Scholarship & Research
Along a belt of fire

By Kelli Whitlock

There is a story that Dina Lopez likes to tell. The Tourist Institute of El Salvador wanted to build a hotel on the top of Cerro Verde, a dormant volcano in western El Salvador. People would come for the vista: a close look at one of the mountain's active sisters, Izalco, which lay less than half a mile away. The volcano, the nation's youngest, produced beautiful sprays of fiery liquid called lava fountains, a spectacular view no hotel in the country could match.

So, the institute built the hotel, and on the day it opened, Izalco went to sleep. The morale to the story? If you want to quiet a volcano, build a hotel.

While the tale is a favorite, Lopez knows that man cannot still these earthen caldrons. The great mountains will erupt at their own pleasure, releasing ash, rock, gas and lava that blocks the sun, covers the ground and obliterates the arrogance of mere mortals who would build anything nearby. History has proven their might.

The destruction recorded in geological history is familiar to Lopez, a geologist at Ohio University and a Salvadoran native. Lopez grew up at the knee of San Salvador volcano, a slump-shouldered mountain that casts a cautious shadow over the nation's capital. So, when she decided to pursue a career as a scientist, it seemed natural that she would one day set her researcher's eye on volcanoes.

A volcano's character

Lopez appreciates a volcano's beauty -- above and beneath the surface. Especially beneath the surface. She has tremendous respect for the water and gases that churn deep within a volcano -- called a hydrothermal system. Studies suggest that levels of sulfur dioxide, radon and carbon dioxide are good measures of a volcano's activity.

To get accurate data, scientists must first create a profile of a volcano -- collect base gas levels, track normal temperatures, etc. But regular monitoring of volcanoes has been a spotty activity in this Central American country. During the 1980s, the nation's civil war made such studies too dangerous. Funds for equipment and trained personnel that could have advanced geological studies were instead set aside for military use. Today, resources remain scarce. Much of the equipment needed must be donated or borrowed from other countries. Travel remains dangerous in some areas.

These are challenges Lopez has chosen to face. How could she not? One of her sisters and a brother live in one of the subdivisions built on San Salvador volcano. She can't bear the thought of losing them to an unexpected eruption that didn't have to be unexpected.

So, the scientist has embarked on a project to create a geological profile of volcanoes in her homeland. She's joined forces with researchers from the Institute of Technology and Renewable Energy in Spain and with scientists at the University of El Salvador -- where she earned a bachelor's degree in chemistry in 1975. The team analyzes gas, soil and water samples, looking for traits that distinguish one volcano from another.

"At this point, basically all the volcanoes in El Salvador and most of Central America don't have a background story. We don't have a basis to know what is normal for them," said the 51-year-old associate professor of geological sciences. "Every volcano has its own character and what is normal for one may not be normal for another. The investigations we are doing are oriented to that."

The challenge of limited resources

Lopez travels to El Salvador about twice a year to do research and visit family. In between trips, one of her collaborators, Tomas Soriano, a professor of physics at the University of El Salvador, analyzes data collected at geochemical stations positioned around the country. The machines monitor changes in carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulfide and radon in the atmosphere and soil and feed the readings electronically to computers in Soriano's lab. But the machines they have aren't enough. They need more.

During the 1980s, resources dried up. Lopez couldn't do research because she had no equipment and no confidence that she would be safe in the field. Like so many other Latin American countries, poverty rages today in El Salvador. And the rich volcanic soil upon which many Salvadorans earn their living could slip away without warning, destroying the crops they work, their homes, and, quite possibly, their lives.

There is little Lopez can do about the other challenges her countrymen and women face. But this one is something she can address.

Soon after the army closed the University of El Salvador in 1980, Lopez went to work for the geothermal energy division of the national electrical energy company. Her expertise in hydrothermal systems was a good match for a company that uses steam to generate electricity. During the war, as much as half of El Salvador's energy needs were met with geothermal power. Today, geothermal energy provides only about one-fourth of the nation's power, but as the country's population continues to grow (there were about 3 million residents when Lopez was a child, now there are more than 6 million), the demand for electricity grows with it. To keep up with that pace, power companies must find more thermal power sources. So, the industry has an obvious interest in what Lopez studies. In July, they provided her with a vehicle and driver for two days and armed guards to deter bandits.

"All of our data are not only used to study the volcanic activity," says Lopez. "We also use them to study the geothermal systems to figure out where we have sources of water and heat that we can use as an energy source."

From home to home

The name "El Salvador" means "magic corner." For scientists studying the nation's volcanoes, that magic sometimes comes in the form of a screwdriver held by a skilled handyman. Whether it stems from his natural curiosity of how things work or from the necessity of working with old equipment, Soriano has learned to fix just about anything that can be fixed.

The pair have other plans to further their work in El Salvador. Lopez isn't sure how long it will take to create an accurate profile of these volcanoes, maybe a decade, perhaps longer.

"This is a continuous learning process," she says. "We never know what is going to happen next. We have some basic knowledge already, but that could change as we investigate more."

As that investigation continues, Lopez also is involved in a number of projects in Athens, Ohio, which, surprisingly, share some common traits with her work in El Salvador, at least from a geological perspective.

The scientist has seen some of the same substances she's monitored in volcanoes in abandoned mining areas in southeastern Ohio. Working alongside several graduate and undergraduate students, Lopez has studied the acid mine drainage produced by abandoned mines in southeastern Ohio and collected soil samples from 100 sites in and around old mines.

"We want to see if the concentration of radon in the soils is different in the mined areas compared to the unmined areas," she said, adding that she also plans to study radon levels in basements of houses close to and far away from abandoned mines.

The work is tedious at times. But the result, she hopes, will be a safer environment for her family and friends in Athens. That motivation is not unlike that which draws her to the volcanoes of El Salvador.

"One reason I do the work in El Salvador is out of scientific curiosity. The challenge of knowing something we don't know yet," she said. "The other reason I do it, the main reason, is it's a place I love and I have many loved ones there. I want to make life better for them and one way to do that is to understand and produce research that could help predict a volcanic event in the future and maybe save lives."

For a more in-depth story about Lopez's research, see the Autumm/Winter 2002 issue of Perspectives.

Kelli Whitlock is the director of the Office of Research Communications.