On Top of Old Smokey
A Photographer’s Race to Scoop Mount St. Helens
In the spring of 1980, Scientists at the United States Geological Survey began to voice their concerns about a long-dormant volcano northeast of Portland and southeast of Seattle called Mount St. Helens. Considered a gem in the Cascade Range, this glacier-crowned peak rose majestically from the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. It was a vacation magnet for anglers, campers, climbers, and tourists. But . . . wait. What? It’s a volcano? Looming danger? Come on! Locals cherished and promoted its practically trademarked immutability: the “Mount Fuji of America.” The geologists told them it was likely to erupt.
A sequence of small earthquakes first got their attention. Then hundreds of moderate explosions spewed steam from the summit, precipitating the installation of sensors all around the mountain. Soon, the scientists reported that one side was expanding like a balloon. The earthquakes grew in frequency and strength, accompanied by avalanches of ice. After one particularly loud boom blasted a plume of ash more than a mile high, scientific concern escalated to public anxiety. It was national news. That’s when I got the call from Sygma to head up there, the day after I got home from my Kitty Hawk assignment.
