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Loowit
Trail, Mt. St. Helens |
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While listening to my imported soundtrack of Touching The Void, the thought of climbing again was circulating in my brain. Once a free solo climber, that was a long time and fifty pounds ago. I decided to simply focus my attention at the task at hand. I have always wanted to circumnavigate Mt. St. Helens, seeing the devastation left behind from the 1980 eruption, in it's entirety. I was only eleven when Helens blew it's top, and traveling to Portland from Seattle at the time. My thoughts ran over how Joe Simpson's experience changed his life and how my experiences are changing mine.
June Lake has changed quite a bit over the years. So much has grown in around the lake. When I first discovered the lake, there was nothing around the lake except ash and rock. Now, pine trees of up to 10 feet or more, along with other various plants, can be found in it's surroundings. I skipped pass the lake, ready for the climb just after to join the Loowit.
Once on the Loowit, the trail turned rugged with rocks darting out of the ground, ready to trip anyone not paying attention to their foot placement. The weather was sublime as I strolled effortlessly to the southeastern side of the mountain.
Even at this altitude, I could see low clouds in the valleys below. I put on some headphones and listened to some music that my wife and I listened to when we were first dating. As perfect as our marriage is now, I almost wept at the thought that she would never really be into this thing that made my life complete.
As I saw Shoestring Glacier come into view, I broke down and wept. I wept for so many reasons. One reason was, I never made it this far on any of my trips around the mountain, and now, I was just getting warmed up after the miles I have done this morning. Twenty five miles a day has become quite easy to me, even with the terrain I was on. Another reason was, I had found the hobby where I could be free to feel, think, heal, and be myself without society's judgments.
As I made my way around to the east side of the mountain, I began walking into vast huckleberry fields. They were delicious as only nature could provide such a tasty treat for free.
The fields, along with the views, opened up as the trees became sparse. You could see for miles. The mixture of old, long dead trees from the eruption, mixed with the new growth, gave me something else to think about. I was not depressed. On the contrary, I was ecstatically happy.
I quickly crossed the Muddy River and thought it did not look like much of a river at all. Although, after heavy winter snows and a quick spring thaw, I imagine it would be raging indeed.
I spotted a sign as I continued past Shoestring Glacier. Leave no trace ethics are what I have been practicing now for some time, since switching to ultra lightweight backpacking.
Only ten o'clock and the heat of the day was leading me to shed a layer. Anticipation grew as I got closer to the north face of the mountain. I was beginning to see the devastation, up close and personal and just could not comprehend what my eyes were observing. The ground, beside me, under me, above me, moved from the explosion, filled all degrees of my peripheral vision.
I walked along the Plains of Abraham as I was pelted non-stop by grasshoppers. How so many could thrive in such a hostel environment left me in wonder. I quickly came upon the Abraham Trail junction and bore left to Windy Pass.
Hopping over some rocks, I spied the pass. I wondered why they called it Windy Pass. There wasn't any wind below it.
There wasn't and wind on it either. I suppose higher up, in the forbidden zone, there might be some. I took off my pack and had some water, followed by a couple of cliff bars while musing on the pass's name. Seeing I was almost in the heart of the blast area made me feel a little uneasy, but the lure of the unknown was too powerful. I shouldered my pack and began the descent into the main blast area.
Since the recent volcanic activity, this portion of the trail has remained closed for the last year and a half or so. Needless to say, trail maintenance was severely in need. Cairns that once held posts as beacons to help you find your way, were simply gone. "No matter." I thought, as one could easily find his way west in this area.
"Finally.", I thought, as the lava dome came into view. This eleven hundred foot rock heap was on fire and could blow at any minute. I was spellbound like some lame actor in a B rated horror flick, staring at his adversary that just won't die. I kept moving knowing if the mountain decided to blow again, I would most likely not feel a thing. In 1980, even if a pyroclastic flow missed me, I would have still been caught by six hundred degree winds of over six hundred miles per hour. Being aware of my mortality, I moved on.
Not wanting to go to Loowit Falls, I ended up there anyway. I have become rather used to solitude and did not want it to end because of tourists. I mentally extinguished the elitist attitude from my mind and chitchatted with a friendly couple that just hiked up to see the falls. Indeed, they were not the only ones as there were twenty more people on their way up. Twenty people I thought as I have come 15 miles and not seen a soul.
On my way down, I met an older couple asking me if my plan was to go completely around the mountain. I told them of my plans as they had a hard time understanding that I started on the south side just hours earlier. The older lady warned me that she tried this hike two times before, a couple years ago, and that there was no way to cross Toutle Canyon. She asked me to let her know if I found a way. I took her words with a grain of salt, but was fully aware that there is always something to learn from experienced people. I shrugged my shoulders, confident in my abilities and set off westward. The trail ahead of me was non existent and the only obstacle was the deep washes the spring thaws created.
Some of the washes were extremely deep and loose as it took a bit of scrambling to make it past a few. Minimal drama got me out of the washes and over the Loowit River. The main section, only being 8 feet wide, was a mere rock hop. Again, I thought of what the older lady had said to me. What if I failed in finding a way across Toutle Canyon? Poppycock, I thought. The day was just too fine for such an incident.
Hiking on the north side of the mountain, the trail was at best, a guess. Now heading south on the western side, there were so many game trails, I did not know which one to follow. The canyons increased in number as well as depth as I worked down into one after the other. Vegetation was scarce as I was still very close to the blast area.
I worked my way along the west area directly below the mountains edge. The wildflowers were beautiful as life on the west side was recovering well. I spotted a heard of elk on a ridge west from where I was and thought this to be a great spot to camp. Just then I remembered the older lady and Toutle Canyon. I also did not have enough water for a dry camp as the rivers I had passed over would have made me sick, even with my Aquamira, due to a high mineral content. Enough of this, I thought, and rumbled towards the canyon.
The canyon was big. Very big. My confidence was shaken after looking at the four hundred foot vertical cliffs surrounding the edge I was on. At 850 feet deep, the river at twelve feet wide could simply not be seen.
I scrambled along the top of the ridge and spotted a faint set of tracks, in the ash, leading me down into the canyon. I could not blame the older lady since you really could not see them unless you were over the top of the ridge, west past the summit.
I slowly and carefully plodded my way down the steep, ashy slopes of the ridge. I eventually came to a more friendly trail and ultimately to the Castle Ridge junction. Continuing on got me closer to the river while getting more ash in my shoes.
I did not think this was a popular part of the Loowit trail as it saw very little use. Within two and a half miles of down climbing, I arrived at the water's edge with water bottles in hand.
I treated water, then myself. Soaking my feet and getting all the debris out of my shoes confirmed my success, relieved the hardest part of the trip was over.
It was already five thirty and the final big climb of the trip was at hand, or so I thought. I put on my socks, shouldered my pack and made my way up Crescent Ridge with the intent of camping somewhere near Sheep Canyon. The trail climbed rapidly as it took a lot out of me this late in the hike. 900 feet of vertical climbing left me at the top of the ridge just before the Sheep Canyon Trail junction.
Sometimes things happen and happen they did as I ran straight into a detour. The entire ridge section of the trail was gone and I had to descend 400 feet before ascending 400 feet more to find a suitable camp site. I found one just in time before the sun was completely gone. Camped on the edge of Blue Lake Canyon gave me a view and it was the only flat place without rocks in the whole area. I boiled up some tea while reading Edward Abby. Soon after, dinner consisted of chicken flavored Top Ramen. All through the night, rock fall was heard as I slept fitfully.
The morning brought a cool, soothing breeze. Since I am not a morning eater, I packed up in 10 minutes and was cruising along the trail whistling a tune stuck in my head from the day before. During my trip, I constantly noticed steam coming from the lava dome. This morning was no different as puffs bellowed at times in the cool morning air.
I reminded myself to tread carefully on the lava fields that approached me. One wrong step could mean a sprained ankle or worse. Scrambling through the lava reassured me of my fitness level as it had never been this easy.
Far past the most devastated areas, the fields were now the predominant source of scenery. I wondered what the mountain looked like before it blew.
After passing the Butte Camp junction, Monitor Rock came into view as I have been past it many times.
The fields have changed a lot over the years as I do not remember the lushness I am seeing today. The scent in the air lets me know who is really in charge as only a great force can create such restorative beauty from such massive destruction.
Hobbling over the last of the lave fields, I spotted a chipmunk looking like he was praying. I thought this rather funny and hustled along towards the June Lake junction.
At the lake, I took some pictures in disbelief of how fine the weekend turned out. If every weekend were like this one, I would be a different person altogether. I caught a glimpse of something in the moss and took a picture of it for my daughter.
Back at the truck but more than a weekend wiser as I learned a lot about myself on this trip. I changed clothes and hauled butt to Jack's Restaurant for some lunch.
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