Here's some 2017 summertime rehash. Get yourself a cup of coffee...
 |
| Harry Blast spent the weekend sandwiched by two hunks of meat. |
On July 9th, we arrived at the trailhead in the late afternoon. We had ample time to ride up to a plateau on the mountain called the Plains of Abraham. It was there we would camp and catch the sunset before the full moon. I was excited for our journey up trail because it would be the first time seeing Mount St. Helens in the daylight. It would also be the first time sleeping on the volcano and having a morning cup of coffee in her presence. I had done the ride before but under much different conditions.
My previous ride on Mount St. Helens was a few years back, at night, with a former bike shop co-worker I’ll call “Yeah Yeah”. Yeah Yeah was (and I imagine still is) an enthusiastic young man from Spokane, Washington. Whenever he was asked a question, or addressed in any way, his usual reply was a rapid, staccato blast of “Oh, yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah!” The intonation coloring his response keyed you into his feelings.
“Hey Yeah Yeah, you wanna ride bikes tonight?”
“Oh, yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah!” (said with a bright, high lilt)
“Hey Yeah Yeah, can you remember to show up to work on time?”
“Oh, yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah…” (said with diminishing volume and drifting attention)
As you can imagine, Yeah Yeah, as with many young men in their very early twenties, had certain priorities. His priorities nearly guaranteed that I could have a riding partner any day or hour of the week if I wanted. The only limitation was my tolerance for Yeah Yeah’s often reckless behavior and unencumbered levels of energy. It took a great deal of courage and stamina to keep up with the kid. Usually I lacked one or both of those attributes. Choosing to ride with Yeah Yeah was a careful measure between adventure and survival. If the scales tipped too far into survival I turned down his offers. Self-preservation often overruled my desire for adventure. A friend, who knew Yeah Yeah and rode with him a lot, aptly summarized my own thoughts about interacting with the kid: “I survived my twenties, I don’t need to survive his as well.”
Despite my usual hesitations, riding Helens at night with Yeah Yeah measured safely enough on the the adventure scale, and we headed out after work on a summer evening to ride the mountain in the dark. After a series of scatterbrain setbacks and a general “what’s the hurry” attitude we got to the trailhead around 10 pm. After forty-five minutes or so of chaotic bag stuffing and pre-ride beer drinking, we started out towards Spirit Lake. Out and back, it was around twenty-seven miles of challenging terrain. We wanted to do this in one evening, after a full day of work and starting around my usual bedtime.
At well past midnight, we arrived at Spirit Lake. I was exhausted and craving a place to curl up and fall asleep. Yeah Yeah, bursting with motivation, wanted to keep riding down the trail to some unknown destination.
“Yeah Yeah!” I shouted down the trail into inky darkness. No response.
“YEAH YEAH!” I shouted, shredding my throat.
Despite my usual hesitations, riding Helens at night with Yeah Yeah measured safely enough on the the adventure scale, and we headed out after work on a summer evening to ride the mountain in the dark. After a series of scatterbrain setbacks and a general “what’s the hurry” attitude we got to the trailhead around 10 pm. After forty-five minutes or so of chaotic bag stuffing and pre-ride beer drinking, we started out towards Spirit Lake. Out and back, it was around twenty-seven miles of challenging terrain. We wanted to do this in one evening, after a full day of work and starting around my usual bedtime.
At well past midnight, we arrived at Spirit Lake. I was exhausted and craving a place to curl up and fall asleep. Yeah Yeah, bursting with motivation, wanted to keep riding down the trail to some unknown destination.
“Yeah Yeah!” I shouted down the trail into inky darkness. No response.
“YEAH YEAH!” I shouted, shredding my throat.
“Yeah? What’s up?” his distant shout chirped back.
“I’m done. Tired. I’m not going any further.”
Yeah Yeah pedaled back to where I had stubbornly anchored into the trail.
“What? What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m not going any further down this trail. I’m sitting my ass right here and resting. We still have to pedal back to the car!”
“But-- let’s just go a little further, around the corner.”
“You can-- I’m not.”
“But--”
“No.”
“Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah…” he muttered.
“I’m done. Tired. I’m not going any further.”
Yeah Yeah pedaled back to where I had stubbornly anchored into the trail.
“What? What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m not going any further down this trail. I’m sitting my ass right here and resting. We still have to pedal back to the car!”
“But-- let’s just go a little further, around the corner.”
“You can-- I’m not.”
“But--”
“No.”
“Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah…” he muttered.
We rested for a bit and then started the long journey back. We arrived back at the car around 3 in the morning. I laid my sleeping mat and bag on the asphalt. Knowing that we had to wake up by seven-thirty in order to get to work on time, I fell into a shallow and restless sleep.
But that was my trip with Yeah Yeah, and the ride with Montana and Harry was shaping up to be a relaxed journey with nowhere to be the following day. We piled our overnight gear on the bikes and on our backs and headed up Ape Canyon, toward the Plains of Abraham. On the way up, I soon realized how much I had missed riding the trail in the dark. The forest was dominated by large Douglas Fir draped in green moss. Some trees had branches the size of smaller trees staggering up their trunks. The understory was lush with ferns and Oregon grape and dotted with orange tiger lilies. Other white and blue flowers speckled the steep slopes of the forest.
We climbed the ribbon of dirt and duff through the woods, stopping along the way to admire the massive trees, or to sneak a view of Mount Adams or the ridges surrounding Helens. Eventually, we emerged from the forest and into the open, windy stretches of the mountain. We were immediately treated to a stellar view of Mount Adams to the east, with the softening evening light painting its flanks. We continued up the trail which had now turned from nicely packed forest soil into loose pumice and ash. Above the trees, the forces of erosion upon the mountain were strikingly apparent. Water had carved deep chasms into the layers of volcanic rock and sediment creating a dramatic network of seasonal veins. Some of the stream beds still contained water, most were dry.
Once we reached the plateau of the Plains we saw dark clouds traveling along the north side of the mountain heading eastward. The winds were strong enough to deter the desire to camp in the open. Harry led us to a couple of good camping spots near a viewpoint, but they were occupied by other people also there for the full moon. We lingered at the viewpoint, enjoying the view of Adams settling into gold, pink and purple before we took to the task of finding a campsite. After a bit of exploring, we settled upon a high shelf in a drainage that Montana had noticed. It didn’t have the stunning overlook of Adams like the other spot, but it instead provided us an up-close view of Helens.
We climbed the ribbon of dirt and duff through the woods, stopping along the way to admire the massive trees, or to sneak a view of Mount Adams or the ridges surrounding Helens. Eventually, we emerged from the forest and into the open, windy stretches of the mountain. We were immediately treated to a stellar view of Mount Adams to the east, with the softening evening light painting its flanks. We continued up the trail which had now turned from nicely packed forest soil into loose pumice and ash. Above the trees, the forces of erosion upon the mountain were strikingly apparent. Water had carved deep chasms into the layers of volcanic rock and sediment creating a dramatic network of seasonal veins. Some of the stream beds still contained water, most were dry.
 |
| Riding Mount St. Helens |
Once we reached the plateau of the Plains we saw dark clouds traveling along the north side of the mountain heading eastward. The winds were strong enough to deter the desire to camp in the open. Harry led us to a couple of good camping spots near a viewpoint, but they were occupied by other people also there for the full moon. We lingered at the viewpoint, enjoying the view of Adams settling into gold, pink and purple before we took to the task of finding a campsite. After a bit of exploring, we settled upon a high shelf in a drainage that Montana had noticed. It didn’t have the stunning overlook of Adams like the other spot, but it instead provided us an up-close view of Helens.
We set up our beds and ate dinner as we watched the planets and stars slowly make appearances in the sky and waited for the moon to rise. We were nicely sheltered in our spot, and as the sun disappeared, the wind began to die down settling the temperature into a comfortable range. We walked out of the drainage at dark after witnessing slight flickers of moonlight spread over Mount St Helens. The moon was obscured by patches of clouds moving across the horizon. Once the moon broke through the cloud cover, it beamed its soft yellow light over the wrinkled landscape. The ash and pumice and drooping lobes of the glaciers glowed against darkening sky. As we stood in the stillness, we heard the haunting bellows of elk echoing in the distance. Harry and I pulled out our cameras and tripods, Montana pulled out his beer and cigarettes. We walked around and chatted and took some pictures. After a while, the long day started catching up to me, and I needed to rest. We all headed back to our beds, and I curled up in my bivy and fell into a deep sleep.
Sometime during the night the need to pee stirred me awake, and I woke up to bright light in my eyes. I couldn’t believe that we had slept in so late and that it was already morning. My eyes adjusted to the light, and I saw it was just the moon spotlighting my face. I crawled out of bed and found a good solid spot to take a leak. The air was moist and warm and soothed my lungs. I lingered in the quiet a bit longer before I slowly walked to bed, slid into my bivy and was lulled back to sleep by the glowing mountain.
Morning finally came and Helens was radiant. Wispy clouds swirled around the crown of the mountain and then slipped away, leaving the shattered summit unobscured. I lazily took a picture from my bed, then drifted back into a light sleep. I heard Harry get up, gather some things and head out of camp. I figured he had left to take pictures. I eventually rose out of bed to follow suit.
Clouds had moved into the area overnight. Mount Adams was no longer visible, and the sun made only brief, warming appearances in the cloud gaps. As I wandered the Plains and its gray, undulating terrain, I noticed that it was anything but desolate. Delicate trees clung to the loose soils with tenacious, exposed roots. Patches of alpine shrubs were slowly thatching their way across the land. Dots of indigo and red flowers popped from the monochrome. Life was creeping its way back.
The call of morning coffee led Harry and I back to camp. We dug out our camp stoves and began making coffee and breakfast. Montana, resisting the early wake up, stayed hidden in his sleeping bag until we made enough racket to stir him out of bed for breakfast. Helens was clouding over, and the direct sun was becoming less frequent. The wind was picking up, but the temperature remained brisk and pleasant. After breakfast, we packed up camp and stashed the majority of our gear in a nook of the drainage. We didn’t want to carry more than we needed on our ride to Spirit Lake and back.
The first leg of our ride was through the Plains of Abraham. Our progress was slow due to the loose surface and a persistent headwind. As we climbed higher, out of the Plains and towards Windy Ridge, we tucked into a series of sheltered drainages that exploded with red, purple, blue, yellow and orange. Around each corner more and more flowers populated the hillsides. At one point in the trail, the sweet fragrance of the vegetation stunned my senses. I drew huge, gulping breaths attempting to capture the aroma deep into my lungs.
 |
| Montana under the full moon |
 |
| Helens at night |
Sometime during the night the need to pee stirred me awake, and I woke up to bright light in my eyes. I couldn’t believe that we had slept in so late and that it was already morning. My eyes adjusted to the light, and I saw it was just the moon spotlighting my face. I crawled out of bed and found a good solid spot to take a leak. The air was moist and warm and soothed my lungs. I lingered in the quiet a bit longer before I slowly walked to bed, slid into my bivy and was lulled back to sleep by the glowing mountain.
Morning finally came and Helens was radiant. Wispy clouds swirled around the crown of the mountain and then slipped away, leaving the shattered summit unobscured. I lazily took a picture from my bed, then drifted back into a light sleep. I heard Harry get up, gather some things and head out of camp. I figured he had left to take pictures. I eventually rose out of bed to follow suit.
 |
| Helens at sunrise |
Clouds had moved into the area overnight. Mount Adams was no longer visible, and the sun made only brief, warming appearances in the cloud gaps. As I wandered the Plains and its gray, undulating terrain, I noticed that it was anything but desolate. Delicate trees clung to the loose soils with tenacious, exposed roots. Patches of alpine shrubs were slowly thatching their way across the land. Dots of indigo and red flowers popped from the monochrome. Life was creeping its way back.
The call of morning coffee led Harry and I back to camp. We dug out our camp stoves and began making coffee and breakfast. Montana, resisting the early wake up, stayed hidden in his sleeping bag until we made enough racket to stir him out of bed for breakfast. Helens was clouding over, and the direct sun was becoming less frequent. The wind was picking up, but the temperature remained brisk and pleasant. After breakfast, we packed up camp and stashed the majority of our gear in a nook of the drainage. We didn’t want to carry more than we needed on our ride to Spirit Lake and back.
The first leg of our ride was through the Plains of Abraham. Our progress was slow due to the loose surface and a persistent headwind. As we climbed higher, out of the Plains and towards Windy Ridge, we tucked into a series of sheltered drainages that exploded with red, purple, blue, yellow and orange. Around each corner more and more flowers populated the hillsides. At one point in the trail, the sweet fragrance of the vegetation stunned my senses. I drew huge, gulping breaths attempting to capture the aroma deep into my lungs.
Out of the drainages and on Windy Ridge, the wind picked up and the scenery shifted dramatically. The open wound of the crater was visible and the spread of the forks of powdery rivers was immense. Even though it was apparent that life was regenerating from the eruption, the land remained stark and desolate. The greenery that edged the blast hinted of a landscape that once existed.
We pointed our bikes down the loose knife edge of Windy Ridge. The wind was stiff enough to cause my wheels to shimmy and I cautioned from being too reckless. The wonderfully colored wildflowers carpeting the sides of the ridge triggered my mind to race between focused piloting and distracted admiration. When I had ridden this section with Yeah Yeah in the dark, the narrow beam of our night lights hid the steep drop off that lined either side of the trail. The daylight made it all very apparent. Once off the ridge and looking back, I was shocked to see how long and steep the fall would be if one were to blow off the edge. Fortunately, the trail, though on a narrow ridge, was suitably wide (mostly) and pretty safe. I probably wouldn’t have ridden it if the winds were of Patagonian strength.
After Windy Ridge, a dirt road took us the rest of the way to Spirit Lake. The parking lot at the lake was empty, signifying that the paved road to the lake was still closed. We ditched our bikes in the lot and walked the short, steep hike to the Spirit Lake lookout. From the lookout we got a panoramic view of the devastation from the eruption. Informational signs pointed out key highlights, such as the massive chunks of mountain top plunged into the distant ground or the hillsides scoured bare from the landslides that plowed down from the summit. It was difficult to imagine the mountain thirteen hundred feet taller. It was even more difficult to visualize something the size of a single, small mountain detonated and scattered around the land before us.
We enjoyed the private serenity of the view a while longer before starting the journey back towards our base camp. Clouds continued to obscure the sun, keeping the temperature ideal for riding. The wind shifted to our backs along the Plains of Abraham, turning what was previously a hard slog into a swift, swooping and exciting ride. Back at our camp, we retrieved our gear, repacked everything and began our descent back to the car. Very few people were out on the mountain, and the trail down Ape Canyon was mostly vacant, making it a wonderful cruising descent all the way to the van.
It was early afternoon by the time we had finished the ride. We had plenty of time to get back to Portland’s rush hour and sit in its wonderfully antagonistic traffic. Back in town, Harry headed home dreaming of large hamburgers and cold beer. Montana, the poor man, had to continue his journey back home to Salem during rush hour traffic. We said our farewells, and I rode home where I spent the rest of the day relaxed and in lifted spirits, dreaming of Mount St. Helens.
My thanks to Harry and Montana for a wonderful time on the mountain and for making it happen-- a person couldn’t ask for better company on such a journey.
 |
| On Windy Ridge |
After Windy Ridge, a dirt road took us the rest of the way to Spirit Lake. The parking lot at the lake was empty, signifying that the paved road to the lake was still closed. We ditched our bikes in the lot and walked the short, steep hike to the Spirit Lake lookout. From the lookout we got a panoramic view of the devastation from the eruption. Informational signs pointed out key highlights, such as the massive chunks of mountain top plunged into the distant ground or the hillsides scoured bare from the landslides that plowed down from the summit. It was difficult to imagine the mountain thirteen hundred feet taller. It was even more difficult to visualize something the size of a single, small mountain detonated and scattered around the land before us.
 |
| At the Spirit Lake Overlook |
We enjoyed the private serenity of the view a while longer before starting the journey back towards our base camp. Clouds continued to obscure the sun, keeping the temperature ideal for riding. The wind shifted to our backs along the Plains of Abraham, turning what was previously a hard slog into a swift, swooping and exciting ride. Back at our camp, we retrieved our gear, repacked everything and began our descent back to the car. Very few people were out on the mountain, and the trail down Ape Canyon was mostly vacant, making it a wonderful cruising descent all the way to the van.
It was early afternoon by the time we had finished the ride. We had plenty of time to get back to Portland’s rush hour and sit in its wonderfully antagonistic traffic. Back in town, Harry headed home dreaming of large hamburgers and cold beer. Montana, the poor man, had to continue his journey back home to Salem during rush hour traffic. We said our farewells, and I rode home where I spent the rest of the day relaxed and in lifted spirits, dreaming of Mount St. Helens.
My thanks to Harry and Montana for a wonderful time on the mountain and for making it happen-- a person couldn’t ask for better company on such a journey.
