Last October I did a writing residency in Naples, Italy. It coincided with a terrible time in my life, and to deal with my grief, I walked (and walked and walked). It didn’t take long for me to realize how Vesuvius dominated the landscape.
I couldn’t see it from my window, but I frequently walked down Via Santa Teresa degli Scalzi to the promenade along the Tyrrhenian Sea, where I could behold the full glory of the volcano that destroyed Pompeii. I came even more to appreciate the way I’d turn down a narrow cobblestone street and there, between the four-hundred year old apartment buildings, would be an unexpected, thrilling glimpse of Vesuvius. For whatever reason, I always found the sight reassuring.
Now, seven months later, I’m at another residency, Storyknife Writers Retreat outside Homer, Alaska, and the window of my writing cabin frames three volcanoes – Augustine, Iliamna and Redoubt. Iliamna is in the center, somehow befitting her status as the largest.
According to the National Park Service, Iliamna stands more than 10,000 feet tall, with 10 glaciers, and last erupted in 1867. She – anything with such beauty and power must be female, right? – remains active.
The name is Dena’ina, and references a legendary giant blackfish in Lake Iliamna that swims up from the depths to bite holes in boats, according to the Dictionary of Alaska Place Names.
Today, as I gaze across Cook Inlet, Iliamna is sunlit, with a bit of vapor trailing from her peak. I’ve taken countless photos of her, at all times of day and night, and no doubt will add a couple hundred more before my monthlong residency ends.
Like Vesuvius, she’s capable of immense destruction. But also as with Vesuvius, I find her presence reassuring – magnificent and mighty, reminding we humans of our own insignificance. Come to think of it, that may be what I like best about volcanoes.
