Our Day With Mt. St. Helens

Hard to believe it's been almost 2 months since my last post.  We have mostly been busy working and slogging through a seemingly endless spring rainy season, but there has been some time for fun and a few days of glorious sunshine thrown in as well.

The Sunday before Memorial Day, Michael and I got our hiking boots out, packed a lunch and headed out to Mt. St. Helens to meet Gary and Roni.  We hadn't seen them since our snowshoeing trip last January, so it was good to catch up and get some fresh woodsy air into our lungs.

Roni researched online and found a trail for us to explore at Coldwater Lake, which, if I am remembering correctly, is about 5 miles from Mt. St. Helens.  We met at the boat launch area at 10:30a.m. and weren't really surprised that we were practically the only ones there.  The forecast was for clouds with a 30% chance of rain, so I don't think any of us were expecting sunshine.  I for one, was glad that I had decided to wear long johns under my cargo pants, as well as several layers of shirts and sweatshirts--and jacket!  The temperature was definitely on the cool side when we arrived, but we quickly warmed up once we set out on the trail around the lake.

We watched as one lone fisherman launched a boat that looked like it was part raft and did not seem as if it would provide any protection against the elements.  Besides him and the family of three cyclists we saw upon our arrival, it seemed like we were alone in the misty morning air with the lake and the creatures who call the area home. 

Close to where I think the base of Mt. St. Helens is . . .

It didn't take long for one of the guys to spot a herd of elk meandering along the hillside to our left.  Immediately we all wished we had brought binoculars, as the elk looked mostly like tiny cream-colored shapes that moved every so often.  We did see a lot of their droppings as we continued along the trail and one very large hoof print.  Next time we will have to bring the binoculars for sure.

Every so often we came to a place where water was rushing down from the hillside, and made me cognizant of just how much snow was still up there.  We came to two or three such places and there was always a plank of wood over the water, or the tops of rocks in just the right places to form a little bridge that we walked across to get to where the trail continued.  It was a little precarious, but we all managed to cross without mishap.  We could tell when we were getting close to one of these crossings because we'd hear the rushing water as we approached, and it was exciting to see what we would find on the other end.

After about two miles of hiking, we heard quite a lot of water off in the distance, and when the trail brought us to the place where the water came down, I got nervous.  This seemed like wider, faster water than we'd experienced at the other crossings, with a steep drop studded with rocks to the lake below.  Most importantly, there was no bridge.  There were a few rocks sticking up here and there, but none in a clear path to the other side, and there weren't any low-hanging tree branches to hang on to for balance as there had been at one of the other places we'd crossed.  It looked like it would be very easy to slip on a rock and fall in.  We stood around and discussed whether or not we should try crossing, and the consensus was that we would turn around and head back the way we'd come rather than risk it to continue around the lake.  I breathed an inward sigh of relief at the decision because I'm not that coordinated when it comes to that type of thing--I think the guys would have risked it, but Roni and I saw the potential for an unhappy end to our hiking adventure, and were very glad to turn back.  We all agreed it would be good to hike the trail again later in the year when there wouldn't be so much water coming off the hillsides. 



Roni & Gary at Coldwater Lake

On our way back, I really noticed the many downed trees all along the hillside where we were hiking.  Some of them were just gigantic and we tried to figure out if it was the 1980 eruption that had knocked them over like toothpicks, or if it was some other reason.  Since it was so fogged in around the lake, and none of us had been there before on a clear day, we couldn't tell where Mt. St. Helens was supposed to be in relation to us.  It wasn't until we got back to the trailhead and looked at a map of the area posted there that we realized the mountain was in the opposite direction from where I had thought it was, and suddenly all those trees lying in the same direction made sense.  They had most certainly been knocked down in 1980.

It was lunchtime by the time we returned to the trailhead, so we headed over to some picnic tables and tucked in.  It was then that I noticed more people and cars in the parking lot, which was surprising because it was still very cool out and had been raining off and on for the last few hours.  I guess I was surprised there were so many people who were not afraid of a little bad weather when it came to exploring the outdoors on a Sunday afternoon.

I was even more surprised after lunch when we decided to drive the six or so miles up to the Johnston Observatory, and we were met with February-like conditions: snow that had clearly been around for awhile, wind and so much fog that standing outside the observatory building in the wide open circular expanse that is the viewing area gave only a view of white.  It was a bit eerie to look out where you knew there was a looming mountain, and valleys, trees, etc., and see nothing but the fog that looked thick enough to cut.  The most I could see was a smidgen of the steep drop as I peered over the viewing area fence--it was enough to remind me that we were very high up--4,314 feet above sea level.

Looking down the hillside at the observatory

Michael and the volcano

We were all able to get inside the observatory for free, thanks to Gary and Roni's National Forest Park annual pass, which allowed them to bring up to three people with them as guests--awesome.  It was neat to walk around looking at the exhibits which gave information on the May 1980 eruption, and realize that where we were standing was directly inside the "blast zone."  Had we been there that day in 1980, we would surely all have died, just as David Johnston, the volcanologist with the United States Geological Survey, who lived and worked at the outpost where the observatory that bears his name now stands, died that day.  Johnston was the first to sound the alarm about the eruption, transmitting "Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it!"  Then he was hit by the sideways blast that occurred as part of the north side of the mountain collapsed.

I learned some interesting things at the observatory about volcanoes: Coldwater Lake, where we had hiked was formed as a result of the May 1980 eruption, and granite, basalt and obsidian all come from the same beginning--lava.  Their differences come from how fast or how slow the lava cools and whether the lava is inside or outside the volcano at the time.  But what touched me most were the stories like Johnston's, of the people who were there that day--those who made it and lived to tell their tales, and those who did not.  It reminded me of just how powerful and indiscriminating nature is, and of how strong, beautiful and ephemeral life can be.

Once we were finished touring the observatory, we headed back to our cars just as the skies opened up and the intermittent showers we'd been experiencing for most of the day morphed into a heavy, drenching downpour.  Even though we ended up soggy, our spirits were high as we headed back toward Oregon and home.  It was a day of camaraderie, exercise, and reflection, and I can't wait to go back--hopefully on a clear day when Mt. St. Helens can show me her beautiful face.