Returning to the Rim

In 2012 I was invited by friends to hike on Mt St Helens. I hadn't been out hiking in that area since I was a child, so I jumped on the opportunity. I then called my sister, who hikes more frequently than I, and asked her what trails were out there and what to expect. Of course, I didn't know what side of the mountain or any other particulars, other than I needed to pay for my permit. My sister informed me that if I needed a permit, I would be climbing to the rim of the crater. I jaw dropped. What an opportunity! It had been 32 years since Mt St Helens erupted and I was going to have an opportunity to see, first hand, the devastation and healing.

I met my friends at the climber's bivouac the day before our climb and pitched my tent. Excitement, and rocks, kept me from a full night's sleep. Nevertheless, I awoke the next morning ready for my 9-mile hike up to the top. I was totally unprepared for what lay waiting for me just above the treeline ... a boulder field that stretched roughly 2.5 miles. This meant I spent the next few hours climbing up and over chunks of mountain that ranged in size from basketballs to VW Beetles. By the time I got past the boulder field to the bottom of the scree field (the next fun adventure the mountain had in store for us), I wasn't sure I could/should go on. I was so close to the crater rim that I could see it, but my leg muscles were trembling in protest. I contemplated staying there and resting while the rest of my group gloried in their ascent to the summit. In the end, my will won out and I labored my way to the top. We celebrated our victory, took photos and rested.

The trip down was even worse. My legs screamed in protest and fought to carry me back down over the torturous boulder field. By the time we reached the serenity of the treeline and its modest trail, my body was spent. To say I was proceeding at a turtle's pace would be giving me too much credit - a slug could have passed me. About half a mile from the trailhead, I stepped down over a tree root and my legs actually collapsed. They could take no more. By the time I reached my car, I could barely lift my feet. Then I had to make the 4+ hour drive home. It was official - Mt St Helens had kicked my butt. Royally.

It is now 2015. I've had 3 years to lick my wounds and I've decided that it is time that I go back. I don't want to conquer the mountain - she has taught me new level of respect for her indomitable spirit. I would, however, like to share in her power, re-visit the glorious crown of her crater, and make it back down in one piece. This year I am training. I am conditioning. I will be prepared. This year I know what lays beyond that treeline and I will be ready...