Mount St. Helens, and never enough berry cobbler

Last night my bed saw me eat almost an entire bag of clementines. I stayed on with morning pastry promises, the idea that I could do some laundry and, to my surprise, a bathtub! Not sure when the last time I took a bath was but I decided not to waste any more time and start again immediately.

Mount St. Helen blew it’s top 35 years ago and the immediate landscape suggests itself a desert. Devastated tree stumps across the blast zone look a cross between permanent drift wood and fossilization. The entire landscape shifted, lakes and people and houses still lie beneath. The plume of ash shot 10 miles into the air and circled the globe in a week’s time; for those in the immediate vicinity, that catastrophe was totally silent. Can you imagine? The massive slide of rock muffled all sound waves, instead, refracting them up into the stratosphere. The waves came back down and spread to the likes of Washington, Idaho and Montana. Science is a funny thing like that sometimes.

Tonight, a last minute backcountry permit and some cowboy camping. Cold, yes, but the skies look to be clearer than they have in days (and I’m assuaged by the fact that I’m yet to be in grizzly bear country). For now, putting down what I’ve been guarranteed to be world famous mountain berry cobbler at this here 19 mile restaurant. Maybe a little hike before bed, then a hike to bed. After all, there are a few pairs of clean socks in my bag that I need to take care of.

[September 26, 2015]