Climbing Mount St. Helens — The Pursuit Project

I can picture a thousand photos, each containing a smile. The smile is much brighter than the dirty humans they are attached to. For whatever reason these people are happy. They have trudged up passes, climbed mountains, walked for hours with a heavy load. These are not easy tasks, surely enduring hardships, yet they all have smiles.

I can recall many times when I had an honest smile after a hard day of being outside, something about exerting oneself outdoors manifests happiness. A time not so long ago, I had chosen to wake up at 3:30 am in order to skin up Mount St. Helens on a fine spring day, accompanied by my wife and childhood friend. We pulled into the parking lot of Marble Mountain Sno-Park, a dark forest concealed the volcano which we were set out to climb. Various climbers prepared for the day about their cars, adhering climbing skins and squeezing their feet into cramped boots.

We came upon the treeline rather quickly, moments before the sunrise and the mountain which we aimed to climb was revealed. Our perception of distance skewed against the white blanket of spring snow, the summit was not that far off…

The trees thin as we approach the tree line.

The sun lingered to the east, it was a cloudless day and the temperature rose. Solange and I had never attempted to climb a volcano before, let alone on skis. We were green on a field of white. Clothes were shed as we all began to sweat in the morning heat, soon we wore clothes only to protect our skin from the sun.

We were not alone on our mission, there were several dozen other climbers attempting the summit this blue bird spring day. Some experienced ultralight climbers with crampons attached to their bag, and others who appeared had set out for a mountain twice as tall with 65 litre bags. A wonderful mix of folks for a summit bid, I felt we fit right in.

Shortly after treeline we decided it would be time for a break, grab some food and assess our progress. We aimed for the last sapling to be seen before vegetation was absent from our trip. While sitting down for a snack we assessed our fitness and our feet. Our fitness was great, we all felt energized and motivated to reach the top. Our feet on the other hand were not as keen to continue climbing. Solange and Jeremy had formed, rubbed and popped blisters on their heels. We had a ways to go. Out came the first aid kit for some critical bandaging to prevent further rubbing. Luckily, from when I was in New Zealand, I had brought home Compeed, perhaps the finest blister care dressing available, at least to my knowledge. As I dressed the raw heels, passerbys commented that they would share their mimosas for a foot massage to which I replied “sorry, this is my last customer for the day”. We all laughed. Feet were once again squeezed into our boots and skis attached. We were on our way.

The first spot for resting and foot care.

There is something about the rhythm of the skis gliding across the snow which I found to be soothing. The sure sound of progress that was hard to denote in a vast landscape. Our group spacing would expand far enough to make conversation difficult, leaving you to converse with yourself as you put one foot in front of the other. The conversation in my head was inversely related to elevation, the higher I got the less I thought about. I was more focused on my next step, and the next and the next. Soon I had resorted counting to five at which point I would restart and count again. We were approaching the summit, slowly.

We rested at the base of the final climb. Watching other climbers take on the steepest slope yet with skis on their back wielding ice axes as they continued up the pitch. We had no ice axes with us, arresting a fall would be precarious and the odds of falling into others below were high enough that we explored alternatives. To the east the terrain was more gradual, it was not a direct route, but it would be much more manageable for our experience and gear. After much consideration, we opted for the longer, more gradual route.

I was exhausted. Sweat poured from me as my overdressed body began to slow. I was stuck in my wool base layers and rain pants. The ambient temperature reached 60F [15C] degrees and the reflection of the sun was baking me. The taste of sweat filled my mouth, the feeling of it beading down my skin and soaking into my clothes. We were nearly there, 200 meters. After all the 1400 meters we had climbed, I was hurting. Every few steps my ski would slide back and I would fall on the warm snow. The summit was so near. I grew more fatigued with each step. The mental fight in my head was in round 5 of 5, in one corner the desire to summit and in the other, the rationalization to turn around. The view was probably the same anyways, right?

The snow had warmed a significant amount. Each step had to be well thought out for the last 50 meters or I would slide down to repeat the last few steps. The slope began to taper off, each step now was confident as I rounded the last slope. Finally, the top. A quick glance around and I spotted a higher point to the west...shit. Luckily the path was mostly flat along the way, being sure to stay away from the edge and the cornices that shrouded them.

Our summit. There we were, all three of us. Smiling. We plopped down and took off our boots. I was more than thankful to be at the top, my water was nearly gone and my stomach growled for food. Jeremy passed a Snickers bar to both Solange and I, a true saint of the hills. We laughed and recounted our hardships of the last push for the summit as if it had been long ago. Descriptions of pain accompanied by vague narratives of locations. We gazed out from the summit enjoying our snacks, it was great to be here.

We took the time to gather ourselves, in no rush to return. The caldera of a once great volcano provided endless beauty, it was so raw and young (from a geologic perspective). Spirit lake could be seen in the distance, barred to all travel except from the scientists who studied the recovery of the area since the eruption in 1980.

While at the top we learned that the climbers summit, which we were at, was not the true summit. The true summit was to the northwest and stood 25 meters taller than where we sat. Exhausted and mentally unprepared, we could not be bothered to traverse over, down and up. We were content with our so-called summit.

We switched our ski boots from touring to ski setting, clipped into our skis, and began our vertical mile descent back to the car. Carving through the spring snow melted my sorrows, my pains and hardships, I felt truly alive. Having climbed a volcano, to ski it down could not have put a bigger smile on my face. I savored every turn as I passed people still climbing up. I earned my turns and it poured the essence of joy into my soul.

The GPS track and elevation profile of the climb.

Base: 824m(2703ft); Summit:2522m(8274ft); Distance: 17.2km(10.7miles)