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| Mt. St. Helens, Wash. |
Earlier in the year the mountain was wrought with flooding and sections of road and trail eroded without a trace. We didn't make it very far the first day and set up camp realizing how far off the trail we had wandered. The next day we turned around and went home without having hiked through the fragile volcanic blast zone for which the mountain has become famous.
This past summer I finally took advantage of an opportunity to attempt the trail again, this time with my friend and roommate Clay. I was eager to see how my years of tromping through woods since high school would change my perspective on the trail.
In the heat of summer and under the threat of smoke from nearby wildfires, Clay and I rounded the mountain past familiar landmarks from years ago. Before long I was seeing new things and was amazed by the crescendo of the landscape, growing in power beyond what I could have imagined as a teenager. Stories of the 1980 eruption were tangible in the airy pumice stone gardens and I imagined huge boulders making exaggerated parabolas in the sky amid the chaos.
Then, just as it grew, the intense rawness of the trail faded back into recognizable ecosystems. We saw more plants pioneering the volcanic debris and more signs of animals, and eventually reached a chasm that split the old and new, a border as definitive as nature will allow. The thick forest was a comfort.
The trail, and my reconnection with it, was particularly valuable to experience with Clay. He was the first person I met in Montana, and this summer, culminating in the Loowit Trail, was a reconnecting with him as well. I am reminded that no matter how far away I go and how many people I meet, it is worth finding myself with the people and places that I have already learned to love.