Toutle Trail, Mt. St. Helens
July 25-26, 2008

Prologue:

I sat on my deck under the shade of my back yard's trees and mused on the challenges I have pit myself up against over the last few years.  These challenges helped me grow as a person inside and out.  The few I did not prevail over were presented more from other people rather than myself.  Testing ones self, to me, is as if to set a book mark in time, benchmarking how one is doing throughout the years.  St. Helens has been such a book mark.  When I was 13, it had am impact.  Not just the initial eruption, but how the washing out of the Toutle Bridge forced a change in the course of my life.  Then, I spent many years attempting to climb it long before it was a popular route up Monitor Ridge.  Almost four years ago, I climbed it in just over five hours without breaking a sweat.  Almost two years ago, I hiked around it in a weekend.  Almost a year ago, to the day, I tried again to close a circle in my life and failed due to the Blue Canyon washout.  This year, as I am in decent trail shape, I will try again to close this circle and challenge myself, setting a book mark in the history of my life.

Work let me off early Friday night.  I needed to see a friend, as she was only in town a couple days, before I set of for St. Helens.  As I have only taken Forest Road 81 once, I passed it and was nearly to Marble Mountain Snow Park, on the wrong forest road, before I realized my mistake.  I spun my rig around and backtracked to 81, taking it to the wash out, 11.3 miles up.  I had read on internet sites that the rain from November of 2006 (15" in 24 hours) that stopped me from my goal last year, took out the road leading to the Blue Lake Trailhead, so I was not surprised to see the road carved out, blocking me from my last couple miles.  I four-wheeled it into an upper parking area, geared up, and hiked over the washout to start my journey.

The road was quite a mess and I could see how a car could never get by the gouge.  It left the road only four feet wide in areas with a ditch 6 feet deep on one side.  At least it will keep the traffic to a minimum, giving me a nice, easy walk up the middle.

It was getting hot as I started sweating, no more than two and a half miles from the truck.  Just then, I look up the road and noticed what had really happened.  The rain from 2007 had dumped all the debris at the end of the canyon.  The area was simply devastated.  The pictures do not do justice as the area of rubble would cover about a three-foot-wide section on your screen.

I stumbled over the loose pumice, ash and rock as I grew closer to the trailhead.  I could not imagine five more miles of this as it would take hours to just get to the starting point of my hike.  If this canyon had this kind of damage, what had become of the others like Muddy River Canyon or Sheep Canyon?

Continuing up the field of devastation, I stopped at a sign and looked over my guidebook.  My approach should skirt around Sheep Canyon, so I was clear in that respect.  I lurched my way up further as the braids of the destruction grew closer together.  It was hard to believe I was on Forest Road 81.

I found the trailhead and chuckled.  The rubble went on and on and was lost in the surrounding trees, like a river flowing around and eventually through.  The funniest thing to me is how the sign was still upright. 

Once to Blue Lake, the main path of the debris took off up Blue Canyon as I crossed over the lake's outlet.  I was on solid trail as I cruised, finally, at an east three miles per hour.  Thirty minutes later, all was not so easy as I hit snow.  Snow?  Almost in August?  At this low of elevation?  Again I chuckled while stomping through the icy mounds.

After the junction with Sheep Canyon Trail, I descended to the bridge over Sheep Creek.  The water was flowing hard due to the record snowfall this year and I could not help but to worry a bit about the Toutle.  Last time I crossed it, it was an easy rock hop, but that was in August with an average snow year.

I crossed the bridge and hoped for the best.  If it is as bad, or maybe even a little deeper than Sheep Creek, I should be able to find a braided route across.  In a mile and a half, I would find out.  I mean, really, how bad could it be?

The Toutle would be no problem.  It was flowing about twice as fast and deep and wide as the last time I crossed it.  It was the additional 15 feet at which it had dropped that scared me.  I remember how difficult the climb down was, but this time, it was much worse.  It was vertical for the first 10 feet, sporting loose rock and ash.

I sat and wept.  Unlike the first time I circled the mountain, this time I could not set that benchmark, that place in time for myself.  I could not meet that goal.  I failed.  I was also low on water and had to find a place to camp.  The sun was dropping fast and as I was faced with all this reality, I just sat and wept.  I could not camp here because it was a research area, so I worked my way down the canyon to find an difficult, but not impossible, place to slide down to the Toutle.  I crossed it without too much drama and found a place to work up the other side.  I sat and wept.  I wondered how bad the other canyons were as I had no more time than the weekend to get around this damn thing.  It had taken me three hours and I have only come seven miles.  I was not even remotely tired, but I knew better than to try any distance on the Loowit at night.  I tried to gather some water, but only got a bag full of sand, grit, and tree debris.  I was officially out of water, no place to camp and sad.  I hopped back over the Toutle and made my way back from where I started.

I climbed back around a minor ridge and back down just above the swamp area.  I knew there was fresh water and treated some after gulping down a quick taste of the local flora.  Trail magic was something I learned on the PCT.  That is what it was as just after the creek, I glanced to the right of the trail and gazed upon the most beautiful camp site I have ever seen.  Maybe it was just that the sun was getting low and the timing and all, but it was a nice site nonetheless.

The site sported a fire ring, large logs to lean up against, a large slice of log for a table and nice soft duff for me to sleep upon.  I set up camp quickly as I only brought my bivy sack before taking a couple pulls of rum while writing in my journal.  A small fire kept me company while I cooked up some dinner.  This really was an exquisite camp as a small breeze from high above the mountain blew through camp slowly, but constantly giving me a bug-free site despite water being a mere 20 feet away.  Sleeping in the open, without a tent, gives you a sense of drifting to sleep rather than falling.  The stars reminded me of the name of a friend nearly a thousand miles away.  They were bright, like she is, as I prayed she was better now than the last time I had talked to her.

I opened my sleepy eyes in the cool morning air just to glance at the time.  Six was way too early to get up when you have nothing to do, so, I went back to sleep until eight.  Being deep in the woods helps keep the sun away until you are ready to get up, unlike at home.  I figured I slept enough and forced myself out of my cocoon to get an early start before the bugs were out.  Thank goodness there was a fat toad in camp, just next to my head, to keep the bugs at bay.

I packed up in literally 10 minutes and was on the trial.  My before-the-bugs-are-out start was futile as they buzzed around me, landing on my pants and shirts.  Some were the largest mosquitoes I have never seen, trying desperately to pierce my clothing.  Once out in the open, I was treated to a bug-free breeze allowing me the time to gaze at my failure; my past, my present, and my unwritten future.

The walk back was easy after peaking out at Huckleberry Saddle.  The views were extensive that only a beautiful day like this could provide.

I stopped, but not for long as the bugs zeroed in on me in seconds.  This was the camp where I passed a young boy and his dad on my way up.  This is the time that mattered; the here, the now.  If I had one more day, I could have made it.  Maybe I could have made it in the weekend.  Maybe the east side is not as bad as I hear.  Maybe the Muddy River Canyon is not that tore up.  I suppose I will never know.  The Forest Service says the route is un-hikable, but I don't think as the norm do.  All I hear is there is another challenge proposed to me.  There is another chance to benchmark a time in my life.  There is another opportunity to see more of who I really am. 

                                                                                                                                                  — Primo Levi

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