Hey Everyone
Today it's been 43 years since the explosion of Mount Saint Helens, but like many who live in WA State it's a day I'll never forget.
At the time I was an 8th grader camping with my family for the weekend, and we woke up Sunday to beautiful blue skies. a crisp Sunday morning at Sun Lakes Park, Washington State. Our 1980 Winnebago is parked and acting as temporary shelter, in the midst of nature. Things were going pretty well until Mount St. Helens decided to rearrange the Pacific Northwest's landscape.
Our first clue (remember no cell phones or TV reception for travelers back in the day) was what looked like ominous storm clouds heading our way. People in the camp began to discuss the cloud and start packing as most would be making their way home after the weekend of camping.
Finally a guy from a couple of sites down, scrambled over, heaving out the words, "The mountain's blown" That was a bit of an understatement. Mount St. Helens, our good old stratovolcano, used to be quite a sight at 9,677 feet tall. But at precisely 8:32 that Sunday morning, the mountain performed its own disappearing act, going from majestic to short as it spewed out its insides and literally melted it's face. The mountain lost about 1,300 feet that day, creating the largest landslide ever recorded.
So, we did what any sensible people would do when a volcano erupts: we tried to outrun it. All around us, the world turned into a whirlwind of packing and rushing, with the threat of a monstrous ash cloud looming like an overenthusiastic storm. Our location forced us to drive into the storm.
Once packed up we got on the Freeway but the ash was already beginning to swirl and blow, darkening the skies and creating a sense of doom.
Our run for home took a turn when we spotted an elderly couple, stranded by the side of the road. We knew right away that we couldn't leave them behind. They were schoolteachers, en route to get home after a family visit. They were also scared out of their minds, one was in a wheelchair and had an oxygen masks on her face, for a 13 year old it just made it seem more scary.
They sky now was dark, each car sending the ash flying up and swirling, it blocked the sun, headlights and was such an unusual type of darkness, the radio was begging people to get off the roads and get to safety.
I've created a funky map to show where we were, where the mountain is, the ash cloud and our home, and how we were driving into it.
Back home, in Kittitas, we had our herd of expensive Quarter Horses, many out in the pasture, but some contained in stalls. As we navigated our way through a world turning into a black eerie wasteland, I couldn't help but wonder how they were coping. The ash was getting into everything, seeping into every nook and cranny. I mean, we're talking about a colossal 0.3 cubic miles of ash being spewed into the air, reaching heights of 15 miles up.
The ash cloud's dark embrace turned day into night. The highway was covered in a swirling blanket of black, a sluggish parade of cars, all vying for an escape. The air tasted like grit, and the entire state held its breath as Mount St. Helens continued its explosive spectacle. This wasn't just some small eruption. This was the most deadly and destructive volcanic event in U.S. history. Fifty-seven people lost their lives that day, and over a billion dollars of damage was done.
Our original plan to reach home was sidetracked. The horses would have to wait. The elderly couple needed to be safe. So, we rerouted to George, Washington, a place that felt like a refuge in the midst of this pitch-black chaos.
Monday morning brought with it a sense of eerie calm, though ash was still falling, its color had lightened from black to a greyish white, and it blanketed absolutely everything. Our drive back home was through a world dramatically transformed, a shadowy landscape covered in ash the color of very dirty snow. Yet, amidst all this, life carried on. Family members came to retrieve the elderly couple and we made it back to our ranch, to our horses, our home. Everything was different, yet everything was also the same.
For years on windy days the piles of ash would blow somewhat like fine sand along the freeways and roads and there was just no way to depose of it all, so Mother Nature had to rearrange it with every storm for a decade.
The clean up efforts, a few smaller eruptions, and the unknowns about the safety of the ash caused most schools in the ash fallout area to just close for summer, creating a long dusty summer to follow.
If you are old enough to remember the eruption, where were you and how did you fare? If not this one, have you been impacted by a volcanic eruption?
See you in the comments.
