Feeling Hot Hot Hot over Montserrat

 “Hot Hot Hot” is a famous Soca song that some may know better as a Pizza Hut advert, but few know that is was written and performed by a Montserratian, and by all accounts has become a de facto national song for the islanders. 

Few people know too much about the volcanic island at all other than the fact that it suffered a catastrophic eruption in the 90s.  The only other thing I knew about Montserrat prior to going there was that they had the worst national football team in the world, even the “The Other Final” to the almost as hopeless Bhutan a few years ago.

I wasn’t going to set foot on Montserrat sadly, but instead I took a helicopter ride from nearby Antigua which was my first time in a helicopter and was a total thrill.

I clambered aboard into what I like to call the co-pilots seat, but what the pilot probably referred to as the front passenger seat.  Strapped in, headphones on, microphone tested.  Next thing I know the rotors are turning with a greater ferocity, and the helicopter shudders as gravity fights to keep us down.  Soon though we are airborne and soaring high over the stunning Antiguan coastline.

We sped along over St John’s harbour and then out over the beautifully coral blue sea, which was sufficiently shallow for some distance from the shore to allow the pale blue colour to dominate, punctuated by small areas of dark seaweed.  The image neatly agreed with all preconceived ideas of Caribbean coastlines.

Montserrat began as a hazy rock in the distance, but one which grew steadily as we hurtled along quite low over the sea.  As we flew the ten minute journey across the sea the pilot, a perma-tanned Englishman living in Antigua and all-round jammy git (jealous? much?), chatted with myself and the two other passengers telling us about Montserrat, its people, and of course its volcano.

 He told us the details of the big eruption in 1997 which followed on from another bad one a couple of years earlier.  The volcano, Soufriere Hills, rumbled into life having lain dormant for centuries, causing the islanders to request some specialist help from Britain.

This help duly arrived in the form of a group of volcanic scientists who took very little time in concluding that Soufriere Hills was going to erupt in the very near future and that Montserrat should be completely evacuated.  This was duly done with Montserratians mainly going to Britain apparently, with the remainder evacuating to Antigua.

I say the remainder went to Antigua, but I should say that it was the remainder less 19.  That number opted to stay on Montserrat and take their chances; my guess being that they were elderly and wanted to stay in their homes in a similar way to the elderly living in ghost villages near Chernobyl.  But like I say that was just my guess.

“So what happened to those nineteen people?” fizzes the question over the headphones from the seat behind me.  “Well, they died” comes the straightforward answer from the pilot.

Rather than being a lava eruption, Soufriere Hills spewed out tonnes of ash as pyroclastic flow, burying islands capital, Plymouth, along with the airport, docks, and countless homes.  The southern half of the island is still uninhabited and cut off as an exclusion zone such is the ever present danger of the ash and various gases spewing out.  Settlements have developed again at the north end of the island, but many islanders chose not to return which slashed the population from around 13,000 to closer to 9,000.

As we approach the coastline the pilot deals with the formalities of speaking to Montserrat’s presumably under occupied air traffic controller, while we tourists stare in wonder at the coastline we’re now crossing.  The north end of the island to our right is green and lush, overgrown at points, and looks every bit the tropical island.  But we’re crossing over the south end of the island which is grey and dusty, with a long slope of ash debris descending into the sea.

Our ever informative pilot mentions how the coastline expanded with all the ash, which can easily be seen on section we fly over on arriving at Montserrat.  The main flow of ash is clearly defined, and offers a sharp contrast to the seemingly undamaged sections that border it.  At one point a road winds its way along the coast and then simply disappears into the ash.

We are told that at some points the ash is 20ft deep, and that just 30cm below the surface the temperature is a frankly scary 200 degrees.  Whether that was Celsius of Fahrenheit I never quite established, but either way that makes it extremely hot, or hotter.

We climb barely above the surface ascending the rocky volcano itself where narrow valleys mark the slopes in lines, some grey and dusty, and other green and verdant.  The contrast is startling, as is the glimpse of what it will have looked like previously when all was green and lush.

Steam and gas rises out of numerous vents in the side of the volcano, all surrounded by the ever present clues to its recent past; large boulders looking suspiciously out of place, lunar looking rocks strewn all over, sulphur stained ricks and slopes along another side of the volcano.

The peak itself it partially hidden behind clouds of steam but every now and then we steal a clear view of the epicentre of all this activity, smoking and brooding away, as we hover a very short distance away.  As we fly around the higher section the helicopter is buffeted strongly by the hot air pushing its way out, as the pilot had warned it would, and the pungent sulphuric scent of rotten eggs surrounds us.

Escaping the buffeting of both the helicopter and our sense of smell, we fly over the remains of Plymouth, lying as it did in the shadow of Soufriere Hills.  It is an apocalyptic scene, as the shells of buildings remain but with windows, roofs, floors and more all obliterated.

The pilot points out one building which belonged to a colleague of his.  Only one storey is visible above the ash, but apparently that is the third floor of that particular building, such is the quantity of ash deposited.

As we come back across the island we fly very low, dodging the huge rocks that are strewn all over, and speed up to what the pilot says is around the speed of the pyroclastic flow, which let me tell you, is very fast.  Let’s just say that if such a flow was heading your way, there is no way you’re getting out of the way before it hits you.

Soon enough it’s time to head back across the water to Antigua, bringing some amazing memories and pictures with us.  Approaching Antigua the azure blue sea provides more delights in the form of several turtles swimming along happily beneath us.  A final thrill on a truly spectacular ride.