A Trip to the Top of Mount Saint Helens

Prologue

What makes someone stare at majestic mountains, and desire to stand on the peaks?  From where does the need come to tax muscle, ligament and bone until they all scream of quitting, only to be pushed further?  For me, the answer emerges from a desire to overcome limits and perceive myself in a manner that allows me to live a richer and fuller life.  Somewhere inside lurks a wild man who enjoys pushing the limit's edge, just to experience the head rush when fear and courage collide.  Maybe I’m a little mad. 

On clear days in Portland, Mount Saint Helens can be seen from several miles. I'd often wonder how it would feel to stand on the summit and look into its craterous remains.  I never considered the possibility of climbing Mt. St. Helens, until a couple of years ago. A friend mentioned his numerous trips to the top, and was planning to summit again that year.  After hearing his story, something stirred in me.  Yes, I would someday stand on the top of that mountain, even though on some level I feared the enormity of the task.

The Start of a Journey…

            My day began at 3AM.  With a checklist firmly in my head, I checked and rechecked my backpack, prayed and hydrated.  This is going to be a good day, coursed through my mind as I readied to meet the rest of the team that would tackle Mt. St. Helens with me.  Our team of roughnecks consisted of four members.  Our team leader was a man named Beau, a 25-year US Army veteran who, upon hearing my desire to climb Mt. St. Helens, immediately signed on to summit.  Next, was another 25-year veteran named Chad who has served with Beau for many of those years.  Together, Chad and Beau participate in a number of ultra-sport activities throughout the year.  The third member of the team was Joe.  If there is a man to admire for his diehard grit and never say quit attitude, then it’s Joe.  Joe is a 10-year Army veteran and calls himself the “walking wounded.” I didn't know at the time; Joe came even though he had a fracture in one of his legs.  What tenacity!  Of course, I was the last member of the team.

            A trip to the summit of Mt. St. Helens can be divided into 3 portions: the tree line (Climbers Bivouac), the boulder field (Monitor Ridge), and the ash field.  The team left Climbers Bivouac, the start of the trail, at 8AM.  Our spirits were high and laughter filled the air, as we quickly moved along the trail.  We stopped a few times for pictures, to hydrate, and consume trail mix and beef jerky.  The Climbers Bivouac trail is roughly 2 miles long before the 2^nd potion of the climb begins.  As the foliage cleared, what lay ahead of us was a monstrous boulder field called Monitor Ridge. 

The Boulder Field

            Monitor Ridge, a.k.a. the boulder field, gets its name from a solar powered seismograph located at 7000 feet on the mountain.  Mt. St. Helens is still an active volcano.  The ridge doesn’t require any technical climbing gear like ropes or special shoes, but it’s incredibly physical. The rocks that make up Monitor Ridge used to form the top of the mountain, many being the size of small cars and mini-vans. 

Once on the ridge, almost immediately the team splintered into two groups.  Beau and Chad moved ahead quickly, while Joe and I brought up the rear as we began the ascent.  The ridge trail is only marked by long wooden stakes that protrude from strategic spots, and is flanked by glaciers on either side of it, like a Mohawk.  At some point, I became separated from the team by being on one side of the ridge while they were on the other side and farther ahead.  Climbing the boulder field takes a lot of time, because the ridge can itself be divided into 3 portions: ‘wow,’ ‘where’s the escalator,’ and ‘almost there.’  Just when you think that you’re ‘almost there,’ you aren’t and have to keep going.  Imagine having to crawl on your hands and feet for 2 miles, while simultaneously being harassed by an enormous bubble bee.

The Tale of the Bee

`           On any trail, interactions with flies and other insects are part of being in ‘the outdoors.’  On this day, an insect that I now affectionately call Buddy was an interaction of a different kind.  The first time that Buddy appeared, he announced himself with that annoying sound you get when you’ve been buzzed at close proximity.  Just as the team cleared the tree line onto the ridge, Buddy, a bee the size of my thumb, appeared--only to harass me.

            Many times on the ridge I’d pause to rest and admire many of the wonderful views of the valley.  Any time that I took too long of a pause, Buddy would appear and do a head fly-by just to let me know that he was still around.  The first two times that he appeared, I wielded one of my trek poles like a samurai sword, lunging and parrying at something no one else seemed to see.  After a third appearance I began to understand Buddy's purpose.  I began to see Buddy more like a motivational speaker.  He was the Tony Robbins of the insect world screaming, “Get up and moooove, before I sting your azzzz!”  So, I’d move. 

The dance of ‘pause too long and get buzzed’ between Buddy and me continued for hours.  But, once the team entered the ash field portion of the climb (above 8000 feet), Buddy disappeared.  I never saw Buddy again.  I guess he knew that his job was done, and moved on to harass someone else.  Later, I asked other team members if anyone else was bothered by such a bee, and they all answered no.  Buddy, if you’re still out there, thanks for the push, pal.

I Came to Summit

            Once we were passed Monitor Ridge, the team arrived at an area thick with volcanic ash, which had the consistency of very coarse sand.  There’s no vegetation or shade in the ash field.  It was a place where all my remaining energy and strength was sapped out of me.  For every three steps forward that I took, I lost two.  1-2-3, slide.  1-2-3, slide.  My progress was slow but steady.  1-2-3, slide.

            At some point, the rest of the team took serious note of my slow progress, and offered me an out.  “There’s no shame in saying enough,” I was told, “it’s OK.  We just want to get there and back safely.  Don’t kill yourself in the process.”  I paused for a moment physically wasted, it was hard to breathe above 8000 feet, and to look at a stick that marked the top of the mountain.  I dropped my head and positioned my body toward the stick.  Buddy the bee was a source of determination.  Buddy was now gone, but not determination.

The key to successfully overcoming challenges is to acknowledge that your biggest fears are in the room, smile and greet them with a nod and say hello.  Then, grab them harshly by the throat and dismiss them!  I continued to position myself toward the stick, and then lifted my gaze to my team, shook my head and said, “I came here to summit.  I came to summit.”  My team understood, and with quiet reserve, I trudged on.  1-2-3, slide. 1-2-3, slide…

           Mt. St. Helens isn’t the tallest mountain in the world nor is its peak the tallest in the Northwest.  However, its height above ground still demands respect.  A healthy dose of respect is what replaced all of my pain and anguish as I crested the top of the mountain.  The view of the world at the top of Mt. St. Helens was breathtaking.  I was flooded with emotions of triumph and thoughts of new possibilities.  Standing there, I out stretched my arms and closed my eyes to feel the afternoon breeze. I had made it!  I had summited Mt. St. Helens on September 6^th 2012 at 5:30PM, 9.5 hours after the start.

Once More into the Breach

            Standing at the top of the mountain meant that the sky was the limit, that I was ready to dream again, refocus my energy and trust my abilities.  I was ready to…ready to… get he heck off the mountain and head home!  While ascending the mountain, my focus was ‘just get to the top.’  As the team moved to descend, my focus shifted to the descent, on an overwhelming desire for a Tropical Blizzard from Dairy Queen, and on getting more water.

            When the team left from Climbers Bivouac, each of us carried at least 3 or more liters of water on our backs.  I personally carried 3 liters in a water bladder and another 20 ounce water bottle in my pack.  My water supply wasn’t enough.  I drank way too often to sustain my supply, even after it was replenished by my team and through the kindness of strangers.  So, when we began the descent, I was completely out of water.  It’s every hiker’s nightmare scenario.

           

Lights Out

            The team moved away from the summit very fast, kicking up a lot of ash in our wake.  It only took 20 minutes to cover a distance that earlier took 2 hours.  For a moment, we thought that we’d be back at Climbers Bivouac before nightfall—that would not be.  If there is a clear view of the horizon, there is a trick to determining how much daylight remains.  Find the horizon and place your right hand, palm facing you and tucking your thumb, so the bottom edge (i.e. your pinky) is parallel with the horizon. Now in a stacking motion, move your hand up until it’s under the sun.  Each finger represents 15 minutes, so if you’re able to stack your hand 3 times under the sun, then there are 3 hours of sunlight left in the day.

            By 6 PM, we were the only hikers present on Mt. St. Helens.  For a second time, I became separated from the group and found myself completely alone on one side of the ridge.  I called out to my team several times, but heard nothing.  I'm not one to panic during the worst of times; this wasn’t an exception.  I found myself closer to one of the glaciers that remain on the mountain as the descent of the rocks continued.  Working quickly, I grabbed a rock and scraped away about 3 inches of dirty ice.  Next, I cutout a large chunk of ice and with shaking fingers, shoved it into my mouth.  At that moment, nothing ever tasted so good.  I had to imagine that it was cherry flavored snow, while spitting out small bits of rock.  Somewhat hydrated, I got up and continued on.  Eventually, Chad popped up atop some rocks, looking for me.  Together we made our way back to the rest of the team and continued our descent.

            Roughly 3 hours of sunlight remained, and the team was confidant that time was on our side.  However, later it became clear by our position on the ridge that we would lose the sun.  The sky exploded with streaks of red and orange light, and one-by-one the stars winked into view when the sun slowly dipped below the horizon. We paused briefly to put on our headlamps, looked in the direction of home, and continued moving.

            Joe was instrumental in helping me get safely off Monitor Ridge that night.  To descend the ridge on a moonless night heightened the risk of injury.  I had tripped and fallen more than nine times that night, and one of those times resulted in a twisted an ankle.  Earlier, Joe made comment that I hadn’t been very smart in how quickly and recklessly I moved down the ridge.  I listened to him because he was right.  However eager I was to get home, I had to do it safely.  I hadn’t known that Joe started our hike with a fracture in one of his legs, and eventually twisted both his ankles during the ascent.  Joe never complained about his injuries, and he managed to ascend and descend the mountain with enviable speed.  Finally after several hours, the team arrived back at the tree line.  Now, only two miles stood between the team and the parking lot.

Was that a Cougar?

            Once we relocated the trail that would lead us back to Climbers Bivouac, Beau and Joe paired up and entered the forest.  Since I was still moving slow, Chad stayed with me and illuminated obstacles and trip hazards with his light.  When a person is physically fresh and strong, two miles is a simple distance to travel.  With extreme fatigue, muscle strain, and blisters, two miles seemed to never end.  At night in the woods, there was also another hazard to consider—animals that roam the darkness in search of prey.

            Make no mistake; the animals that roam a national park are wild.  Few animals are more wild and vicious than a cougar or mountain lion.  Sometimes weighing in at over 400 pounds and measuring 8 feet in length, these animals are an impressive and scary sight.  Though sightings are rare, one of these animals have been spotted in the Mt St Helens National Forest.

            Knowing that the big cats were nocturnal hunters, it was important to remain vigilant of both their presence and poop droppings.  Every few steps I’d turn to cast light onto the trail that lay behind.  The idea was to bounce the light of my headlamp off the predator’s eyes, causing him to stop in his tracks.  In those moments, I knew that I couldn’t out run anything, so I was prepared to use my trek poles as weapons if necessary.  Ultimately, I would’ve lost a fight with a mountain lion or cougar; however, I refused to be an easy meal.

            I don’t know how many times I stopped to peer behind me. Our arrival back to the parking lot marked the end of the trail, the end of the climb, and the end to any potential threat of becoming a main course.  It was 2 AM, 18 hours from the time that the team started toward the summit of Mt. St. Helens, and it was over.

Epilogue

            At 3:30AM, I finally arrived home.  It had been  24 hours since I had slept.  I was beat up but not broken.  There were blisters on the tips of 8 toes, blisters under 4 toenails that looked like black toenails, and a very large blood blister on the sole of my right foot.  The only parts of my body that didn’t ache were my knees and back.  The 4 toenails that appeared blackened, I removed using a pair of needle nose pliers.  The remaining blisters had to be lanced with an alcohol soaked needle.  Yet, even as I worked on rehabilitating my feet and sore muscles, I couldn’t stop making plans for my next mountain expedition: Mount Hood.