Somewhere in the darkness overhead was the “angelically named peak that in 1980 unleashed America’s worst volcanic disaster,” said Hugo Martin in the Los Angeles Times. It was early morning, and we were about to climb to the 8,365-foot summit of Mount St. Helens. We were a diverse group—forest rangers, a fidgety boy, middle-aged women and men. Only two years ago, the summit was off-limits to hikers. In 2004 the volcano had come to life again, “venting steam, pushing out a slow-growing lava dome.” But since the danger of an imminent eruption now has passed, the Forest Service is again selling out its daily quota of 100 permits.

The earth was dewy-wet and layered with pine needles as we set off. By 7:30 a.m. we reached the timberline. Lying ahead were almost three miles of jagged rocks, most the size of a small car. We followed a path marked by 37 white wooden posts, and then scampered through a cloud layer. Peeking through the white fluff were the summits of other Cascade Range volcanoes—Mount Adams and Mount Hood. By 11 a.m. the first climbers had cleared the boulder field. The air was bitter cold, our legs could feel the strain of the climb, and wind whipped sand into our faces. At last I was able to peek down into the mile-wide crater. “Puffy white columns of steam” vented into the brisk air as I gazed at the volcano’s rocky dome 1,300 feet below. The startling sound of falling rocks broke the stillness. Fortunately, the dome remained motionless.

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