The Mountain, (C)1994 (C)2005 A. Alexander Volenski Unedited Excerpt An August visit to Mount Rainier National Park; a nature book in 8-chapters. Chapter 6, Mount St. Helens The next few days following Tipsoo Lake, I spent relaxing at camp and writing, typing a rough draft of the events and experiences up to this point. I have found it necessary to record many things while in the field, for there one often finds a line of thought quite different to that which comes at home. Sometimes the simplest expression (recorded in the wilderness), that could not be found after leaving the area, would be an expression which would trigger a vast and expressive theme. I also found a clearer inspiration writing in the field, it seemed the energy away from the city environment was stronger, almost as though the city was encased within some sort of enclosure, separate to what one finds in the wilderness. After finishing the draft of my visit to Mount Rainier, Mattie and I decided to leave this area for a day and drive south to Mount St. Helens. It was September 2nd and the weather man forecasted clear skies and hot temperatures. Mattie was excited, and so was I, for neither of us had ever visited that National Volcanic Monument of which we both had heard so much. We wore our shorts, and took along a little lunch, sunglasses, camera, binoculars, and a jug of water. The Dodge ran smoothly up over Cayuse Pass where we turned on to highway 123 which would take us out of the Park just passed the campground of Ohanapecosh. From there we headed toward Packwood on highway 12 and to the small city of Randle, where we would turn left onto route 25 which went to Mount St. Helens National Park. The land near and around Randle was flat, a very wide valley with many farms and large open stretches of land, where several ranches were that raised and bred horses. The Cowlitz River streams through this valley, and as we drove west, I could smell the hay from the surrounding fields, whose color had now faded from lush green to that dry grass tone. This shade of decline with dead grass and vegetation, seemed to reflect a deep ominous kind of allusion, as I realized too, that the approach of frosty mornings would not be far away. I never preferred the autumn, of course for many it is a nice time of year, however, it is to exact in its 'extinct character' for me to accept. The thought of extinction, along with things perishing or the fading, and the ebbing of life, is not something that I find very desirable. The seasonal change which occurs with foliage falling, birds leaving, plants dead, trees standing naked, numb, and spent, was never my cup of tea. The sinsiter and foreboding shades of autumn, have always made me feel apprehensive, as though an impending apocalyptic storm was approaching, with a deep and omniscient message. A message or even, a yearly reminder that a provoking force is present in the form of an autumn notice, an imminent and impending notice. Autumn's emissary, displayed at first in beautiful sprays of color which dazzle the mind and emotions, seems like a sweet-sour kind of event. For on the one hand, the colors are spectacular, yet on the other, once the colors are gone, what we see are just a lot of dead leaves and barren trees. Autumn's emissary to me, is not really one that I find pleasing at all, for that courier, I can only imagine to be like an immortal herald named Omen. A cryptical forewarning, this courier (Autumn's Emissary) may represent, linked to a message of a kind, hidden within our subconscious selves, perhaps there are other ways to view the character of autumn, ways in which mankind may-not-be looking, or should be looking. There seems to be present a great imbalance, one that is expressed in many forms, the simplest being, that we are taught that we live in a world of impossibilities. This 'impossibility form' is a mode we have been conditioned to accept in our thinking, an example being the 'longevity pattern.' A pattern which we seem locked into, or have no control over, and that in itself is just another form of 'impossibility thinking.' Even though it may seem impossible to hold autumn off, still one may wonder if autumn could be shortened or summer lengthened. We have seen that the human life span has been lengthened, and some scientists have hinted that the human body should function longer than it does presently. The longevity form seems totally linked to impossibilities, however that (impossibility link) must be dissolved and replaced with a form of 'it is possible', as in living longer. It is clear in my thinking that a great imbalance occurred somewhere since the beginning. An imbalance with far reaching consequences and effects, consequences which effected our entire solar system. This massive imbalance concept, is a direction in which we must look toward, and perhaps an area one could start to look, would be something called, 'phase control'... As we drove along I began to wonder how Mount St. Helens would look as compared to late autumn and winter; would it be desolate, bleak, and windswept? We turned onto route 25 and Mattie indicated that the Information Center of Mount St. Helens would be down the road a ways. The Woods Creek Information Center, was our first exposure to Mount St. Helens and what lay ahead. There were books, pictures, video tapes, maps, and a Park Person, a nice woman, who gave us an interpretive map which she marked to show the sites for us to see. In a few minutes we again were on our way. The road was paved, a curling climbing road with few straight stretches. Eventually we passed Iron Creek, and at Wakepish Sno Park turned right onto 99 which would take us to Windy Ridge, the end of the road, where one has an excellent view of the volcano, plus, there was an interpretive talk on the Mount St. Helens eruption. Tall and beautiful timber, huckleberry bushes, lush green foliage, birds, grass, flowers, lined the road as we drove along 99, the air was heating up, yet there still was that cool spot here and there along the shaded areas. The lane we followed was dreamy, and like roads of old I've seen on film, where all seems calm, gentle, no harshness. Sort of like imagining a visit to grandma and grandpa's...who have a little farm or cottage nestled away in the country. Mattie and I were filled with anticipation as we jaunted along, and our expectations were building within us both as we neared the natural phenomenon of Mount St. Helens. Pictures or film could never capture an event or place the way being there does, and that we both knew from the travels we both have had in our lives. Within my own musing on erupting volcano's--I imagined such things as St. Elmo's fire, that corposant ball of light that can float, whirl, twirl, and spin, as its beam of light is drawn down into the bosom of earth. Driving along in my silence, I wondered, questioned, even attempted to theorize, what may have been down deep in Mount St. Helens, which sparked such eruptive power over a decade ago. As we gained altitude, the surrounding vegetation began to thin out, and then suddenly all vegetation ended; we had reached the 'devastation line.' Bear Meadow was the first viewpoint, the front-line. Beyond here was a place I saw as no-man's land, everything resembled the look of a giant battle field. We were still over 10miles away and could not see the mountain, but the devastation, the undoing, had reached this far. Looking down into a valley that extended for miles, probably the Clearwater area, there was nothing but a terrain...'somthing one may find on the desert,' barren were the rocks and ridges. This was more desolate to me, than any forest burned region I've seen. The scale of destruction extended without interval, nothing seemed (to have been) able to impede, halt, or even hide, from the force released that day of the eruption. We both now looked toward the east, where Mattie and I could see Mt. Adams at 12,307ft, all snow covered and majestic. As I looked at Mattie, and back to the surrounding barren terrain, and then to Mount Adams, I felt a strong and silent 'expression of remorse' which seemed to be present in a multitude of ways, and with that remorse a clear sense of regret. For the viewed comparison between the Mt. Adams area in the distance, and the now Mount St. Helens area in front of us, was truly a paradoxical illustration. It was hard to believe that where I now stood, only a short time ago had looked the same as that view of Mount Adams. What I now saw were inconsistant landscapes, contradictory, dissenting, opposing, even disagreeable in nature 'the contrast between these two mountains,' and to me that was paradoxical. I then realized that a paradox could carry an emotional form of regret, an emotional form attached to the past. I began to understand that to overcome regret, one must look to a positive future. We moved on down the road, the sun was very bright and hot, there was no shade, and the wind dry, everything for as far as one could see was within a critical-zone that was pensive and serious. Soon on the right we reached the Meta Lake Miner's Car, all rusted and smashed, the roof crushed in, and it seemed very sterile and weightless within its shrouded guise; which was seen by all who passed this way. I didn't stop to have a closer look at the car, it seemed more than my emotional self wanted to take in at this time, the family who owned the car were taken the day of the eruption. I suddenly felt much sorrow, I didn't know if the sadness was from what happened, or from others that were now here, or simply a reflection of my own identity to me. I believe there is much to understand about sorrow. Sorrow in many ways is difficult to accept, or understand, and I feel that part of our persona is easier to acknowledge, when one is with someone who is close, or with a friend who will share the emotions felt at that time. For with that sharing, two people can gather a helping strength within which is natural and pinnacle to their understanding of sorrow and all that it represents. Next we came to Independence Pass, where one sees Spirit Lake and the thousands of broken and splintered trees which float upon its water. Looking down at the lake, I thought I saw sail boats fluttering in the wind, but when I searched them out with my binoculars, what appeared at first to be sailing craft, turned out to be small white clumps of earth that pointed up out of the ruffled water of the lake. This was a very curious thing, perhaps in some distant future place, sail boats ride the waves, embrace the wind, and kiss the water, as they travel upon the breezy clean surface of that Spirit Lake. We drove from Independence Pass, and up to Cedar Creek, I asked Mattie if we should stop. She requested we drive on to Windy Ridge, that the devastation, destruction and ruin, were 'a little much.' For as far as the eye could see, all was stark, bereft and wanting. We both could feel a deep penetrating silent anguish, almost mournful it seemed to me. I tried to define this very low tone, and had great difficulty in doing so, it seemed we now were in a vast-void, where there was fear, and immense lacking, or need. I felt something in my human nature tremble, quiver, even shiver. This area radiated a strong anguish and distress, one that my mind unconsciously wanted to block out. The muffled intonation that I felt, I found no words for, as we drove along. The strong and solid force which emerged everywhere, filtered through me, and seemed to reach far into that principality of my soul. As it did, I realized that the positive self I have, was calling and needed to be recognized. So I began to look for the affirmative, the constructive, the beneficial spirit, and even soul, that resided here now in its assenting form. I saw huckleberry bushes, alders, many small plants, some flowers, large reforestation areas, with young firs waist high, birds flying in the sky, and that deep foreboding tension vanished. The earth in all its imperishable constance was rebuilding Mount St. Helens. Earth's matron of nature was here and present, residing and engaging to heal this ailing and yearning landscape. I felt a great hope was present, with all its 'promise, trust, and desire.' I now recognized and understood how (presently) important it was to think, speak, and act in the affirmative. For there dwells within our positive thoughts and actions, a reality which exists naturally, one that is (will be) always present. Our authentic presence, and our pilgrimage toward consistent positive awareness, helps us rise above all else, to a site where we can behold a truer (complete) reality within our genuine understanding. Mattie and I parked the Dodge at Windy Ridge, and walked to the open air Interpretive Center where the spokes-person was beginning her talk. The view of Mount St. Helens from here is very near. One can see what remains of the mountain after the eruption; the opening, cavity, crater, is extraordinary. In March 1980, earthquakes began and continued for weeks, and during that time a bulge began to grow on the side of the mountain. In May, on the day of the eruption, there was an earthquake which measured 5.0 (approximate). That tremor shook the now large protrusion (bulge) on the side of the mountain, sending it all down to Spirit Lake. When the bulge moved forward from the force of the quake, it released the pressure from below, thus, a tremendous explosion occurred. The force which came from that explosion, it is said, created a shock wave 24miles wide, and that wave traveled over 200mph and built in momentum to a maximum of 600mph; the wave was felt 17miles away. Everything in the immediate area of the shockwave path was blown over, all the forest was laid down in one great push. All the timber around Spirit Lake was blown to the ground, and then the side of the mountain slid into the lake. The force from that giant landslide, sent the water of the lake rushing toward the far end, of course the squall from the explosion had already blown the forest down, and as the wall of water reached the far hills, it traveled 800ft up. When the water rushed back, it brought with it the majority of the blown down trees, and those are the ones seen floating in the lake. The snow and ice and very top of Mount St. Helens, followed down behind the blast and bulge, and what remains of it can be seen across the way from Windy Ridge. The homes, dwellings, and everything prior to this eruption, are now buried 210ft under the rubble that slid down the mountain that eventful day. The woman who gave the interpretive talk explained all of this in one of the best, if not the best, interpretative talks that I have ever attended. She also spoke of feeling the earth, of listening and rejoicing in the revitalizing of the earth at Mount St. Helens. She reflected how all the new vegetation was coming back, that the birds, animals, fish, were starting anew. That the eruption though harsh and deadly (57-dead) was over, and a new day had begun, and the replenishing of all that vanished that day also had begun. I was impressed with everything this talented woman had said, and wish now that I had recorded her talk, and am sure that the 50 or so others who were also there were equally impressed. Mattie and I walked back to the truck after the talk and had our lunch, and took some pictures. It was quite windy there, and after awhile we slowly headed back to Mount Rainier. On our way down from this mountain, we noticed more new growing things, and were amazed at how quickly the earth had began to recover, thirteen years after the fact. It seemd good to arrive back at Mount Rainier and camp. In a few days I would be leaving the mountain to return to the peninsula, city (Port Angeles), apartment, my abode in the Pacific Northwest. However, when I left here, I knew something would be going with me, something that now was permanently linked and imprinted upon the total I am. For mountainous ways, and 'the mountain,' had placed their gift of impression, love, and passion, firmly within me. I knew as I traveled on, that wherever my life may lead me, I would always have and remember the vivid moonlit nights where dreams abide, the daylight hikes where reality surrounds, and the snowy even sensuous view of lofty heights. ~ [Next chapters 7 & 8, A Poem/Places and People; note: text is yet to be proof read] This page created May98 updated 2005 members.tripod.com