I was 7 years old on May 18th, 1980.
My Nana was in town for the week to see us. We lived in Cowlitz County in Washington State. That morning, we met between the Cowlitz and Columbia Rivers at the local Fred Meyer store in Longview. My Aunt needed something before we’d head to church. I was in the parking lot, which had a direct view of Mt. St. Helens (Loowit), where the mountain was visible.
I don’t remember which came first—the sound or the sudden column coming out of her. It was intense, though. The sky turned black, and the evil pouring out of the volcano was all I could look at.
We went home almost immediately. My Nana and Aunt retreated to their hotel. There was no church that morning. They knew they couldn’t drive home, so my Dad pleaded with them to stay for safety (he was right about that).
Being 7, though, I didn’t understand what was happening until far later. I knew the volcano had exploded, but it seemed so far away (it wasn’t).
But as the mountain emptied into the Toutle River, it became a lahar, heading down the mountain ranges, crashing into the Cowlitz River. Mud, boulders, homes, cars, trees, and even bridges slammed into it.
We lived along the Cowlitz River in a rural area. We were over a mile from the river, which was safe from 100-year floods.
But not a lahar.
We were woken up that night to pounding and told we had to leave immediately. Take nothing, just drive. There was no back route out, and our road was flooding. We left all the animals behind. The farmer behind us set all his cows and horses loose and left. The only road to town was along the river, and for those short miles, we drove in rising water till we were able to go uphill.
That night turned me into a prepper at seven years old.
But it didn’t cause me to fear volcanoes. I have a healthy fear of living near rivers, predominantly volcanic glacier-fed rivers. I have never lived along a river since that event. Always carry gear with me, just in case. But I love my volcanoes. Because they might one day go poof and you won’t have them back for a long time.
As an adult, I loved hiking near Loowit, feeling her power. She lost so much height in the event that she can be hard to see where she rose high above I-5 in South-Western Washington before, after it was just a bump above the Cascade Mountains.
On my first visit as an adult in the summer of 2003, my oldest and I hiked the loop around Coldwater Lake, which didn’t exist before the explosion. Kirk took his kayak out and paddled it, meeting us for lunch at the far end and then meeting us at the end.
Part of it is that getting to Mt. St. Helens isn’t easy. No matter which side you visit, it is a long drive. A few are gravel forest service roads.
But it is always worth seeing her.
We once camped in winter near the Marble Mountain Sno Park and snowshoed all over, including to June Lake, just outside the blast zone. Where the ridges were perfect and the blast went over, there were pockets of preserved forest and lakes that had been covered in late-season snow/ice. Not everything was coated in grey death.
Some of the best views were far away. In spring of 2004 I hiked Dog Mountain, along the Columbia River. It isn’t high in altitude, but it’s a bald. As we nearly hit the summit, the top of the mountain was visible, or rather the high back wall. Because when Loowit went, the earthquake cause the front to dump out, and the back stayed.
Some of the best places to see Loowit can be above Paradise, at Mt. Rainier (Tahoma). Hike or snowshoe the trails till you get high at Panorama Point. Mt. Adams is the biggest volcano visible, it is on the eastern side of the crest, where Loowit is to the right, farther west.
So it was in the summer of 2005 I happened to hiking with another lady I had met. She had just moved to Washington State, so I took her to Tahoma. We had reached the top of the trail and were taking a break when I heard a loud sound.
It was the 2005 venting that started that day. And we had a front-row view.
My oldest son was 7 and sitting next to me. It was beyond special to share it with him. There were multiple vents, and then it stopped.
What are the chances you will see it happen twice in your life? I felt lucky that day. I was safe where I was.
And I have continued to visit her. Because it doesn’t scare me, just know your routes and how to avoid rivers if something does happen.
This angle is the end of the road, past Spirit Lake, on the Eestern side. It’s a very long drive in, on gravel roads. But so worth it.
Visiting Johnson Ridge is an amazing trip if the paved road is open.
44 years have slipped by. The mountain has started healing herself and will for a very long time. Maybe I will see it recover even more in my lifetime. I hope to visit her again; it’s been a few too many years since we last went. Loowit lost her temper all those years ago, but maybe it wasn’t the disaster we all see it for. Out of it a new mountain is slowly growing (the 2005 venting is building a new cinder cone). The rivers came back, the lakes are slowly clearing. Trees have come back, and in 44 years’ time, they have grown. It’s not a desolate wasteland now.
~Sarah