The story of Mt. St. Helens is one that has been told many times over: in books, articles, and films. It should be told: volcanic eruptions in the Lower 48 are rare, and St. Helens offers the opportunity to see the recovery process of the surrounding landscape. A visit to Mt. St. Helens National Volcanic Monument is a must, for any one of these reasons. But on a recent trip to the mountain, I found myself with my journal open, scribbling notes shortly after leaving Interstate 5.
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Silver Lake, seen from SR 504,
one of many lakes was partially
formed by volcanic debris. Mt. St.
Helens can barely be seen left of
center. -S. Kramer, Photo
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Fairly early in the trip, I began to consider writing a piece about the drive along Washington's State Route 504, the Spirit Lake Highway. The highway itself, at first glance, is nothing special, but driving this highway is an unavoidable part of any trip, and if a traveller pays attention, the story of Mt. St. Helens begins while it is still a distant peak on the horizon.
Though the average traveler is unlikely to know it, the first sign of the mountain's violent past can be seen at Silver Lake, shortly after the start of SR 504. The lake is nothing but a marshy body of water with lakeside cabins and boat docks, but it was formed by volcanic debris. This story is retold as the highway climbs the Cascades: Castle Lake, Coldwater Lake, Spirit Lake: all were formed in part or in full but Mt. St. Helens.
At the time though, I wasn't even aware of its origins. In a place with this much history, both seen and unseen, and with a population as easily distracted as we are, it's difficult to just stop and look out the window. It's the information age, and we have gotten used to looking up details, and learning new facts about what we see, using the encyclopedia at our fingertips. But on SR 504, there's no cell service. Even if you want to use your phone to try to gain context on what happened here, you can't. You have no choice but to put the phone away, and admire the scenery present in the moment. It also forces patience, and creativity. You don't need answers now: you can either wait, or form hypotheses of your own.
The scenery on the way is typical for the Pacific Northwest, but remarkable nonetheless. Tall forests remain here, firs and cedars, roadside cabins, and the occasional view of the Toutle River, the same river that turned into a mud flow in May of 1980. The highway follows the Toutle River for several miles. In the 70s, it followed the river all the way to its source at Spirit Lake. For the first few miles, while the highway follows the river, with trees and cabins flying by out the windows, it's not hard to imagine yourself driving along the old highway in a loaded station wagon headed to a long weekend at Spirit Lake. While the name was retained, the Spirit Lake highway of today doesn’t go to Spirit Lake anymore.
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The Toutle River Valley seen from
the lookout from the private visitor
center along the highway. The damage
from the eruption is evident, even in
this picture. -S. Kramer, Photo
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Continuing the climb, the highway enters what was once the scorched forest, trees that were damaged, but not knocked over by the blast. West of the mountain, the damage visible today is minimal--private land has been restored in the decades since. One of the lumber companies that owns land in this area, has set up a private visitor center along the way. It offers a number of fascinating exhibits. You can sit in a helicopter over a model of the eruption, or sit in a dark room with a TV playing a compilation of graphic news footage of the eruption. As the movie progresses, the lights brighten to show the recreated moonscape for the day of the eruption decorating the room around you. They may be cashing in on their experiences on that May morning, but they certainly don't attempt to sugarcoat it at all.
On a lookout above the center, is an unobstructed view of the Toutle River Valley. Even forty years later though, scars still remain. The Toutle River's bed is wide, a floodplain of silt, sand, and boulders. The river itself is a small trickle of water, white with sediment.
You can see Mt. Adams as well, visible over the ridge. I wonder if these ancient sisters keep in touch, talking over the ridge like neighbors over a fence. The Toutle River forms a wide valley surrounded by forested hills with bald, clear-cut patches.
After the visitor center, SR 504 keeps climbing, leaving its former route once and for all, safe from future mudflows if the mountain wakes up again. As the road swings around to face the crater, we enter the blast zone. The land opens up, but the moonscape from the famous pictures has long since healed. It's a meadow now: acres of grasses, flowers and ferns, golden green and peppered with alder trees. Spring is still in full swing at high elevations even late in July--daisies, foxglove and paintbrushes.
The alders join up and form a thick homogenous forest near Coldwater Lake, blanketing the valley floor and hillsides. Then, as you approach your destination, it opens up once more, but this time, the meadow is a bit thinner, the damage heavier. Then, in an almost anti-climatic way, the road ends in a parking lot. This is the start of the journey for most of the park's visitors.
Here signs of the eruption are impossible to ignore, and it is at this visitor's center that the story will really take shape for many. The crater is directly in front, hikes take you to a viewpoint near where the ridge's namesake was killed in the eruption. Perhaps for some, seeing this mountain is what they came for, and so this is where their journey begins. I can respect this, but the story they came to hear doesn’t start at the mountain. It’s like starting a history book at chapter four: it will still be fascinating, but inevitably you will loose some context. The entire journey from milepost zero, is all part of the same story.
Sources:
Map of Mt. St. Helens disturbance zones:
