in awe as Mt. St. Helens blew with incomprehensible force, I'm finally
visiting the volcano that has haunted most of my life. Nothing has
prepared me for seeing a live volcano. My experience to now has been
with long-dormant and extinct ones that still managed to dominate
my nightmares despite being no threat. But if there's one thing I've
always been good at, it's running into the teeth of terror. After all,
there's always the option to run away again. And if I panic, or the
mountain chooses today to erupt, no problemo. We brought the fast car.
Helens, from the
main visitor's
center. "Thank you
for not exploding."
As you're driving down Spirit Lake
Highway, you'll come across this
visceral example of what a lahar
can do. The poor owners were only
three days from moving in when the
mudflows from the volcano buried
a good part of their house and
raised the parking lot by five feet.
within blast range of active
volcano. Especially don't build
across the street from a river
conveniently situated to channel
the lahar straight to my door...
River. On May 18th, 1980, this
river was a churning mass of
superheated mud. You can still see
the ravages: while it's a beautiful
mountain stream here, there are
several places along the way where
the banks are fields of ash, and you
catch a glimpse of the devastation.
In this little spot, just down the
street from the A-Frame, you can see
piles of logs and ash banks, and it
seems that every stone in the stream
is volcanic.
car.
zone...
not to think of Tennyson's
poem when you're staring
into the throat of an active
volcano. From the Johnston
Ridge Observatory, you're
staring directly into the
explosion: the whole north
face of St. Helens blew out
laterally. Twenty-seven years
ago, standing here meant
obliteration. Today, it's an
unparalleled view.
that's left of the old growth
forest that covered the slopes.
It will likely be lifetimes
before nature reclaims the
blast zone. For now, it's still
a desert.
lost their lives to the eruption. Among those names, I found those I knew from
Mount St. Helens: A Sleeping Volcano Awakes by Marian T. Place. Her
memorial to them wasn't cold stone, but a warm and touching tribute to these
courageous folks. Reid Blackburn was a photographer for the Columbian, who
died at Coldwater I when he could have been having a seafood dinner with his
bride, Fay. Harry Truman was a feisty old gentleman who lived on the shores
of Spirit Lake with dozens of cats and an assortment of memorabilia. He was
buried in one of the many lahars, cats and all, exactly where he wanted to be.
David Johnston was a geologist for the USGS. He was directly across from the
ominous bulge on the north face, buried under the pyroclastic flow unleashed
by the lateral blast. He had time for one final transmission before he was
obliterated: "Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it!"
tucked in at the base of
the mountains in the
background. It's a
shadow of it's former self
- most of it was destroyed
in the eruption. To see
both the lake and St.
Helens pre-eruption, click
here.
Observatory; there are times
when it seems it will lead
you straight into the caldera.
Signs abound explaining
what to do in the event of an
ashfall. They're silent on
what you should do in the
event of a blast - perhaps
because, if St. Helens decides
to erupt in earnest again,
there's absolutely nothing
that will save you this close
in. Such is life.
that's steam coming off
the lava dome in the
caldera. And I can
promise you the snow
isn't melting. It looks
like it is because there's
so much ash on it. Ash
coats the snow in
layers - you can mark
minor eruptions just
like you'd count the
rings in a tree trunk.
the force it takes to snap a mature tree off at its base, leaving only a foot
or two of splinters; the temperature of cinders that have burned the
asphalt of the parking lot in more recent times. Next time, we're not
bringing the convertible, just in case. Don't wanna have to explain to
the insurance company why we brought a car with a cloth top up here
while St. Helens was spitting, and thus need a new cloth top.
Visitor Center. David
Johnston and Reid Blackburn
lost their lives not far from
here. It's beautiful, serene,
and terribly fragile. What
you're boating in today could
be so much boiling mud
tomorrow. But that's the
thrill of volcanic landscapes:
their beauty is ephemeral, and
change is constant, yet they
look eternal. Outstanding.
shot. I'll be going back, of course. St. Helens is kind enough to
give plenty of warnings before she blows. However: this does NOT
mean I'll be doing the hike up the mountain itself. My phobia
allows for close visits, but puts both feet down when it comes to
walking up and peering into a live caldera.
Good to meet you, my girl. Until again.
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