a bang — it's a deep, resonant concussion, like standing next to a bass drum the size of a building.
Between eruptions, the vents hiss and bubble. Occasionally, a vent will produce a longer, roaring eruption — ten or fifteen seconds of continuous lava fountaining — and the sound rises to something between a jet engine and a waterfall.
I had my phone out to record video. After the first big eruption, I put it away. Some things you need to just experience.
Is It Safe?
Relatively. The volcano operates at alert levels 0-4. At Level 2 (the usual state), visitors are allowed on the rim with a guide. At Level 3+, access is restricted. Deaths have occurred — a tourist was struck by a volcanic bomb (a chunk of ejected rock) in 2014 — and the risk is real.
The markers on the rim aren't there for decoration. They indicate the safe zone based on current eruption patterns. Our guide, John, had been bringing people to Yasur for twelve years. He read the volcano like a weather forecast — noting which vents were active, which direction the wind was pushing, when to step back.
"She tells you when to move," he said. A larger-than-usual eruption threw a glowing chunk high and slightly toward us. John didn't run. He stepped back three meters, calmly, and said, "See? She told us."
I stepped back about ten meters. I'm not John.
After the Volcano
We drove back to Friendly Bungalows in the dark. The road was even worse at night — no streetlights, obviously, and the headlights picked up wild horses standing in the middle of the track.
Dinner was grilled fish, taro, and coconut cream, cooked by John's wife on a wood fire. We sat on a mat on the ground and ate with our hands. The family's children peeked at us from behind a doorway, giggling.
After dinner, John took us to the village nakamal for kava. One shell — 100 VUV, less than a dollar — of the strongest kava I've ever tasted. My lips went numb in thirty seconds. The world softened. The stars above the nakamal were extraordinary — no light pollution for hundreds of kilometers.
I slept in a bungalow with a thatched roof, a mosquito net, and the distant rumble of Mount Yasur through the walls. Every few minutes, a faint thump. Like a heartbeat.
What I Took Away
I've seen a lot of natural wonders. Grand Canyon. Victoria Falls. Northern Lights. Mount Yasur is different because it's alive in a way those places aren't. Not metaphorically alive — actually, geologically, dangerously alive. The ground moves. The air smells. The explosions are happening right now, as you stand there.
And Vanuatu's relationship with the volcano is different from how most Western countries manage natural hazards. There are no elaborate visitor centers, no gift shops, no safety videos. There's a local guide who knows the mountain because his family has lived near it for generations, a 300-meter walk, and a crater rim. The intimacy is what makes it extraordinary — and slightly terrifying.
Would I go again? I went twice on that trip. And I'll go back.
