The Moment had arrived!

The Moment had arrived! Madam Pele, Hawaii’s goddess of fire had arranged for my first visit into the crater of Mount Saint Helens. I prepared myself with a two-way radio, canteen, and beeper (the latter in case of avalanche, would emit beeps that hopefully would be received by a search party). Also, to be on the safe side, I took two ruby red Washington apples to offer in tribute to the sainted mountain as respect for her awesome power. Being well outfitted, I was now ready to begin my adventure.

As the helicopter approached the mountain from the south, the destruction of the volcano was not apparent. However, upon nearing the leading edge of the horseshoe- shaped crater, the sight was devastating. The massive slide and eruption of the catastrophic May 18, 1980, shocker had transformed vast green forest into jumbles of giant matchsticks. Below ravaged slopes and desolate valleys, Spirit Lake, once clear and blue, was now a steaming expanse of black water and floating, shattered logs.

The personality of the crater had drastically changed since my previous photography adventure of April 1983. Now without its white protective cover of snow, the crater possessed an eerie and ferocious look. The smoldering center of the dome emitted a macabre aura.

My heartbeat quicken as the pilot turned the craft into the crater. As we hovered near the ground a few hundred feet from the dome, the staccato thrashing of the blades began to churn clouds of gray ash in every direction.

I prepared to jump out, radio, tripod, and backpack in hand. It was understood that the pilot would be contacted when needed. Steering clear of the snow covered ash, which had deceptively firm look, I alit safely.

After the ashes had settled, I was able to get my bearings. I had already became aware of the changing light patterns within the crater, and had images I wanted to portray. I was briefly interrupted by the arrival of another helicopter, which discharged a news photographer. He introduced himself and proceeded to hurriedly snap several images of the dome and crater walls with his mother-driven camera. He then jumped back in his helicopter and moments later was gone.

I was alone, my dreams of being an earth astronaut fulfilled. An enormous magic halo surrounded the sun, stirring my thoughts about the other celestial bodies. Ten miles below, Spirit Lake played with its floating logs. Slash burns, off in the distance, produced large columns of dark smoke similar to the eruptions of Mount Saint Helens herself. Cascading rocks echoed through the crater, crashing down the side of the unstable, thousand-foot dome as molten lava expanded it from below.

Stumbling around the blasted terrain I discovered a large fractured boulder from which to photograph. Mounting my Mamiya RB67 with 37mm fisheye lens, I was ready to capture it all. After making a few images of the large halo around the sun with smoldering dome below, I scanned the rest of the landscape. As I looked at some interesting forms in the sand, a large swelling shadow crossed the crater. I turned around to see a huge silent plume of ash rise violently into the sky. I stumbled nervously to my camera and made a few quick photographs before being overwhelmed with little puff balls of light gray ash . The eruption, although short, obscured the sunlight and created a lovely twilight glow within the crater walls. This was a thrilling moment.

Ash-covered from head to foot. I was relieved to still be alive, but I noticed that my camera was gray instead of black. I carefully removed the ashes from the fisheye lens. Thank God! Not even a scratch, and yes the camera was working flawlessly as I prepared it for another encounter. Having missed the start of the eruption, I told myself I would keep my eyes on the dome at all times.

Without warning, a loud rumble sounded and a boiling column of ash exploded into the sky. Boulders the size of basketballs rolled pell-mell down the slops of the erupting dome. Quickly, I made a few photographs, but as I looked through the view finder, the cloud began pounding me with bits of gravel and ash. It was like being in a hail storm. This eruption, much larger then the previous one, caused me to scramble for cover in a snow cave. Fresh air under the melting snow pack was blowing in my direction. A few feet away ashes were frantically swirling all about.

It was 45 minutes before the ashes cleared. My camera had withstood its second encounter with ashes-Mount St’ Helens hadn’t allowed my adventures to go completely unscathed.. No fool I, the two ruby red Washington apples were offered to her in propitiation. There were no further eruptions that day.