Running Etna’s slopes

Sand, snow and sulphur collide up Mount Etna, Europe’s most active volcano

The overheating bus jogs along, juddering through the gears as it approaches the steeper slopes. Alongside, you can see sections of the original road appearing nearby between fissures of solid basalt. Further still, a lost roof from a building pokes defiantly from its rocky prison. Until then, it had been hard to imagine this whole area as a torrent of molten lava engulfing all in its path.

This sobering reminder of Mount Etna's devastating effects became clear on my bus ride up to Rifugio Sapienza (1892m), the town nestled at the volcano’s shoulder. Up until now, my limited research – and enthusiasm – seemed to prefer simple phrases like 'highest and most active volcano in Europe', conveniently neglecting its ruthless history.

At 3,329 metres (10,922 ft) high, Etna's constant state of activity and resulting tourist status create a rather difficult adventure to access. Unless of course it's the overpriced commercial experience you're after, where a bus, gondola and jeep will get you to within spitting distance of the summit.

With just one public bus in and out a day, my north-to-south traverse plans were thwarted early on and I resigned to climb and explore the more popular south side in a day. While the last ash eruption was as recent as April 2010, I was greeted with near perfect conditions: smoky, perhaps, but safe.

At 10am, my hike up to the summit began lazily at 2490m with a straightforward ascent up the wide jeep track. Continuing on through snowfields and scree, I was up on the billowing summit craters just gone 12.00pm. I watched the crater from a safe vantage point upwind of the volcanic smoke plumes, and as they whipped away into the distance I found my breath sharply removed as the wind changed and brought them in my direction. My lungs suitably unimpressed by the clouds of sulphur, I chose not to tempt fate by hanging about too long.

With time still to spare and my photo frenzy waning, I sidled round to the north for a glimpse at my original intended route. By now, a thick heat haze was cast over the coastal views below me and it was time to head back the fast way down, albeit by foot.

I figured steep slopes of sand scree and snow were much like running down Cape Reinga's dunes in my native New Zealand. There are far more dire consequences of falling on the coarse basalt of an active volcano, of course, but that would do little to quash the thrill of a timed descent.

My bounding leaps down snow, ash, sand and scree probably had a few tourists tilting their heads in bemusement. Even so, now was not the time for blushes – or a fall, with gravity now taking the reins and the risk of injury against the razor-sharp slope beneath me.

Making a beeline directly through the switchbacks I had previously ascended, I was back to the top gondola in just 35 minutes. Running on, now with tennis-ball sized rubble to check my speed (and confidence), my legs were getting desperate for a break. Regardless, I made the full 1400m+ decent in just under an hour, leaving me plenty of time to spend waiting for my bus shaking endless sand from my new Five Tens.