Mount St. Helens: A Midnight Solo of the Wormflows

I was feeling good. Having just completed my five-day Mount Baker mountaineering school with Northwest Alpine Guides, I was pretty sure I could do anything now. I understood the tools, the skills, and how to survive on the mountains. To make things even simpler, not all of these mountains needed an overnight. Some I could do in a day if I started early enough. I had long since heard the legends about Mount St. Helens, the prolific volcano that truly did erupt and temporarily destroy a good chunk of Washington state. I couldn’t help but think back to the Dante’s Inferno movie I watched as a kid and wonder if I would fall into a boiling puddle of water or something.

June 12, 2023

Beta

• Route: The Worm Flows route up the south side, about 12 miles round trip with roughly 5,800 ft of gain, topping out on the crater rim and the true summit further along it.
• Permit: A Mount St. Helens climbing permit is required above 4,800 ft on the south side. There’s a seasonal quota, so reserve ahead. (Confirm current rules before you go.)
• Trailhead: Marble Mountain Sno-Park, reached through the Gifford Pinchot National Forest road maze. It’s a long, winding drive through the trees, so give yourself extra time.
• Conditions (June 2023): Firm, smooth snow up high. I put crampons on around the steep snow and was glad I did.
• Crampons and axe: Bring both. Mid-June was a proper snow climb, firm on the way up and softening for the glissade down.
• The rim: A cornice had recently collapsed here and someone died in the fall. Keep well back from the edge. It’s no place to dance with the devil.
• True summit: From the first rim high point you drop a few hundred feet and traverse the rim to the actual summit, crossing a rockfall-prone zone. Be quick, efficient, and aware.
• Navigation: Easy to wander onto the wrong arm near Chocolate Falls in the dark. Follow the Worm Flows signs and cross the creek.

A Day Well Lived

Looking back, I’m not sure what possessed me to send this climb, other than the fact that I maybe felt my skills were getting stale. I had only bagged Baker, Ellinor, and Mount Si since getting started. I realized I needed to take action. Alas, an internal conflict was stirring. On this same day, a friend invited me to a boat party. I was still new to Seattle, new to these friends, and of course wanted to capitalize on social opportunities. At the same time, I knew I needed to stay disciplined if I wanted to bag the Big 5 before the end of summer. So I came to a conclusion: I would live my life to the fullest. No excuse to skip anything. I’m going to go party and have fun on the lake, but keep it tame enough that I’d be ready to send it come go time.

And so I did. The day was truly a blast. I met some really cool people, had a lot of good laughs, got to sit on a bunch of different boats on the lake, and throw back a few cold ones. Seattle summer was in full swing, and you could feel the energy in the air (and the water!). But my mind was a ticking clock in the background. I was tracking the hours, how long the drive was going to be, and what time I needed to leave in order to start when I wanted to. Helens is a long drive in to the Worm Flows route, mainly due to the forest roads through Gifford Pinchot. It’s a bit of a maze, and it takes a while to weave through all the trees. I let the gang know it was my time to go, and they dropped me off at the dock. A few were outright offended I was legitimately about to climb a volcano after a day of partying on the boats, but such is life. It doesn’t wait for you to do things when you’re ready. You have to just go for it.

I began my drive and felt good. I had already packed my bag the night before, so I wasn’t fudging with that. I knew I was going to be feeling the sun and the long day, plus fighting fatigue. But what’s a single night of skipped sleep for a lake day topped off with bagging a volcano? I had stopped at one of the only available dining options on my way there to charge up on calories: Taco Bell. Did I almost instantly regret doing this? Yes. Regardless, I was fed. I grabbed a coffee from the Pilot travel stop and kept on my way. I began seeing the signs for “Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument,” which stuck with me because I didn’t realize it was a dedicated monument. That historic importance raised the bar for me a bit on how cool of a place I was about to be walking on.

Red light on, pack strapped, ready to take off. 0030 at the Marble Mountain lot.

Midnight Start

I arrived almost to the minute when I wanted to. I was hoping to leave by 0030 sharp that night, and that’s exactly when I arrived. Sparing a few minutes to double-check my kit, chug some electrolytes, and stuff down a few more calories, I was ready to go. Red light on, pack strapped, and boots walking. The air was cold, crisp, and still. You could almost taste the PNW pines. I remember looking around and seeing folks sleeping in their cars at the Marble ski parking lot. “Wow, I might actually not be the last one up today,” I thought. The Milky Way and the stars were sparkling bright on this night. I remember seeing a shooting star. This was something I had seen on Baker too. I’ve never seen more shooting stars before in my life. They became a symbol to me of direction. I felt they meant I was going the right way, doing the right thing. Kind of a guiding light, in the sense that the world was welcoming me on this path I chose.

Stars and pines on the approach. You could almost taste the PNW pines.

Back to reality. It was dark, and I was alone. I carried bear spray with me in case, but to be honest I had never used it. And I doubted that if I was charged by a bear in the pitch black with a headlamp on that I was going to react in time to take aim and successfully ward it off with pepper spray. I started thinking all kinds of thoughts on this little grind to the edge of the treeline. I kept hearing a little squeak. “That was a weird sound.” I heard it again. It seemed like whatever it was, was following me. “Was that a loud breath from an animal?” My mind was playing all kinds of tricks on me, as one does in the dark by themselves. The squeak was my stupid backpack. In fact, the model is known for it. The breathing? Idk, probably the wind blowing the branch, or maybe even just myself. I saw some bright little reflectors high in the trees to at least give me the confidence I was going the right way.

Chocolate Falls and a Wrong Turn

I could hear the sound of a waterfall. It was growing louder pretty quickly. Suddenly, I was out of the trees and standing in front of a dark but loud Chocolate Falls. Epic! This was really cool. I realized I should be able to see the behemoth in front of me, so I looked up and let my eyes adjust. The Milky Way returned. The snow-covered arms and ridges appeared in the dark. There she was: Mount St. Helens. That was a really rad moment.

The Big Dipper hanging right over Helens. More shooting stars than I’d ever seen, and the whole sky lit up.

In my excitement, I continued the climb, quite fearlessly. I was no longer concerned about bears (ignorantly), and began ascending an arm near Chocolate Falls. Then it happened. The dreaded buzz on my phone. I had no service. That could only mean one thing… Off route. Classic. I had walked up the wrong path. I snagged some amazing shots from this area, as it was a nice open ridge looking over at the actual route. But it cost me some time, and I had to make my way back down and actually cross over the creek from Chocolate Falls.

Okay, there’s a sign that says Worm Flows. I was feeling pretty strongly that was likely the trail this time. Crossed my fingers and kept going.

The Snow Climb

I was now on a boulder scramble section. I didn’t think anything of it, but I did see a headlamp or two in front of me. Oh! And one behind me. I had lost some time on my bad navigation, so a few others had caught up to me. This was probably for the best, I had no place being first up the mountain anyway. I would later laugh at myself for even thinking about this, as a guy with barely any gear came cruising down the snow and rocks, casually heading back towards the trailhead. He had already reached the top before sunrise. Always a bigger fish.

Finally, I reached what looked like pretty steep snow. I decided, in my highly unexperienced opinion, that it was time to put on the crampons. And I was right! It was mid-June after all, and the conditions were quite firm and smooth. Suddenly, around 6,500 feet of elevation, it hit me. Maybe I’m not invincible. And maybe this wasn’t my brightest idea to date. I was tired. The day was catching up to me. I could feel a pit in my stomach that needed food. And way more water. But this was one step in a long journey ahead through a lot of challenging moments in the mountains. Climbs are so representative of life. Highs and lows. You are often shaped by how you ride out those lows. I knew it would pass, and carried on slow and steady.

Sunrise breaking to the east, Mount Adams and the moon, while I was still grinding up the snow.

The Crater Rim

I didn’t quite make the massive crater rim by sunrise, but I did alright. I earned some really amazing shots on the way up, and I was fortunate to capture the beautiful crater in the morning light. It was way cooler than I had imagined. The sense of destruction by this mountain made me feel so puny. Someone had recently slipped to their death when a cornice broke off here, so I made sure not to dance with the devil on that and to keep my distance.

The crater in the morning light. Way cooler than I’d imagined, and enough to make you feel puny.

Couldn’t stop staring into it. The scale of what tore out of this mountain is hard to wrap your head around.

Long morning shadows stretching across the rim.

The job wasn’t done yet, though. For someone wanting the true summit, you had to dip down a few hundred feet and ascend back up to reach the true summit further down the crater rim. This task also risked traversing through one of the higher rockfall areas, so it was best to be quick, efficient, and safe. I cruised. At the true summit I found a big pile of rocks. I took in the views. Honestly, they were better at that other spot. But either way, it was a proud moment. I took it all in and enjoyed it.

The true summit. A pile of rocks, the views, and a guy about to take a very deserved nap.

Mount Adams catching the sunrise to the east. And that other one I didn’t recognize at the time: Mount Hood, all the way down in Oregon.

I made an interesting choice at this point in time to duck down in between a massively separated cornice and snow on the rim to take a Taco Bell bio break. Summit is always a good place, plus not too many people cared to go for the real thing. It was elite privacy. But looking back, this might have been one of the more exposed places I’ve ever done this. And oddly enough, when I ducked down here, my AirPods immediately fuzzed out and stopped working from my backpack laying just a few feet away. It must have been the metals from the volcano on the ground.

I was proud of myself for not only summiting Mount St. Helens, but truly living my life to the fullest the last 36 hours. This was the whole point of moving out to the west. Take opportunities, do hard things, feel satisfied with my life. This was a day well lived by most folks’ standards. I did everything I said I would. But when I sat down for a break, the fatigue felt like gravity. I had since forgotten my lesson from Baker of carefully timing. I went on autopilot and rushed to the summit. Already running on fumes, I crashed next to the rising volcanic gasses and mangled cornice. I took a deep summit nap. Somewhere in the ballpark of 30 to 60 minutes. It was worth every second. I woke up energized.

My nap spot on the summit, right next to a hella deep split in the cornice. Cozy, if you don’t think too hard about it letting go.

Volcanic gas hissing right out of the crater. Up close, then pulled back with Rainier lurking behind Spirit Lake. More scale than your brain wants to accept.

The Descent

The sun was fully up now, and that was a very good indication to get back to my car and get out of the heat. The snow had softened up a bit now. Being tall with a big stride and some decent weight, I could plunge step like a pro. I went flying down the route. I glissaded every opportunity I could. I quickly learned the lesson of “secure everything.” I haven’t stopped practicing since. Every item you don’t secure will find a way to escape your pack. My favorite water bottle hopped right out. I pulled a James Bond move and quickly moved up onto my feet from the glissade using one leg and momentum. I took a few plunge steps and leaped onto my side for an accelerated slide. I quickly caught up to my bottle as it was sliding and snatched it. This time, I secured it down tight. No more losing gear for me on this trip.

I scooted, slid, and plunged my way back to Chocolate Falls. From here I knew it wasn’t far to the car. Downhill through the trees usually goes fast for me. My brain goes into a meditation kind of mode, where I just walk and ponder. Before I knew it, I was back. I saw all kinds of cool rocks and scenes I missed in the dark on the way up. Chocolate Falls was quite beautiful! I threw my pack in my truck, grabbed some water reserves I left behind, and worked to get hydrated. I had a three-to-four-hour drive ahead of me depending on traffic to get back to Seattle. This was going to be tough. A decision every mountaineer must face: drive back now or sleep first.

Some of my favorite alpine wildflowers. The kind of thing you cruise right past in the dark.

Chocolate Falls in the daylight on the way down. On the way up it was just a dark roar in the trees.

Frogs. There’s tons of them out here. What’s their mission? Who sent them?

Looking back in the daylight: the objective behind me, the creek, and the wrong trail I’d wandered up in the dark. Classic.

The Long Way Home

I didn’t really have anywhere to sleep in my truck at the time, and I really just wanted to be back and flying squirrel into my bed. Plus see perfect precious Stella sooner. I started driving. I am not kidding, I got lost in the Gifford Pinchot forest for over an hour. I didn’t have service, didn’t have the map downloaded, and could not compute the route out in my head. I finally saw signs of life at a camp store and stopped by after driving aimlessly for what seemed like the whole afternoon. The kind woman at the shop gave me a hard copy of a map to follow and made sure I understood how to drive out. At last, success. Back to the highway. The droning, repetitive, white-noise highway. I was crashing.

I only made it a few more miles before I had fallen asleep more than once driving. This was reckless, and I pulled over asap to a rest stop. Didn’t matter now, I was going to sleep. I had no options but to sleep in my driver’s seat. I’m far too long for the back seat, and the truck bed was full and had a tonneau cover. I was out fast.

I quickly woke up to a burning sensation in my leg that was growing radically fast. Woah! I got out of the car hobbling around trying to straighten my leg. Dehydration had caught up to me and my left leg cramped hard. I didn’t have a quick fix and it just plain hurt. Oh well. I slowly stretched it back to normal, hit some water, and started back on the road. I certainly wasn’t going to fall asleep soon after that.

Post-climb burger, and a bonus: a local regaled me with the tale of how he survived a harrowing free solo on some unknown cliff, just so I’d know he was an elite climber in these parts. Always a bigger fish.

I made it back to Seattle and my perfect Stella bear was happy to see me at the babysitters’ house. I managed to get her fed, wash off, and, of course, flying squirrel into my bed. It was a hard-earned couple of days, but the kind you never forget. One of those endless summer memories that live with you forever. And hey, I bagged a volcano solo. That felt cool. I needed to make moves if I’m really going to be able to do this before end of summer. And Stella, I could tell, was hungry for some peaks. What should I tackle next? Onward.

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