Photographer Page

Carsten Peter

A scientist walks on the cooled floor of Mount Nyiragongo, a volcano in the Virunga Mountains. Scientists embarked on an expedition to descend into the crater to study an 1800°F lava lake that stretches more than 700 feet across. In 2021, an eruption sent a river of lava to the outskirts of nearby Goma, a metropolis of 1.5 million people.

Many of La Palma’s plants have adapted to the challenges of living on a volcanic island. Pinus canariensis, shown here, can withstand the searing heat of wildfires and perhaps even the volcanic gases that stripped the trees bare during the eruption. New sprouts of green are signs that the trees—like the people of La Palma—are fighting to rise again from the volcanic ashes.

The banana industry, which is crucial to the island’s economy, suffered from the eruption. Here farmer Santiago Alexis Hernández Rodríguez sprays fruit to remove ash that can damage banana skin. He says that many trees were buried in the eruption; others haven't been watered because of broken pipes.

While volcanic ash can be a nuisance or even a danger, it’s also a valuable resource. Adding ash to soil is beneficial for agriculture because it helps retain moisture and slowly releases nutrients. Scientists are also investigating using ash in cement to reduce the construction material’s carbon footprint.

Molten rock bypassed the home of Annabell Gerhards, but when she returned after an evacuation, she found her swimming pool filled with ash. Sharp, sandy grains of volcanic ash rained down across the region, burying many houses and roads.

Lava blanketed the surface in thick sheets in some areas, but it spared a few clusters of homes built on what are known as kipukas, a Hawaiian term for mounds of older lava rocks that survive within a sea of fresh flows.

Tourists and locals flocked to viewing sites on La Palma during the eruption to see the geologic spectacle. Residents describe the jarring experience of watching people take smiling selfies as the lava claimed homes and livelihoods. “To this day, if I see someone taking a selfie, my chest hurts,” says Bali Díaz Lorenzo, banging her fist over her heart. Molten rock overtook her house last October.

Locals lived with the volcano’s fiery rampage for nearly three months. Its roar became La Palma’s soundtrack, punctuated by earthquakes and periodic blasts. At night the incandescent rock painted the skies an eerie red. Even for those whose homes were not in the path of destruction, the geologic cacophony was so overwhelming that many people took refuge in the nonactive north of the island.