Facing the Volcano

We camped the night before the climb so we could head up early. Mt. St. Helens looms behind base camp.

I've scaled 2 significant mountains in my life. Physically, not metaphorically. The metaphorical mountains number in the double digits. But that's not what this post is about.

In July 1993, Kevin and I bopped over White Pass to tackle Mt. St. Helens. That volcano.

True, true. It was a much shorter climb than before she blew. The trail led us clambering over boulders, squeezing between rocks, and sludging through deep silty sand.

We went with high hopes of summiting the historical mountain. After reading the warnings on the permit (watch out for unexpected steam vents, look for any steam vents, beware of thin crusty areas where you could break through, this is a live, active volcano, and so on and so forth) we almost didn't go. I am so glad we continued our journey to face the volcano.

Climbing included tons (literally) of rocks. Hard, sharp lava rocks. No shade.

It was mostly hot and sunny, though we occasionally (and cautiously) felt our way through clouds of steam (from above mentioned steam vents and the growing lava dome).

Steep slopes were handled by using a climbing stick. And good boots.

From the top crust, we could look down - very carefully, as per permit cautions - and see the very active dome.

Both of us at the top, enjoying some rest and snacks. The angles were such that one felt compelled to crawl or sit down firmly to avoid tipping off the edge.

The crusty edge at the top of Mt. St. Helens. Climbers were warned to not approach the edge as it could be thin. And then - volcano bait.

This girl after the hike. Hot, tired, and ready for real shoes. Dinner that night, whatever it was, tasted excellent.

We both loved the physical and mental challenges of scaling Mt. St. Helens. There was danger, yes, and excitement. Others whipped past us (us going up, them trotting down) in a race. Some moved at a slower pace and were so content. Beautiful views of surrounding mountains - Mt. Adams, Mt. Rainier, and Mt. Hood - connected us to the entire mountain range. We felt the pride of accomplishment and the pain of success. Climbing mountains is hard work. But the rewards are immeasurable.

That reminds me of life. It's hard work. But worth every struggle.

Changing the Name

I'm changing the name of one of my favorite activities.

The hubster and I love to get away to the mountains and hit the trail, any trail, just give me a trail...Hiking is a wonderful relaxation for us.

Nature. Fresh air. New scenery (or familiar). Pines. Trees. Birds. Water features. Splashing fish. Bugs. Rain. Other noisy outdoors-persons (female in our most recent case, with their fighting in the water dogs). Stumps. Fallen trees. Roots. Dirt. Mud.

What a list! Regardless, we love getting out there to see God's Creation.

I'm also very good, lately, at implementing my own drama. Camera in hand, I creep carefully up and down the dirt and pine needle paths, sneaking down to the lake's edge - Cooper Lake in this instance - clicking pictures and enjoying the peace and quiet.

Until I found the log. It was thigh high for me, and had fallen over the trail. Sure, I can handle the camera AND climbing over the bark-free trunk.

Neither leg made it. It was a slow-mo two part classic fall and wished we had the video going event. My first leg going up and over slipped on the wet bark, throwing me half over the trunk, while the last leg scrambled to join the party on the other side of the tree. When the second leg made the leap, it came into contact with a slick rock and ground dust, sliding and bumping me face and knees first into a clump of shrubs.

But the camera was fine, although the lens cover fell into the dust. Mostly, I think, I kept the camera shoulder high (as opposed to doing anything to break the fall and personal one on one time with the ground and shrub).

The hubster, right behind me, grasped vacantly at my loose jacket, which was unzipped and provided nothing to grab. Neither could he leap in a single bound the tree trunk and beat me to the other side and catch me. He just watched the excitement, holding onto a piece of jacket shoulder, waiting for me to hit bottom so he could help me up. (He did feel really bad to not save me from myself...)

So I am renaming my hiking hobby to Falling. Whenever we go to the mountains I shall tell people we are going falling. This is not the first time. It seems to be happening more often.

On the list, new shoes with good tread and a longer camera strap so it can rest on my shoulders and not in my hand.

Falling, here we come.