I was sixteen years old and wrapping up my sophomore year of high school. John Lennon was still alive, and Luke and Laura were dominating daytime TV as the royal couple of soap opera drama. It was May 1980, and Mount St. Helens had been rumbling and “talking” since March — the kind of background news you half-listen to until suddenly, it’s everything.
On May 18, she blew.
A sideways blast of ash, rock, and lava tore across the landscape, claiming over 50 lives and forever altering the geography of the Pacific Northwest. Nearly 40 years later, the land still carries the scars of that day.
As Gary, the pups, and I stood within the blast zone, it was impossible not to feel the gravity of what happened here. The forests are slowly returning, but the terrain — pumiced, barren, and scattered with fallen trees — remains a haunting reminder of nature’s force. Spirit Lake, now 200 feet higher, conceals beneath its waters the echoes of lives once lived: a YMCA camp, buildings, wildlife, memories.
We climbed the 400 steps to Windy Ridge to reach the observation platform overlooking the caldera, lava fields, and the Johnson Ridge Observatory across the valley. The climb was steep but absolutely worth it. Reading the personal accounts of that day — stories of loss, survival, and awe — brought a deep sense of reverence. It was sobering. It was moving. It was necessary.
Every stop on this journey teaches us something new. More than just snapping beautiful photos or checking off hiking trails, this road trip has become a living classroom — expanding our knowledge, deepening our empathy, and reminding us that every landscape has a story worth hearing.