After a long and wonderful visit in Oregon with Matt, Megan, and Tessa, Kip and I found ourselves in the northwest corner of the U.S. as Labor Day weekend was kicking off. Why head home when we were sooo close to the border of Washington State? We pressed on, renting a car and making a beeline for Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument.
We didn’t have a permit to climb the cone, but there are tons of hiking options not requiring a permit. We chose the eight mile out-and-back known as Harry’s Ridge Trail. Harry Randall Truman owned an inn at the edge of Spirit Lake, in the shadow of the volcano. As warning advanced in the days leading up to the eruption in 1980, he refused to leave his piece of paradise on earth, and it became his final resting place on May 18, 1980.
Mount Saint Helens creates its own weather, steam still rising from it, and a cinder cone reforming minute by minute. This is an active volcano. We hiked in her self-created intermittent to steady rain showers and marveled at the profusion of wildflowers reclaiming the hillsides.
Thousands of dead tree trunks of massive proportions clogged the edges of the lake, grim reminders of the concussive force and heat which stripped this place of vegetation and robbed it of light under an enormous ash cloud 36 years ago. As we hiked, the sun did its best to peek through the fog and mist, and it acted as a roving spotlight, drawing our attention to details we otherwise surely would have missed. There was one segment of the trail that hugged a steep hillside, requiring us to sidle carefully past a few hikers heading in the opposite direction.
As we headed back, I ran the last mile or two of the trail in a steadily increasing rain. We lingered outside the Visitor’s Center at the viewpoint, as blue sky tantalized us and threatened to reveal the volcano, only to recede or be shoved back by clouds and fog.
On the way out, in the rearview mirror, we saw our chance, turned around, and gaped at the immensity of the mountain, the crater, and the re-forming cone. An excited young boy and was able to take our picture, and we returned the favor for his family. Success!
After a full day of exploration, we continued on to our Air BNB accommodations for the night. Our hosts were Aussies with Italian names, and they greeted us warmly at the door and welcomed us into their family life, trading stories about the kids as we sat down to spaghetti Bolognese and big glasses of chianti. I was able to diagnose plantar fasciitis for the lady of the house and show her the stretches which would help her heal. We tottered off to bed a mite unsteady, and it wasn’t because of foot pain… The next day, Fabrizio was up and offered breakfast, but we demurred. We wanted to see Mount Rainier National Park.
It was Labor Day. It was crowded. It was totally worth it. We did two short hikes near waterfalls and then hiked about four miles out onto the lower shoulder of the big daddy volcano, which we had been able to see looming over a playground all the way back in Portland. Like Helen, this mountain teased us by draping himself in fog and cloud. I took about a thousand pictures of him, staying alert every second, hoping to catch him unawares, sadly, without success. I rescued a bug from the middle of the trail, and we saw a black bear and her cub at a great distance on a grassy slope, chowing on berries. Many lovely chats with others out enjoying the park on a gorgeous day.
Afterward, we went to Seattle, staying with another nice couple in the Capitol Hill District. We reconnected with Rachel and Edith, whom we had met in 2015 on Bus 2 of the Selma to Montgomery 50th Anniversary March. Edith has two older sisters, Helen and Bea, and it was great to meet these girls, about whom we had heard so much. We all posed with the Jimmy Hendrix statue downtown.
On our last day, Kip and I explored Seattle, taking a ferry ride to Bainbridge Island and exploring the museum there documenting the Japanese Internment camps during World War II. Little did we know then that Trump would be elected, bringing with him the vague but disturbing possibility that we might be doomed to repeat this shameful period of our history, this time directed at Muslims. RESIST.
Stepping off the ferry, we explored the Pike Place Market down on the wharves, but it was overrun with tourists. We walked back to our Air BNB and collected the car, and checked in Haselton- early at the SeaTac airport for our red eye flight home. Oregon, Check. Washington, Check. All three west coast states done this summer. And I had plans for late September into October. Next up, Nevada, Utah, Arizona.
But first, I needed to get home. My father was fading away…