Mt. St. Helens trip report: Whiteout and blackout

No photos except this picture of Mt. Adams I took in 2003 -- in general, volcanic ash and my old SLR don't get along. On this trip, visibility was near zero on the mountain and zero in the caves.

A guidebook I had read called Mt. St. Helens a tedious ash trudge (which sounds like an insult: hey, ash trudge!) but it was a climber's guidebook, and most climbers are notoriously opposed to any sort of hiking. No doubt they are still bitter at losing the top of the most beautiful 9,000-10,000 ft mountain in the States, 27 years ago. Mount St. Helens is completely non-technical now, but with 4700 ft of elevation gain it is certainly more than your standard dayhike peakbag. It is a tough, exhiilarating hike. I don't believe in messing around with ropes and sheer cliffs anyway (who'd want to sink a carabiner into crumbly pumice, or ice?).  

It was a rainy day with temperatures at Climber's Bivouac 57 F. at best. After some flirtation by sun, rain returned at timberline, making the start eerily similar to my June 1997 hike up Pilatus in Lucerne, Switzerland, where rain started at 4,500 ft and I continued through accumulating sleet and snow and moments of desperation and disorientation ("saved" at one point by a crude stone church chapel heaving into view near the summit) to the top of the 7,200 ft peak -- where cable car tourists milled around and junior high school students from North Carolina amused themselves by throwing into the toilet anything left to dry on bathroom radiators.  

St. Helens was more blunt, from the beginning. There was considerable winter snow left beginning as patches in the woods at only 3,700 ft.  Timberline (not true timberline, but the edge of a lahar I think) presented a bleak view of mist wafting off extensive snow fields, which was probably a glacier, and misting rain.  St. Helens is in a slo-mo eruption phase right now, and occasionally coughs out ash and chunks of rock big enough to crack a windshield, but a stiff wind was blowing from the south at my back and toward the crater.  The ash was clearly a little softer and deeper than another active volcano El Teide (climbed in January 2007) but with the picas scurrying around and typical Alpine plants, it was like any high windy pile of rocks in the fog. 

I climbed for about an hour and a half from the edge of the lahar. I was past the seismic gauging station and probably at about 7,500 ft, 800 ft vertical ft. short of the summit, when the rain picked up and it occurred to me that the descent against the wind in a Columbia shell I was sure was one of those waterproof-breathables that really aren't waterproof,  would  be brutal. It was. It was 44 degrees and 3:30 when I turned around, there was sleet on the descent, and I had no regrets later. 

 

After retiring to camp  in the area (reading material: Krakatoa by Simon Winchester), today I donned my headlamp and spare and ventured into a two-mile lava tube. Ordinarily I am not a caver,  but we had enjoyed a wild cave in Idaho, one with many natural skylights and cathedral like chambers.  Today's cave, Ape Cave, was weird.  It's a very long tube with no skylights or side passages, very close to the  St. Helens site. It was found in 1948 and the fact that it survived the eruption activity to me indicates it must be stable.  Still, as in any cave, you have to get over a couple phobias -- that a drop of water will short out your Wal-Mart purchased headlamp, that one of the small earthquakes that happen on a monthly basis will collapse the tube. Then I got the notion that I was  trespassing in a lair or burrow. It was irrational, but hard to disabuse -- the walls are horizontally striated and look leathery and scaly, as if carved out by the rippling muscle action of a giant worm. Begging the question, of course, of when the worm will return. Being alone in a dark and blind tube on a rainy Friday morning with no one around on the surface either (except maybe a meth-crazed car clouter or two) is a very strange experience, after an hour or so.  I hadn't bothered to read about the origin of the cave's name, either, and thus primates (small and albino, of course) also entered my mind.

Speaking of apes, I saw a bear at the Climber's Bivouac. Again, I first took it for a gorilla, large shaggy dog. I was once stalked by a bear in the Adirondacks and I wonder if the miners who thought they were being attacked by Yeti in 1924 actually were experiencing a bear encounter.

On a lighter note, the wildest wildlife experienced on this trip so far:

Copy that

The best album in a while has been released -- Wilco's Sky Blue Sky. I counted to a very large number before writing this, because I've gone gaga before over albums that have later started seeming very one-dimensional. 

I heard parts of it while driving to band practice on Va. Rt. 53 winding around Monticello to the lake. I'm a sucker for set and setting. Fireflies winking amid the mossy earthworks. It was very...telegenic. A "pink moon on its way" moment indeed, except it was an old Volvo wagon, not a Cabrio or one of the VWs Wilco is plugging.

Wilco is unpretentious as always and rather than experimentation being the basic sound as on YHF, here freakout fusion jams are neatly packaged in their own capsules. 

This won't be everyone's cup of tea. You need to be very uncynical not to hear some of the musical interludes as Weather Channel on the 8s, as at least two reviewers have independently of each other. It probably helps to be steeped in the Dead and all of those metaroots bands, jam- or otherwise. So Sky Blue Sky will get its knocks. Some seeds will fall on rock. Wilco was on safe ground when they did Mermaid Avenue; they were following folk Scripture -- lyrics by Guthrie, so what if unknown secret lyrics. When it's their own, it's shakier confessional territory. 'Cause who is Jeff Tweedy?

Doesn't matter. Accessible tunes and lyrics just this side of oblique. Doesn't give too much away.  Good poetry, good stuff.

Full house

Something funny happened today -- Morgan didn't want either Mom or Dad around today. It's common for him to voice loud objections to Dad when Mom is available, but he's never shunned Mom. In this phase of his life (phase being the morning hours of a particular day) he prefers to hang out with Kairi. Problem is, Kairi is the mother in the house we are staying at. She is sort of occupied, with four kids of her own, including a newborn. When her older three come back from a sleepover at grandma's today, Morgan will have to readjust.

Maybe Morgan will be able to relate better to Sammy, age 3, who definitely wants more attention from his mom than his mom can give him, and who has been taking out hostilities on Morgan.

Then again, maybe we will have double the amount of whining and 'behavioural problems'.

The croquet mallets have already been put away.

Things are going OK, though. The house, in Vancouver, has two stories and it is comfortable. It looks a little like parts of Commonwealth Drive in Albemarle County in terms of lot size and bracket, except the 150-foot Douglas firs and roses (no, the roses are not 150 ft) everywhere leave no doubt as to where in the US we might be.

This is a multicultural household. Kairi's husband has lived in Portland since age 7 but he came here from Syria by way of Trinidad. From my stomach-centred vantage point this is good news, there is a grandmother who rolls her own stuffed grape leaves. Oddly, Kairi seems to do some Caribbean influenced cooking. Some of the kids understand some Estonian (but we are trying to improve this situation) though mostly business here is done in English.

On June 28, I am climbing Mount St. Helens, which is again open to climbers even though the lava dome in the crater is continuing to rise. I can't see the rationale for opening it, unless people just got tired of the closure and there was public protest. (Naked cyclists with signs saying Open the Mountain would be the M.O. I guess round these here parts).  Conflicting reports as to how much snow is up there. I am guessing that since 100 people a day go up on weekends, there will be well-worn steps and if I go up before dawn when the snow is crisp, I will not need crampons and ice axe.

Sauvie Island

Went to Sauvie Island, a large floodplain like area completely surrounded by the Columbia River just outside Portland. Sat on an empty sandy beach as the sun played behind the clouds and gazed at snow-striped Mount St. Helens in the distance. Occasionally a barge or sailboat went by, once a larger ship, the Indiana Highway, which looked like it would displace all of the water in the channel. We then picked berries at a farm -- filling a flat with 10 pounds of blueberries and raspberries in an hour or so. The case of the blueberries was a bit obscene -- they hung in grape-like clusters.

The fax on PDX

I had a warm feeling returning to the Portland area, where I spent most of the summer of 2003. I knew right away I had to take a blog.

The basic dirt on my temporary home, for people back at the home office and outside the US: 

It is a "mid-size city" slightly larger than Tallinn. Strangers are nice here. And in some ways it is like an old Western town without the twang and cowboys. This may seem vague; I will elaborate in future posts.

In the US it is the "metropolitan area closest to farms", which means many farmer's markets and one of the best dining scenes of any city. Portland was the home of James Beard, one of the best-known chefs ever. So rich were these lands in seafood and wild berries, and so hospitable the climate, that the indigenous population is said to have spent just 15 minutes per day per person attending to their basic needs. I don't know if that is true, but that is certainly the way it should be.

Portland is America's most leftwing city, perhaps beating San Francisco narrowly.  Anyway, a kind of place where I can get away with saying the war against Iraq and Fatherland Security and no one will call me a communist.

Portland has changed since Beverly Cleary wrote her memorable children's books set here, and sprawl threatens, but it has one of the best public transit systems.

On a clear day you can see three snow-capped volcanoes in the distance; it is also the only city on the continent to have a  volcano within city limits, though it is extinct. For now... We really don't know tthat much about volcanoes, still.

Like Stockholm, you can theoretically catch wild salmon "downtown", though people have been talking about decline of populations for decades and it is unlikely you will wrestle in a 30-pounder as Henry Huggins did in one of Cleary's books.

Also, if it is 30 degrees C. on a day during the four month dry season and you happen to find that intolerable, you can drive sixty miles west and it will be 20 degrees C (or if it is raining, drive 70 miles E and it will be sunny). The city actually receives a little less rain than New York, but lighter rain means more grey and drizzly days.

And it has North America's biggest urban park, termed a wilderness and imaginatively named, "Forest Park", though I have not really been there, preferring to go to the Cascades. 

I have not been to the Coast Range, either, but perhaps this weekend? 

Like the Stamper clan, "on the move with a kind of trancelike dedication..."

Lunar landing

After Yellowstone, we took a detour down to the Teton National Park, which provides some wonderful views of some of the most archetypal mountains anywhere,  but not too much else, I don't think, after the accessible wonders of Yellowstone. It is a very scenic drive from the South Entrance to Jackson, WY. After the resort town of Jackson, which was pleasant and where you could smell the money in the air, we crossed the Teton Pass (less than 1000 m of climbing but the steepest grade I have seen, one of the only times I have worried about our superreliable 15-year-old Subaru) and some wonderfully enticing low ranges into Idaho. Idaho quickly turned to high desert (this is a loose term in the West meaning a plateau or basin at 1600m or more of elevation). We crossed a vast plain where little grew and where the government has a nuclear research site the size of Rhode Island. A couple days later, somewhere in this expanse, a worker was doing something to a piece of phosphorus and it caught fire, burning him badly, but no radiation was released. We were long gone, in any case.

The congealed lava fields and cinders of the Craters of the Moon were an unorthodox setting for camping. But it was fun. It was only $8, dry and pleasant, and not as cold as Yellowstone. Again, camp cooking tasted wonderful in the open air. Though Morgan had come down with a cold. We had to make a trip into Boise to find some infant cold medicine. Couldn't find a pharmacy at Boise Towne Centre, an upscale mall indistinguishable from anywhere in the East -- only a GNC there. The change that has come over Boise, now pop. 180,000 is incredible and just as dramatic as what happened in Denver in the 1980s. It's no cowtown anymore. 

The weather on the rest of the trip to Portland metro area was fitful. 90 degrees and sweltering in Boise, a sticky night spent by  the Snake River where it enters Hell's Canyon (June 9), heavy rain in Eastern Oregon, sunny in The Dalles, rain again coming through the Gorge and ah, finally typical Portland June weather, 70s and partly cloudy.  But too many climates for just a few days. We were all a little run down by the time we pulled into Vancouver, WA (June 10), across the Columbia from Portland proper. But it had been a successful crossing, by and large.

Rocky Raccoon territory

The Black Hills -- the Black Mountain Hills of South Dakota, as the Beatles sang -- were piney and peaceful and pastoral. This was our first taste of mountain air on this trip (though only about 1400 m where we were) and Rockies-like ecosystems.

Paying $21 for a campsite at deserted Pactola Reservoir was a ripoff, and then finding shards of broken glass of industrial level sharpness and size left over from a bachelor party the weekend before.  It was not very pristine. We would have a classic, lovely streamside camp the next night, in the Bighorn Mountains, the first range of the Rockies you get to in Wyoming.

But anyway, back to South Dakota and June 4. The next morning, we headed north back to Deadwood, which turned out to be quaint, pleasantly touristy, and not a cheesy Western town with false fronts etc.  We decided not to go south to view, probably for a fee, a certain national monument sculpted into a mountain face. After considering it, the logic of Mount Rushmore again escaped me and my wife. The guys depicted are fairly decent ones, especially Thomas Jefferson, but why are they standing next to each other -- they aren't even contemporaries. And the way they are carved into a mountain, seems only slightly better than an open-pit mine. Sorry, Mr. Borglum.

As far as feelings of patriotism, they were stirred by Yellowstone. Seeing Old Faithful erupt was a solemn and moving experience. Yellowstone was crowded, yes, even on a post-snow day in June, and there was heavy traffic at junctions. $25 is too much to pay for entry to a site that is the public's. But it wasn't the tourist frenzy we had feared. The infrastructure was heavy duty, but the general look was tasteful, the visitor features had that Roosevelt era CCC rustic appearance familiar from Eastern national parks.

 

The surprising thing to me was that the eruption of the park's best known geyser was almost completely silent. People -- perhaps 150 of them -- stood in a semi-circular deck. I don't know if they removed their hats, if they were wearing them, but they might have. Then, one by one, they went on their way with a sense of restored reassurance and resolve. So it seemed.

There has been a lot written about the Yellowstone caldera, as the realization dawns on people that it is actually one huge volcano on a vast scale, and one that may well blow its top at some point, spelling the extinction of all life east of the Missouri, or choose your own doomsday scenario. I didn't feel anything impending, and it seems many of the geysers and mudpots are less dramatic than they were when white men first saw them. Then again, there are probably new geothermal features popping up in the backcountry all the time, many off trail. 

PS. As an indication of how things can change fast, while we were on our road trip, a landslide in a remote part of Russia subsumed the world's biggest geyser field, meaning that Yellowstone, which already had the world's largest concentration of geothermal features, is even more special.

Cold rain and snow

'You must be brave,' said the campers back in Illinois at Johnson Sauk Lake (June 1), 'to camp with a small child.' Brave? We didn't get it. Sure, he didn't do camp chores, but everything had gone smoothly, and continued to go smoothly.

For our first of three motel stops on the two-week trip, we'd been in a Days Inn on June 2, on a stretch of I-29 through Iowa used by people from Omaha to get to South Dakota. The Days Inn was obsolete and a bit shabby, and it was a completely geographically displaced, featureless area. For me this sort of setting is just as weird as a remote desert. Then a strange motel in South Dakota the next night.

Now it was June 6 we were in Cody, WY, gateway to Yellowstone. This time we decided to splurge more strategically, for something that could even  be termed a hotel -- an  AmericInn lodge  ($125). With the rain pouring down, and 1,500 vertical feet higher, snow, it dawned on us what they were saying - duh.. Here of course there was an ice machine to work and hotel telephones to play with, but it would have been tough with Morgan in a tent.

We timed it perfectly. We checked in at 1 pm and the rain started 15 minutes later and continued overnight. We ventured out once to eat at a great New Mexico style Mexican restaurant, Zapata's. That's one thing that's great west of the Missouri -- no matter how far north of the border, the Mexican food seems to be  great.

I hadn't taken notice of AmericInn before. At interstate exits in the East, they seemed to have very perfunctory architecture, just a dorm-like building slightly at a distance from the other roadside chains. Looked sort of bleak. They tout their supposed quietness -- they have "solid masonry" walls between rooms --uh, meaning you can only hear people talking in the hallway. Isn't that the case with any hotel room? How about working on a solid masonry or whatever door, for innovation? That said, the AmericInn in Cody was a cut above and we were satisfied. 

High "camp" in rural South Dakota

Murdo, SD: On June 3, we stayed at the LandMARK Country Inn, a motel that was like Clare Quilty's house at the end of the remake of Lolita, with a tinge of the Bates motel (if Mrs. Bates were in perfect health and holding court among candelabras). I don't think there was an actual velvet painting, but there was plenty of camp and kitsch. You don't expect to see this in rural western South Dakota. Then again, as my wife pointed out, maybe it's exactly what you expect to  see in rural western South Dakota. I don't know who is more right. The other odd thing is that it was GREEN here, lending the landscape a Wizard of Oz Technolor kind of feel. As if the Badlands and endless prairie were not surreal enough, here you could have your Kansas, Dorothy -- and your yellow brick road.

Sorry, no personal pictures of the motel, but here's a verdant Badlands landscape from the next day, giving a sense of the very atypical greenness.

Tiia-Triin really likes South Dakota -- says the prairie has elegance. There are canyonlands in Utah that are no doubt more impressive, but the Badlands are very aesthetic -- the Estonian word is kammerlik -- it's a nice tight package. Hard to take a bad picture here. Wyoming is also nice, but not the same, she says. It is more crusty, salty, dusty, more rocky outcroppings. It's harder country, oil, roughnecks and cowboys.