In 1980, we were living on the farm in Svensen, Oregon. Being in the middle of nowhere, but on a major highway connecting our region to Portland, Oregon (and the rest of the country/world, by extension), a lot of our life was spent traveling up and down U.S. Highway 30.
As the highway rose and fell, there were several places where my dad would occasionally catch a glimpse of Mount Saint Helens in the distance. According to a book I read at the time, she was the second most-perfect volcano in the world (after Mt. Fuji) – and often admired. Sometimes when Dad saw her, she’d even be belching steam or smoke as became common in the spring of 1980.
As she awakened with little earthquakes and ash plumes, we knew she was alive. Scientists congregated on her slopes to learn what they could in the coming weeks, months, years... no one knew how long it would be. One thing was clear, an eruption was coming.
When the bulge began to deform the mountain on the north side, we knew she meant business. The scout camp at Spirit Lake was closed and the public was forbidden access to her slopes. Only the scientists remained. And Harry Truman.
Old Harry Truman lived on the mountain and wouldn’t evacuate. He was “born on the mountain and he’d die on the mountain” he told reporters.
Locally, everyone anticipated the upcoming eruption. After all, the mountain overshadowed many communities along the Columbia including Portland, Vancouver, Longview and the town named after the mountain, St. Helens. Communities on the east side of the mountain also watched warily - probably knowing that despite their greater distance (Yakima is 150 miles east), they would get the brunt of the ash thanks to the prevailing winds.
I wonder how many people took/placed bets on when the mountain would blow? Did anyone win?
May 18, 1980
The day began like any ordinary Sunday for us.
We got up, got ready for church. My dad didn’t attend with us, so we went without him. We probably left home around 9am or shortly thereafter to make sure we were at church in time for Sunday School, which my mother usually helped teach. She also usually played the piano or organ (as the situation warranted.)
That morning, it was drizzly and rainy - very common for the area, so no chance of seeing the drama that was unfolding 100 miles (or so) to the east.
Before we even got to church, my mother took a radio communication from my dad. (They are both ham radio operators.) His brother had called. It was pitch black where they were, near Yakima. The mountain had blown around 8:30 and they were now completely engulfed in the ash plume!
(Image from Flickr - US Geological Survey - used educationally.)
My aunt described it to me a few years ago (35+ years after the event.)
She remembered standing in her kitchen. It was pitch black, but not like night. It was thick… and she could not see across the street. It was simply black and ominous. Even though she knew what had happened, it was scary, especially as she was 7 months pregnant with her eldest child at the time, and would be stuck inside until the ash stopped falling.
After church, we picked up my dad and we drove up to where we could watch the eruption for awhile, across the river from Longview, Washington. We were in no danger, but had the perfect view of an amazing volcanic eruption as the smoke and ask billowed into the sky. I think I remember lightning within the cloud, but I may be remembering other pictures instead.
(Map from Google - used educationally. I put a white star across the river from Longview, very close to where we watched from. Perfect view, but perfectly safe. We were several hundred feet above the river as well. Clatskanie is near the western edge of the map - my home town is just off the map to the west.)
Eruption Aftermath
The next morning, the wind had shifted and brought us some ash in the morning rain. It was like mud, raining over the cars and everything.
We watched the Seattle news stations which covered the eruption extensively. The broadcasts primarily focused on the ash and mud which flowed down the swollen rivers, washing away everything in their paths. At least one report confirmed that old Harry Truman did, indeed, “die on the mountain.” In all, only a handful of deaths were caused by the mountain, largely because the region was well prepared for the disaster. I think almost all the deaths were scientists who gave their last breath to tell us more about explosive type volcanic eruptions.
Most people didn't experience a huge amount of disruption. The ash was collected and sold as souvenirs, or left on the fields to enrich the soil. T-shirts were made and sold saying things like "I survived Mt. St. Helens." (My parents bought a couple.)
In the following months, the rivers were dredged of excess ash which was then added to islands, beaches or made into whole new islands along the shores of the Columbia. (Often then planted with fast-growing trees.)
When we recently visited the Clatskanie area and went to a beach, I realized that it was entirely made of ash, putting a good 100-foot-extension to the beach. As would be expected, it was disconcerting to walk on the ash as it wasn’t as stable as regular ground. Even after 40 years, it’s not any closer to being land.
Will there be another eruption?
Undoubtedly.
I remember reading a newspaper article when I lived in Wisconsin ridiculing the people for rebuilding on Mount Saint Helens. After all, it had just erupted (this was about 12 years later.) I had to comment to people around me that no, this was the best time to rebuild. Volcanoes don't tend to go off all the time. She was likely to be quiet for another 150 years or so... so, get the building in now!
Thing is, Mount Saint Helens isn't even likely to be the next eruption in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon and Washington. There are a number of active (but dormant) volcanoes up and down the backbone of the region.
The reality is, that the people in the Pacific Northwest (and many other places around the world) have come to know and love their volcanoes - and yes give them an amount of respectful caution as well. The mountains are part of the culture, part of life - and occasionally part of death. They are part of the fabric of the land, part of the culture... part of the people.
Beach photo taken with my Pentax K30 in August 2019.
Past issues...
Preschool to Second Grade - Svensen, Oregon (1976-1981)
Svensen Trailer Court , The Best Place for a Child to Grow , The Forming of a Farmer , The Great-Horned Owl
Lori Svensen
author/designer at A'mara Books
photographer/graphic artist for Viking Visual
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