The Day the Mountain Blew

Standing on the top edge of Mt. St. Helens, looking at Mt. Adams

By Angie Quantrell @AngieQuantrell

What were you doing on May 18, 1980?

Maybe you were not even born yet! That does make me feel old, so let's keep that to ourselves.

On that beautiful Sunday morning, so many years ago, I was at church with my family and friends. It was during Sunday school, so the time was early in the day.

Rocks, rocks, rocks!

Murmurs of something going on and the escalation of tension crept throughout the groups of people. We all went outside and saw huge, billowing, black clouds racing our way from the west.

Upon the advice of emergency officials and church leaders, everyone was sent home.
Soon, the entire sky was overtaken by the black gray heavy clouds. Not rain clouds as they appeared, but ash and smoke. Grit started to pour down. It wasn't a gentle ash, but steady and thick.

Mostly we were excited to find out what was happening. I don't remember being afraid at all, just curious. We got to skip out on church, and though we were all advised to stay inside out of the ash, we ventured out several times to check out the weather.

Volcano weather.

At that time, we didn't have immediate access to world events. No one really had computers, just radios and the basic television channels. Phones were all old fashioned and connected to a wall phone jack. Information traveled much slower.

A view of what's left at the top of Mt. St. Helens

One of my weekend jobs was to care for an elderly lady one street over. Mrs. Nelson lived by herself in a big house. She was alone that volcano-y day. I received a call asking that I go over and check on her. I did so, and explained to her what was going on and made sure she had her lunch and the things she needed.

My then future-husband was on his own for the weekend, as his parents were out of town. So he ended up at our house for much of that week. He was normally there, so that was nothing new.

As this was our first volcano eruption, we had no idea what we were in for. School was open as usual Monday morning. We headed to school. I remember trying to use the windshield wipers. Scrape, grit, scrape, grit. Not a good idea.

It was all excitement for the students. A volcano! Ash and grit. LOTS of ash and grit. A volcano ashfall.

The problems became evident soon enough. Students waiting for buses to stop were overwhelmed with clouds of billowing, drifting ash. We couldn't breathe! People started wearing face masks just to be able to be outside. Vehicles were being damaged by the large amounts of ash and grit being inhaled and forced through the internal engines. Others tried to begin the clean up process, only to find there was nowhere to put their mountains of ash.



The girl with the cow shorts heading up Mt. St. Helens

So much ash. Inches fell on every little thing. Daytime looked like nighttime. Headlights had to be used to improve visibility.

After Monday, school was cancelled for the rest of the week in order to give everyone time for cleaning away ash. I'm sure officials were scrambling to figure out what to do with the ash, checking to see how dangerous it was for breathing, and searching to find out what damage was being done to the machines that were out working through the depths of the volcano fallout.

Things slowly returned to as much normal as could be expected. Mt. St. Helens was forever changed. Much of the mountain was spread throughout Washington state and the northwest. The Yakima Valley was in the ash fallout zone, while others on the opposite side of the mountain were hit by pyroclastic flows of steam, ash, mud, melted snow, and raging rivers. Lighter ash was transferred around the world by wind. Farmers washed off or plowed under the layers of ash all over our farmlands. People collected jars and containers of ash as momentos. Creative folks figured out ways to transform the ash into artwork and jewelry. Books were written, studies conducted, interviews given, and research began.

Not everyone survived that day. But for those of us who did, we remember the day the mountain blew.

So much information has been collected, stored, and shared. You can read more about Mt. St. Helens here.



Me and Kevin at the summit of Mt. St. Helens

We have no personal photos of Mt. St. Helens the day it blew. If we did, we probably would not be alive to share them. We did, however, hike to the top of the mountain in 1993. After reading the warnings on paperwork from the ranger station, we seriously considered our health and personal welfare! Watch out for steam vents, thin crust, the edge of the top (where the edge often broke off), the dome in the center of the volcano (we couldn't go there), and tremors. It was and is a live volcano, after all!

I'd love to hear what you were doing on the day the mountain blew.

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.

The Incovenience of Volcanoes

Did you know, Aunt Angie,...??? Just an observation, but volcanoes disrupt lives? All of that awesome, scary, amazing power and energy, bursting forth, or oozing out, or blasting off tends to impact lives nearby. Or right now, in many cases, lives are at a stand still all over the world.

Take the 1980 eruption of Mt. St. Helens in Washington State. I was in high school. The majority of our problem was the tons of ash that covered everything, I mean everything. And school was out for a week. But seriously, is that really a problem? Nope. Still have my jars of Mt. St. Helens ash complete with peeling, yellowed, and disintegrating handmade labels.

Jump to 2010 (I know I'm skipping a few volcanoes in there). A mostly under ice volcano in Iceland, vibrantly active, spews ash in clouds that interrupt flights all across Europe, and consequently all around the world. Millions (according to news reports) of travelers are stranded, unable to get home or back to work or leave for vacation.

Personally, my baby, due to be home for his two-week r & r before finishing up his deployment, due to leave TODAY and be home very soon, is stuck on his FOB, no way to get anywhere, no place to go, no room where he needs to go to link to flights and home, backed-up people everywhere.

He is not alone, I know. Schools opening in parts of Europe, but missing teachers and students who are on holiday, and stuck on holiday. Officials postponing big talks. Businesses losing massive amounts of money due to inability to ship freight. Airlines laying off employees. No planes, no income, no payday. What a mess!

Despite my inclination to whine a bit, I know my baby is safe (don't let him know I call him that). It is safer to not rush the schedule if ash is in the air...I'd personally like to know how 'they' convinced pilots to test the airplanes in the ash to see if it is safe and if the planes sustained any damage. ??? A teensy thought, but you cannot spend overtime or hazard pay if your plane hits a cloud of ash and stops working. Hmmmm.

So, Aunt Angie, well, you know that God made the volcano. Yes, he did, nephew. I guess we will just have to leave it in His very capable hands. In His time, all will be sorted out.

Until then, I'll face each day with hope and His promises. It's gonna be fine. Hang in there, baby of mine.

(not a volcano, but signs of hope and a promise)