More writing by Bruce Taylor
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A Magic Realist Day
At Mount St. Helens
As a writer of Magic Realism, where the commonplace is seen as actually uncommon, and the uncommon or the strange is seen as commonplace, being at Mount St. Helens would certainly fit that description. I was there over the first weekend in October with Roberta Gregory, of cartoon fame, and we arrived at the Johnston Ridge parking lot about 11:30 a.m. on that bright and sunny Saturday. It struck me then how strange it is to be driving a freeway, I-5, south from Seattle, then forty odd miles to a state-of-the-art, blast-resistant fortress of a lookout over an active volcano, looking into the hazy interior of the crater, some five miles away. So, after a few minutes of looking about, we sat, chatted with people as we waited for--we were not sure what. The crater was dusty from rockfall set off by magnitude two and three earthquakes. The ragged and hummocky lava dome was clearly visible as were wafts of steam lazily issuing from the top and three to four places maybe a third of the way down. We sat, watched, waiting for--for what? With my binoculars, I saw just how massive rockslides were as they continued to tumble down the interior of the crater, sending up clouds of dust. It was obvious something was going on. And all around me, the surrealness of it, of crying children, barking dogs, baby strollers, older folks down from Canada, up from California, to see this--what? I guess that was the question--what would an eruption be like? The day before, Friday, a gigantic steam explosion jettisoned steam and ash, by some reports, up to l7,000 feet. Would we be so fortunate to see something like that today? People paced, went inside the observatory to watch the seismic readouts on the seismographs on display to the public, to watch the needles jiggle on the drum as it turned, showing the ongoing earthquake activity, which, I, as good tourist, also observed from time to time while there.
You never know when a mountain is going to decide to blow. But at l2:l7, I pointed up to the crater--Roberta saw it at the same time and, like some sort of strange flow of existential magmatic current, everyone seemed to suddenly be touched by it, then turned and simultaneously rushed toward the concrete balcony that framed the large plaza around part of the observatory.
"Migod," I said, "--would you look--"
Slowly, a white cloud uncurled in the crater, almost like process of something organic unfolding, And unfolding--and an eruption was in process--but steam only, and short lived, and only occupying perhaps a third of the volume of the crater. Soon, it dissipated, appearing finally like a mass of white fog, thinning, disintegrating in the bright morning sunlight and blue sky above the mountain's south rim. We waited for further activity and it came, about an hour later when, looking into the crater, we saw an immense rockfall on the west side of the eastern rim of the crater. Perhaps ten percent of the wall was involved, and it rather looked like the whole wall was steaming, but it was the dust kicked up by the avalanche which, in turn, was set off by a large earthquake. Then we got the word: "I just heard," Roberta said, "they want the observatory evacuated."
I then realized what had happened. This nice, interesting show had abruptly become Reality TV. The only problem: it wasn't TV. You can't turn this off or switch to a different channel. You can't go to a kitchen for a snack and come back after the commercial break.
Suddenly, that distance of five miles from where we were to the volcano and an "imminent eruption"/level three alert seemed horribly short and inconsequential. Suddenly, just like that, things were lethally dangerous. And it was clear that no one really knew WHAT to expect. We sprinted to the car, warning people as we went of the evacuation order.
And we joined a caravan of cars moving away from Johnston Ridge and in the back of my mind this thought: what if it does blow right now? What if it is much more dangerous than they originally thought, for apparently, that's just what officials had realized.
Within minutes, we were at the Coldwater Visitor Center, now some eight miles away from the volcano. We were very relieved and finding seats outside on the open balcony of this visitor center, we still had a good view of the volcano, although the view of the crater was more oblique than straight on. And we sat and watched, and it's hard to say what was more fascinating: sitting there, watching the dust kicked up in the crater and watching avalanches on the west, exterior side, of the volcano and idly wondering, what if they got it wrong? What if the blast comes and it's a lateral blast, not out north like the May l8 eruption of l980, but out of the west side--we'd be fried if the blast was even seventy percent of the l980 blast. And so I sat there, wondering this and also realizing how, in terms of Magic Realism, how quickly the terrifying, the strange, the unpredictable. The uncommon can become so--common--as people, waiting for the eruption which could, if the scientists got it wrong, wipe out their lives and mine--as we put our faith into science which had just gotten it wrong about how lethal the volcano really was. Fascinating how folks sat around, playing cards, drinking Coke, having the $3.99 Harry Truman Cheeseburger, drinking Starbucks coffee, waiting for the Great Imminent Blast that could take out the volcano--and, assuming, faithfully, it wouldn't take out Coldwater Visitor Center with it.
I returned to Coldwater the following Monday, the Fourth. I wasn't originally going to go--I belong to a writers group that meets Monday evenings at the QFC grocery store in the north end of Seattle, and I always try to have a new chapter of the novel Stormworld (or novella, it's hard to say which yet) that Brian Herbert (son of Frank Herbert who wrote Dune) are writing. It then occurred to me that I could take research materials on Global Warming with me and work on the book at Coldwater while waiting for the Next Big Unknown from St. Helens.
For whatever reason, I had this urge to get going, get down there early, and in the deep fog of Puget Sound autumn morning, was on my way at six thirty. About two and a half hours later, I was on that magnificent road, the St. Helens Parkway. I emerged from the fog and there was St. Helens, greyish-tan from dust and gas emissions, on the horizon. Relieved at not having missed an eruption, I kept on going, somehow thinking that something seemed imminent. At 9:30, as I came around a bluff and maneuvered the intricate turns of the road into the Coldwater Visitor Center's parking lot, I looked up to see a major eruption starting and I just stared. Again, I had the sense that as the steam came out, it was as if something organic, unfolding, and at length, appearing as if a huge light and dark great cauliflower-type form, roiling, building out of the crater. This went on for about forty minutes, with lobes of steam and ash billowing up through just released gas and ash clouds. Finally it slowed, and the ash, as it drifted east, formed an anvil or thunderhead form in the sky, dark grey tan in color. And as the morning went on, it dissipated. I stayed, perhaps, another couple of hours, watching, waiting, drinking my Starbucks coffee, watching people eating their fries and Truman Burgers and marveled at how quickly the strange can lose it's strangeness, and again knowing why I write Magic Realism--to show that this happens, but also to show it doesn't have to--for in the end, what gives life to life but to be as children, in the best sense of the word, to see the world as strange and wondrous as it truly--and always--is.
* *
As of today, 6 October 2004, the steam/ash eruption of Tuesday, apparently let off a great deal of pressure in the mountain; earthquakes have dropped in intensity to the one to two range on the Richter Scale. Current thinking is that the activity, while lower, is hardly the end of the story. This could change at any time, but that is the nature of volcanoes. A large scale eruption is not necessarily imminent; St Helens could fume, fester, sizzle and bubble for quite some time. No one knows. For updated information, just type in your search engine, "Mount St. Helens Current Activity".
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