Louwala-Clough: Mt. St. Helens

One of our favorite things about living here in Toledo, Washington, is looking out our window on a clear day (around half the days) and seeing Mt. St. Helens standing guard on the horizon. It’s a “blast” to have a view of an active volcano. St. Helens is not just any volcano, but the one that famously blew its top in 1980 in one of the most dramatic natural events in U.S. history.

Mt. St. Helens - photo taken May of 2022

As the crow flies, we’re about 30 miles northeast from the mountain (there are a few crows that live in the area and we suspect they measure distance by how the car drives). Of course, since we don’t travel by crow, we drive the truck on state routes 505 and 504 — a winding, scenic hour-long drive that still manages to feel like an adventure every time. During many months, we see deer and elk along the way.

Our house location in the upper left corner, and Mt. St. Helens in the bottom right. (Google Map Image)

Smoking Mountain

Now, how did this mighty mountain get its name? In 1792, British explorer George Vancouver named it after his friend, Baron St. Helens — a British diplomat and ambassador to Spain (you Baron experts will know that he was the first of three Baron St. Helens). At the time, the mountain looked serene and snow-capped, not the kind of place you’d expect to go nuclear one day. Vancouver had no idea it was an active volcano — though the local Native American tribes certainly did. The Cowlitz people called it Louwala-Clough (pronounced low-WAH-lah kluff), meaning “smoking mountain,” and the Klickitat had legends of a fiery mountain goddess. Their stories, passed down through generations, carried warnings that turned out to be all too accurate.

Before the eruption, Mt. St. Helens was a classic, symmetrical beauty — so much so that it was often likened to Mt. Fuji in Japan. Locals even nicknamed it the "Mount Fuji of America."  It is part of the Cascade Range and sits about 8,366 feet above sea level today. Compared to its neighboring Cascade peaks, Mt. St. Helens is on the shorter side. Mount Rainier towers at 14,411 feet, Mount Adams at 12,280, Mount Hood at 11,249, and even Mount Shasta down in California reaches 14,179. Before the 1980 eruption, it stood at 9,677 feet.

May 18, 1980 — A Dark Day

St. Helens is a stratovolcano — a steep, layered volcano known for explosive eruptions (Rainier, Adams, and Glacier Peak are also stratovolcanoes) — and it now features a dramatic, horseshoe-shaped crater that opens to the north, visible from our house, measuring over a mile wide. That once elegant “Fuji-like” peak was leveled in seconds.  when the north face collapsed and uncorked the fury beneath. The catastrophic blast chopped 1,300 feet off the elevation bringing it to today’s height of 8,363 feet. Think about that. For a mountain to be a mountain and not a hill, geologists say that it must be 1,000 feet in elevation. The eruption blew a mountain sized chunk off the mountain.

USGS Images of Mt. St. Helens before, during, and after the eruption

The crater was created by the lateral blast of the mountain erupting on the north side. The explosion flattened over 230 square miles of forest in minutes. Trees were blown down like matchsticks as the kaboom traveled over 300mph and even snapped a massive tree trunk that was nine miles away! Meanwhile, the combination of lava, snow, and land combined to create a massive landslide — the largest ever recorded. Rivers were choked with the volcanic debris of downed trees, mud and ash. Day turned to night as the sky darkened with a plume that rose 15 miles high. In places like Spokane, Washington, which is 250 miles west, the ashfall was so thick that streetlights turned on in the middle of the day, and people had to use headlights to drive. The May 18 eruption was the most devastating volcanic event in U.S. history. Fifty-seven people lost their lives, and the landscape was dramatically changed.

Amazing 60 seconds showing the massive lateral blast and landslide during the eruption.

The Toutle River Valley is filled today with landslide debris.

The base of the mountain and evidence of the landslide.

Mt. St. Helens Today

We’ve visited the mountain a few times over the years, and the photos in this post are from those trips. No matter how often we go, it’s still staggering to see the lingering effects of that explosion. Entire hillsides are still strewn with tree trunks, all lying in the same direction — blown flat by the blast, like nature’s version of a comb-over. It’s eerie and breathtaking all at once.

As we near the volcano, we can see the valley below is filled with hardened landslide mud — a colossal reminder of the massive size of landslide. The scale of it all is hard to comprehend until you stare into a wide valley that was once a dense forest.

Inside the crater, a lava dome is slowly rebuilding. We can see it bulging. Scientists believe Mount St. Helens is the most likely volcano in the Cascades to erupt in our lifetimes. Recent reports talk of increased seismic activity. Both Mount Adams and St. Helens register earthquake activity. Our biggest risk in the event of another blast would be from ash falling.

Panoramic view of Mt. St. Helens taken in 2019

Helen’s Reach

On the morning of May 18, 1980, a month before we (Allen & Terri) met, Mount St. Helens unleashed its catastrophic eruption. Nancy Tilton, our son Chris' mother-in-law, was camping on the opposite side of the mountain, completely unaware of the unfolding disaster. Shielded by terrain and distance, she and her fellow campers saw no ash clouds, heard no blast, and felt no tremors—just the quiet serenity of the wilderness. It wasn’t until later, when news of the eruption spread, that she realized how close she had been to one of the most infamous volcanic events in modern history. What an incredible firsthand experience.

Our son Chris has had an ongoing battle with his lawn 40+ years post-eruption. The battle is not because of poor watering or neglect, but because there’s a layer of volcanic ash buried beneath the topsoil. It’s like trying to grow grass on a sponge cake dusted with cement. Frustrating for sure.

45 Years Ago

We’re now approaching the 45th anniversary of that fateful day — May 18, 1980 — and it’s the perfect time to reflect. The mountain is still active, still being monitored, and still slowly rebuilding itself from the inside out. Life has returned, but the scars remain — a visible reminder of the power that lies beneath.

Living near a volcano might sound dramatic to some, but to us, it’s just part of the landscape. We get to watch the seasons drape themselves across it — snowy white in winter, rich green in summer — and it reminds us that life is fleeting. Sometimes, the best view really is the one right outside your window.