Written by Dr. Keith Verner, Founder of LabLearner
On May 16, 1980 I was working as a young biologist for the National Marine Fisheries Service at a field station in the small town of Hammond, Oregon. Jimmy Carter was president and gas was nearly $1.00 per gallon. The field station, an old converted Coast Guard outpost, was located at the mouth of the Columbia River estuary. And for good reason, the Columbia River bar is one of the most deadly bodies of water anywhere.

Field Station in Hammond, Oregon in 1980
Our group studied the Coho and Chinook salmon population that ran annually up the Columbia River. We crisscrossed the massive four-mile wide (6.2km) estuary on a daily basis in our forty-foot fishing boat, the Egret.
One of the things I loved about the estuary was the feeling of its great size and a sense of its permanence. Tides were predictable each day. Juvenile salmon ran downstream after growing to fingerlings in the tributaries where they hatched, and adult salmon ran upstream after growing to enormous size feeding a few years in the Pacific Ocean. Commercial fishermen waited for them and they arrived each year like clockwork. These things were constant. In fact, except for the number of fish, Lewis and Clark saw the same thing we did when they reached the estuary in the first decade of the nineteenth century.

Mt. St. Helens Before Eruption
Perhaps offering even more of a sense of permanence than the estuary itself, was one of the large peaks of the Cascade mountain range, Mt. Saint Helens. On clear days, we saw its 9,677 ft (2,950 m) snow capped profile from the Egret. Even from our distance, we could see the snow cap increase and recede with the change of the seasons. Mt. Saint Helens has stood there for some 50 million years.
One of the most distinctive characteristics of Mt. Saint Helens was its smooth, conical peak – considerably different from the more jagged peaks of Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainer, for example. If one can have a “favorite” mountain, then I would say Mt. Saint Helen was mine for this reason – For its almost perfect, graceful, smooth symmetry from our vantage point. That was Friday.
Two days later, on Sunday, May 18, at 8:32 in the morning, Mt. Saint Helens erupted. With an enormous blast that hurled pulverized rock down the side of the mountain at speeds approaching 670 mph (1080 km/h), Mt. Saint Helens dropped from 9,677 ft (2,950 m) to 8,365 ft (2,550 m) in elevation. It changed from a perfectly smooth cone to a jagged peak. A crater approximately 2 to 3 miles wide (3.2 to 4.8 km) and 2,100 ft (640 m) deep replaced the symmetrical cone within a period of 10 seconds.

Mt. St. Helens After Eruption
After hearing about the eruption, several of us NMFS biologists rushed from home to the field station and scrambled up the three stories of stairs to the lookout tower on the roof. From there, we could clearly see the plume of volcanic ash billowing straight up into the atmosphere, reaching a vertical height of about 80,000 ft (24,400 m), where it then abruptly turned at a ninety-degree angle and headed east, presumably, we thought, because it must have reached the stratosphere. This cloud of ash would eventually come to settle on 11 U.S. states.
Gas, mud, rock, and debris, collectively known as pyroclastic flow, rushed down the side of the mountain at speeds up to 155 mph (250 km/h), destroying trees out to 19 miles (30 km) away, covering highways, and filling in lakes and river valleys with up to 600 ft (180 m) of mud. The flow of material down river valleys eventually reached the Columbia River, dumping enormous amounts of mud and felled trees that would then head downstream to the estuary, where we were, about 70 miles (113 km) from the blast.
Next morning, the field station chief, Terry Durkin, organized a biological and sediment study of fish and benthic (bottom) samples in the river and estuary and we boarded the Egret soon after for a 36-hour, non-stop collection trip. We all knew this was likely a once in a lifetime chance to directly observe the immediate impact of a volcanic eruption on a commercial fishery.
It is difficult to forget the sound of the many Mt. Saint Helens tree logs banging the side of the Egret all night as we worked aboard in the dark. I recall looking over the gunnel into the dark water and seeing bright, baseball-sized objects floating by. We reached down and grabbed one. It was a floating rock from the volcano, a pumice stone. We saw them on the river for several weeks afterward.

The Egret
Mt. Saint Helen is one of the many volcanoes in the Cascade mountain range that extends from Canada to Northern California. During the blast and the mudslides that followed, 57 people were killed. Most of them died on the day of the blast by asphyxiation, being buried alive, or burns. When the pyroclastic flow reached the first humans it was still as hot as 660 oF (349 oC).
The thermo energy released from the blasts was 1,600 times that of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. In a few seconds, Mt. Saint Helens lost 1,313 ft (400 m) in elevation of solid rock, roughly the height of the Empire State Building. Approximately 13% of the mountain’s volume was gone.
We learned many scientific lessons from our Columbia River estuary studies in May of 1980. Over the years, however, the one thing that “sticks” more than any single detail is the absolute certainty of enormous and awesome change on Earth. With time, forests can evolve into desserts. Lakes can fill in and become grasslands. Given enough time, continents can even drift over the surface of our planet like pumice stones over water. If an entire mountain could be so radically transformed before our very eyes, then nothing is permanent. Things change.









