 Dear mom and dad, camp is fun. I wanted to climb the mountain, but everyone says I'm not old enough yet. Can I come back next year and do it by Nick? Mount St. Helens, a 9,677-foot sleeping volcano nestled in the wild abundance of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest in Southwest Washington. On March 20, 1980, Mount St. Helens began to show tell-tale signs that her slumber was ending. After the last great ice age had retreated northward, the Cascades were already well-established, running from Northern California through Oregon, Washington, and into Canada. But there was one peak amongst them that was not so well-established. Compared to the rest, she was a teenage mountain, and like most teens, had growing pains. St. Helens is known to have erupted numerous times in the past. In the early and mid-1800s, she erupted again. Its small wonder local Native Americans in a variety of tribal languages called this peak basically the same thing. Fire Mountain. The view from the summit of Mount St. Helens was breathtaking. Below lay Spirit Lake. In the distance, an older peak, Mount Rainier. The lake was a haven for recreational activities and youth camps, the YMCA's Camp Mehan being the first. Thousands of youngsters flocked to the lake over the years, learning how to row a boat even when the oar locks wouldn't stay put. Sailing a wind that seemed to rise from the blue-green depths of the lake itself. Always discovering new friends, the diamond encrusted night skies, and how to cook an egg on a stick. There were national forest campgrounds on the lake too, Bear Cove, Cedar Creek, Donnybrook. And beyond them stretched the forest, a living museum for the curious. A place as close to heaven as one could get. At trail's end there were places that were like living in a postcard world. In the winter of 1979, changes were taking place deep beneath the mountain's serene exterior. On March 20th, 1980, a moderate earthquake beneath the mountain registered 4.1 on the rector scale and was the first sign of an eruptive phase. Swarms of quakes followed until March 27th. A concern for public safety prompted the closure of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. What scientists had anticipated, the eruption of Mount St. Helens before the end of this century had begun. The mountain had a newly opened crater measuring about 250 feet in diameter. The earthquakes continued. Forest service and cooperating scientists went right to work, ringing the mountain with an array of gadgets, hoping to document even the slightest twinge. The Forest Service ordered immediate evacuation of its own nearby ranger stations, such as this one on Pine Creek on the southeastern flank of the mountain. They also strongly urged others having homes, lodges, or camps near the mountain to do the same. On the morning of March 29th, a second crater was observed, which had opened during the night. The new crater measured 75 feet wide and 30 to 60 feet deep. On March 31st, explosive eruptions continued and the two craters merged. For the next several days, the mountain continued to spew ash and steam. Then, eruptive activity decreased. However, a bulge noticed earlier on the north-northeast flank of the mountain near Goat Rocks was found to be moving north-northwest at about five feet a day. Scientist David Johnston expressed the opinions of the U.S. Geological Survey. They would later prove incredibly accurate. In the initial phases, we'd see probably very large eruptions that would extend high into the air. This would spread ash over large areas in western Washington, maybe possibly in an extreme case, even farther east. In the near-near flanks of the volcano, there would be more damage done by possibly hot avalanches, power-clastic flows. Farther downstream, we could see mud flows and floods. Because this is such a symmetrical volcano and because the crater is so high, if there's an explosion, it's probable that the debris, the very hot incandescent ash, would come down, could come down all sides. But right now, there's a very great hazard due to the fact that the glacier is breaking up on this side of the volcano, on the north side. And that could produce a very large avalanche hazard. In the meantime, the Chief of the Forest Service declared part of the land around the mountain a geological area to help protect the unique features. The Forest Service and the U.S. Geological Survey were taking the mountains seriously, as did the Spirit Lake Youth Camp Operators, who coordinated their efforts and along with a donated helicopter and a large refuse bin, began hauling out. Well, the tourists come to see her smoke and they all think it's one big joke. That mountain's just a molehill in disguise. But when that lava starts to ooze, they'll be running the heels off their shoes. Heck, we just thought she was over publicized. But the effects of Johnston's words were lost on most people, who were more interested in Mount St. Helens as just another roadside attraction. It's good that a rocket's gonna roll. It's gonna leave a nasty hole. It'll be too late to find a place too high. Far as we know, it was just a joke. Well, not really a joke, I guess, but it could last 100 years. We're gonna stay till the rocks start falling, I guess. You don't mind working in the shadow of the mountain, then? No, not at all. Be scared of it. The more dangerous one of them trees is falling on the back side, and there is a mountain of the exploding. For 83-year-old Harry Truman, operator of St. Helens Lodge, nothing was about to move him from the shadow of his beloved mountain. Harry wants to stay, and he's not gonna leave, so all that. And he's thanked us for our concern for coming. It's definitely a mistake. Somebody done it to cause trouble for me and the law and everybody else. That's my life. Spirit Lake and Mount St. Helens is my life. Folks, I've lived there 50 years. It's a part of me. That mountain and that lake is a part of Truman, and I'm a part of it. The pressure was building, but Harry wouldn't budge. The morning of May 18th, 1980. It was like any other Sunday morning for a Forest Service tree-planting crew on the lower southern flank of the mountain. Until 8.32 a.m., it seemed to happen in an instant. A cubic mile, tons of ash, rock, and ice were rocketed into the stratosphere. The cloud reached nearly 14 miles into the sky. The view was spectacular, but the wind was blowing in a north-easterly direction. And from that point of view, the cloud seemed like the end of the world. The skies grew dark, and at noon it was pitch black in most of eastern Washington. Everyone to not panic. If you want to start getting out some water supplies now- Life in the ash storm came to a pretty halt. The southern road is closed from here any further east. Okay. This as far east as you can go. Those who could move, however, moved quickly. The 304th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron from the Portland Air Base was called in to find geologist David Johnston, who was manning a scientific lookout above Coldwater Creek, six miles northwest of the mountain. He was never found. Where's Spirit Lake? Is that it over there? I can't believe I camped up in this area. Doesn't look like any place I've ever been before. As most of you already know, we had a major eruption occurring at 8.32 approximately this morning on Mount St. Helens. The first report that we actually got about the eruption was from a Forest Service personnel that were administering a tree planting contract and they reported over the radio to us that an eruption was occurring and it seemed to be about a hundred times greater than one that we've ever had in the past. It does appear that the northwest flank of the mountain seems to be gone. They have indicated that there have been some mud flows that come down the southeast flank of the mountain. emergency procedures have been put into effect at 10.15 this morning and Calets County reported that a 12-foot wall of water was coming down the Tudor River and it was verified by the Washington State Patrol. The largest rescue mission in the history of the northwest was soon underway. What's on the left now? Good. What do we have with that? Is that the one over there? Military helicopter units and other rescue squads joined the effort, coordinated by the county sheriff departments. By the end of the rescue operations, which lasted two weeks, more than 170 people were brought to safety. But in the final count, 61 were dead or missing. Roader wash from the helicopters kicked up great clouds of ash, making rescue difficult. In many places it was impossible to land. Rescuers were lowered by cable to assist survivors who were then reeled to safety. Tons of ice and snow melted by the intense heat of the raging volcano mixed with the ash and began rampaging down the flanks of the volcano. One mud flow reached Swift Reservoir, about 10 miles to the south. But it was the debris-laden walls of water which tore down the north fork of the Tudor River that proved most spectacular and devastating. There is a punch line. What's going on down the mountain right now? After wiping out an entire logging camp, the deluge raged on. In a matter of hours this river of destruction searched under the Tudor River bridge on Interstate 5, closing the main arterial between Portland and Seattle. Entire forests and logs hundreds of years old roared past stunned onlookers. From the Tudor to the Cowlitz to the Columbia River, first attempts at clearing the debris became exercises in futility. For the first time in decades, the lower Columbia River was closed to freighter traffic. The raging torrent had left its mark. In a matter of hours the winds carried the growing ash plume over Idaho and Montana. A month later the plume had circled the entire earth. In the wake of the plume, ash was everywhere. In some places the price of a surgical mask quadrupled. Ash doesn't melt. Water turns it into a thick, grimy substance like wet cement. It's as back-breaking a job as moving a mountain should be. When the skies finally cleared, Gifford Pinchot National Forest Personnel began the sad task of assessing the damage. Acres upon acres of prime timber flattened. Bridges, roads, campgrounds, trails, all obliterated, buried, destroyed. Spirit Lake was a steaming quagmire of debris. The entire north flank of the mountain was gone and proved the key to understanding exactly what had occurred on the morning of May 18th. The initial event was a major earthquake. A devastating lateral explosion followed, destroying nearly every living thing in its path, including Harry Truman. The initial force of the eruption had been across the land, instead of blasting skyward. Now the mountain, which lost most of its summit, is topped by a gaping, horseshoe-shaped crater nearly two miles long and one mile wide. The perilous vantage point of a still photographer and the actual recorded voice of an eyewitness with a two-way radio bring the tremendous force of the May 18th eruption into chilling focus. Photographer Gary Rosenquist barely escaped. Radio operator Jerry Martin did not. A recovery and planning team undertook an immediate survey of the area and began one of the most intensive planning efforts in the history of the Forest Service. Their preferred plan called for extensive protection of this window into the earth's building process while recovering a portion of the downed timber and rehabilitating the land. Although at much lesser intensity, the mountain erupted five more times during 1980. This eruption, on July 22nd, was photographed on time-lapse by amateur photographer Jerry Whittaker of Woodland, Washington. Meanwhile, a watchful eye is kept on the steamy crater and surrounding area. Some say the mountain shows signs of going back to sleep. Others say, that's not likely, yet. But the fact is, no one knows for sure, and so the vigil continues. Geological survey scientists visit the crater and surrounding area as frequently as conditions permit. Rock samples are collected. Distances between established points are measured electronically to detect any swelling or deflation of the volcano. Forest Service and University scientists continue to monitor how plant and animal life are recovering. Volcanoes are secretive and unpredictable things. St. Helens could stay active for a week, a decade, longer. But sooner or later, by one manner or another, she will change again. That's the way it is with volcanoes. To be sure, much will happen in the meantime. Trees and huckleberries and wild animals will return to the mountain's flanks. Spirit Lake will become clear and blue-green again. Gurgling streams will again be favorite haunts of the trout and the fishermen. But for now, we have a landscape in transition. A rare opportunity to learn from the earth what the earth is made of, why it changes, and perhaps even when it will change again. For those who find the loss of a mountain as it once was difficult to bear, there is consolation in a long-range program which will protect the marvel of the area's natural recovery, allowing many generations to replay the instant of destruction, while at the same time being eyewitnesses to the magnificent healing powers of nature.