Finally we arrived at Mount Saint Helens National Volcanic Monument. I was in awe of the immensity of the landscape and baffled that something so grandiose and impressive didn’t get more attention. I hadn’t heard much about this place, and I only came across it while looking at a map of Washington state. Perhaps if I was alive when the volcano erupted in 1980 I may have known more about this place.
After learning about the volcanic eruption in the visitor center, Zach and I were chasing down even greater views on a small path that led from the Johnston Ridge Observatory on the foothills of the behemoth of a mountain base before us. We were free after being held captive by the journey in the car for much of the day. We were about four miles from the mouth of the beast, when I sat down alongside the path next to some Indian paintbrush and other small mountainous blooms snugly grasping onto the sides of the path between jumbled rocks. There I beheld what would have been, less than forty years ago, Washington’s fifth tallest peak, but now it was just the base of a mountain. It was still tall, nevertheless, slanting upwards to 8,363 feet, but it was missing its peak which would have topped it off at an additional 1,400 feet. Now instead of a peak it prominently displayed a giant volcanic crater. Looking at Mount Saint Helens, I knew I wasn’t looking at any ordinary mountain. It proclaimed volcano loud and clear for despite its enormous crater, it displayed its sprawling avenues and canyon ruts where lava once flowed, and much of the mountainside had been ripped barren and replaced by volcanic rocks. In some small crevices, plant life had resumed, but the sprawling directions in which its destruction spread was still very evident.
Adding to the volcanic ambience, this evening a spread of clouds hung just below the crown of the crater, giving the illusion of smoke and adding great perspective. It also made the mountain look very regal with the pointed rocks edges spiking up like the palisades of a king’s crown, and the clouds added an element of fantasy, really elevating the scene. Although Washington is a very mountainous state, here no other mountain stood in the background of this one, at least nowhere near her height. Mount Saint Helens stood alone, bold and royally, popping out against the rich blue sky.
I was particularly fascinated by the avenues, ruts, or canyons surrounding and sprawling from the creature like veins. They were prominently displayed with the evening sun lower in the sky, casting sharp contrast against the land and allowing the canyons to cast their own dark shadows within. These were “canyonlands” not illuminated by light, as I’ve discussed before, but ones trapped in darkness. I wondered what animals roamed down there. I wondered how enormous these places would seem on foot. Have people even explored all of them? It was fascinating to think that only a handful of decades ago, these divots didn’t exist. This was once Washington’s fifth tallest mountain, but then in 1980, instigated by an earthquake, Mount Saint Helens erupted. It was the deadliest volcanic eruption in the United States, spewing ash in a 250 square mile range and sending billows up to sixteen miles into the sky. Before then, this landscape would have been so different. It had been drastically remolded. As John Muir would see it, it was God at work, still designing his earth, molding the land through natural phenomenons.
I was still fixated on the massiveness of this area and how its present landscape was relatively new. Even the divots aside, I was wondering if the whole mountainside in general had been fully explored in its current state. What was hiding out in all of nature’s rubble? What fantastical rock formations and marvels surround this thing in its new design. It was such an enormous space, that I imagined other National Parks I’ve visited fitting entirely in the space this mountain base encompasses. I thought how even some cities could fit within the crater alone. I wish I had time to roam freely and explore this land without a care. It would be fun to disappear into this thing, getting lost in its immensity and wonder. But I couldn’t. I had responsibilities and an itinerary.
As I sat there, I did what I like to do in front of beautiful vistas: I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened my eyes to be re-amazed by what was in front of me. Then the wind started to roll in, and I was getting cold. I crossed my arms, hugging myself in my flannel. Before having to leave, I had to get into the important thoughts. Observing the volcanic mountain, I posed the question, What does this mean? What is the message of Mount Saint Helens?
I was looking towards a crater, as I had done just the day prior at Crater Lake National Park, but Crater Lake seemed entirely different from this place. Crater Lake was distinct in appearance and messaging. But there was one commonality. They both started with a volcano, meaning what they are today was birthed by a violent natural event. What made the places so distinct from each other were their outcomes after the explosion. Crater Lake was a place of serenity, of beauty, tranquility and peace. It gave the message that despite pain, loss, suffering, there is peace and beauty. Mount Saint Helens today could be described as beautiful by some too, but it’s for sure a different beauty from Crater Lake. It’s impressive and awesome, but beauty is actually not the word I’d use for it at all. It looked very much still like the aftermath of destruction. The rubble was in clear view, the paths of destruction evident. It was like a scab was ripped from a wound not fully healed. It was a raw landscape, not replacing the destruction with the serene, but blatantly announcing its story of violence. The crater was not filled with rich, pure, calming blue waters but was empty, vacant, and void. Where forest once spread across its mountainside was barren rock and pumice.
I then had to think about what I’ve already concluded about mountains. Two summers prior, when I was at Great Basin National Park in Nevada, I was standing below Wheeler Peak thinking about how solid and strong the mountain was, and I started to think about the word unwavering. I wrote: “I observed how the mountain is very bold despite erosion and the rock glacier. It’s still not going anywhere. The mountain is firm, steady, resolute, and then I began unpacking the word that would last and linger with me– unwavering. It’s been my observation in life that consistency in a person is hard to find. People come and go. They change, they disappoint, and the slightest variation in weather can even disrupt a person. I do not want to be this type of person. I want to stand strong. I want to be a person others can rely on– a constant, a non-variable, dependable, and above all unwavering.”
Mount Saint Helens was not unwavering like Wheeler Peak. This mountain had betrayed its surrounding landscape and all the life that had put trust in it. It left damage, took lives, and left voids, and its said it may eventually erupt again. This mountain did not produce the beauty of Crater Lake nor the security of Wheeler Peak. I began to adopt the notion that there are different types of mountains, and they have different meanings, but that all mountains are representative of different kinds of people. There are the bold unwavering mountains like Wheeler Peak and the majority of mountains I’ve seen, but few people I’ve met. Then there are those volcanic mountains, like people who have gone through pain, suffering, and trauma. Some volcanic mountains return from those dark moments in life with a new found peace, beauty, they are born again into something greater like Crater Lake. But other volcanic mountains, like Mount Saint Helens, are like people who have been badly hurt, but they haven’t gone through the powerful process of redemption. Instead, they have built up resentment and anger to then spew hateful words and actions. They are abusive. Their anger is not controlled, and thus they are explosive, wielding destruction around them. They abuse their children, snap at their coworkers, fight with their spouses. Their anger and discontentment change the life and environment around them. They take the books of others and scribble into them or rip out pages. They also have unfruitful mountainsides, not rich in life, but barred and covered by mistakes, leaving no fertile ground for anything to take root. I know some of these people, and we all have potential to become such volcanic mountains. It is in our nature to be ruled by our human emotions, to become heated in anger and inflict unjust punishment on others. Mount Saint Helens therefore has a message of warning and shows us the weight of our influence, even when destructive.
I never want to be a Mount Saint Helens, but do I relate to her? Yes I do. I have my moments of anger and frustration, and in the moment I want everyone to feel the agony that I feel. I spew the lava. It’s not right, but I’ll own it. This is not to say all anger is bad. Some anger is justified. God in his love, beholds justified anger. What really matters for us as humans is the outcome of our anger. Is it productive and justified, or impulsive and destructive like the volcano? I also relate to Crater Lake. I see peace in beauty in my life from where there was pain and destruction before. Despite whatever mountain best reflects me, I aspire to be like Wheeler Peak, consistent, unwavering, unmoveable, dependable. However, there were yet other mountains to become acquainted with and this wouldn’t be the last mountain on this adventure that would hold a message for me. I was just beginning to explore this analogy of mountains and people. I’d come to find that every mountain indeed is a reflection of our own human potential. Some inspire, some challenge, some warn, some seem foreign, some truly are characteristic of our own selves.
I was energized by this growing perspective on mountains. I was ready to explore it further and open to see what else God wanted to teach me through his creation. As I’d learn about more types of mountains, the wonder would lead me to pose the question to others: What type of mountain are you? But before I could consider mountains any further, a moment of intensity beheld the situation. Something happened that had me desperately running opposite from the volcanic mountain. This was an emergency…
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I could see there were more mighty dunes in the distance, which were temping to pursue. But at the moment, my feet felt like they were on fire. Wearing socks was not a bright idea. Hot sand found its way into the socks over and over again, and was burning my feet. The hot sand mixed with coarse friction had also burned and ripped a giant hole in one of my socks. It appeared as if part of the sock had disintegrated. I was about a mile and a half in, but my feet couldn’t endure anymore hiking, so I turned around. I wasn’t disappointed the least bit. I felt like I got a true Great Sand Dunes experience, greater than the rest of the tourists who gave up much sooner than me.
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