Back to Mount St. Helens

Mt Hood from the summit rim of Mount St. Helens.

A few years ago, back before real responsibility seemed to set in, I spent many a spring and summer weekend in the glorious mountains of the Pacific Northwest. Amy and I would backpack all over the place, and when we weren't out there together, I'd be out with other friends climbing various peaks up and down the spine of the Cascades: from Shasta in the south to Rainier and Mt. Stuart in the north. It was grand. 

But times changed. Our family grew, as did our other domestic responsibilities, and before I knew it, it had been three years since I'd stood atop a familiar mountain. That's not to say that we haven't gotten out. Quite the contrary. Our little one was car camping with us at three months, traveling to Canada at six months, hiking with us soon thereafter, and backpacking on Mt. Hood by the time she was just over a year old.  But my climbing gears had shifted way down. That's just how it has been for a while now.

But with some free time to myself this summer, I decided to head for the hills again and work my way up to the top of Mount St. Helens this past week. 

I was planning on doing the Swift Creek route up from the Marble Mountain snow park, as massive amounts of snow had kept the shorter, more direct route from the Climber's Bivouac closed well beyond the normal timeframe. When I got to the permit station in Cougar, Washington, however, I was pleasantly surprised to hear that the Bivouac was open and that the trail, save for the first two miles, was clear and free of snow.

So I started out from the Bivouac at 10:20 Wednesday morning, with low clouds clinging overhead and several feet of hard-packed snow cemented on the trail. Quite a few cars filled the lot, and I passed a fair amount of people along the route. 

Breaking out of the clouds on Monitor Ridge. 

At just about 5,000 feet, I walked out of the clouds and into a clear blue sky filled with views of the crater rim, Mt. Adams to the east, and Hood and Jefferson to the south. The route was essentially free of snow, so climbing up was relatively simple, just picking my way up along the boulders of Monitor Ridge. I took a break just above the main monitoring station and watched as wispy clouds raced across the sky above the crater rim up high. 

Getting ready for the final push.

The final thousand feet or so were a steady slog, and three hours and 54 minutes after I'd left my car, I reached the summit and gazed out over the beautiful expanse that spreads out from the top of St. Helens: the new dome in the crater, steaming and crumbling constantly, Spirit Lake a deep blue amidst the ashen gray surroundings, Mt. Rainier a splotchy white and black mass of mountain far to the north.

St. Helens from the top: steaming dome, Spirit Lake, and Mount Rainier. 

The view south to Jefferson was crystal clear, and the fresh mountain air cooled the lungs with each breath. It had been far too long since I'd felt such clarity.

On the crater rim. 

An hour later, I slipped on my rain pants, high-stepped down the ashen upper flanks of the mountain, and patched together a series of smooth glissades on the lingering snowfields, which cut down my descent and eased the strain on my knees. Just before I strolled back into the trees, I took one last glimpse up at the mountain, thankful for a safe trip and grateful for the chance to fill a void that has long needed some attention. What a day.