The May 18, 1980 eruption of Mount St. Helens killed approximately 57 people. It spread ash 80,000 feet into the sky, falling on 11 states. The eruption was the largest in the lower 48 states since the 1915 eruption of California's Mount Lassen
A common trait among first responders is the sense to run toward danger as everyone else is fleeing for their lives.
On May 18, 1980, Don Prest, a Naches resident, was one of those heading into a literal disaster of biblical proportions to help those in need. Prest, who was an Army air medic, helped retrieve those who didn't survive one of the worst catastrophes in Washington state history.
Since March 20 that year, Mount St. Helens, nicknamed the "Mount Fuji of America" for the graceful shape of its slopes, was showing signs of waking up from a more-than-120-year nap as earthquakes shook the peak and the mountain began belching smoke and ash -- actually pulverized rock.
For geologists, it was a rare opportunity to observe a volcano in the Pacific Northwest coming back to life.
But the vulcanologists also knew there was a potential for danger and established a "red zone" ranging from 3.6 to 14 miles from the mountain, to keep unauthorized people away. The mountain's activity attracted sightseers and gawkers, and people were still sneaking through.
The conventional wisdom was that any eruption would go straight up through the peak.
But on May 18, 1980, hell broke loose on the mountain. The volcano erupted with the force of 500 World War II atomic bombs. Instead of going straight up, the blast tore through the mountain's north face, hurling rock and superheated gases up and out at 300 mph initially.
David Johnston, a U.S. Geological Survey vulcanologist, was on a ridge 5 miles north of the mountain when it erupted. Johnston had enough time to radio a message back to the USGS volcano observatory -- "Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!" -- before the pyroclastic flow obliterated his campsite.
The eruption also dumped tons of snowmelt and debris into the Toutle River, sending a cascade of logs and mud down its overflowing banks, wiping out almost anything that stood in its way.
The Yakima Valley was blanketed with volcanic ash that turned the noonday into midnight.
Johnston and Harry Truman, the owner of the Spirit Lake Lodge who refused to evacuate, were among the 57 people killed in the eruption. Of the dead, 54 were outside the red zone.
At what is now Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Prest, a Naches Valley High School graduate, was 25 and a medic with the 54th Medical Detachment.
The next morning, Prest and three other soldiers were skimming over a moonscape in a Huey helicopter, the same aircraft that was the Army's workhorse in Vietnam. That day was spent plucking survivors from the flooding caused by the eruption.
"They'd been there all night, and they were cold, hungry and scared," Prest recalled in a May 2000 interview in the Yakima Herald-Republic. "These people lost everything in a matter of minutes."
Some of the people, Prest said, were unaware of what had happened.
As time went on, Prest and his crewmates' mission shifted from rescue to recovery as they picked up the bodies of those who were killed in the blast.
One of the most poignant images of the volcano's aftermath was that of a battered pickup truck covered in ash, with Andy Karr, an 11-year-old from Seattle, lying dead in the truck's bed.
Prest was the one who recovered Andy's body. Andy's father, Day, and his 9-year-old brother, Mike, were also dead by the truck.
"I had the shakes. I was scared," Prest said. Part of his fear was that the mountain might erupt again while they were there.
Prest remembered another couple his crew found, a man and a woman sitting in the cab of the truck, both leaning forward as if to see what was coming, the man's hand still on the steering wheel.
He was also impressed with how taking a particular turn in the roads around the mountain spelled the difference between life and death for people.
In the interview, Prest recalled the eerie silence in the blast zone. Without trees and large rock formations, there was nothing for the Huey's twin engines to reverberate against. Like snow, the ash muffled sounds.
Another thing Prest said he remembered from the mission was the stench of death, which he said they couldn't wash out of the helicopter.
He would continue flying missions to Mount St. Helens until May 26. He was awarded the Army Commendation Medal for his service during the eruption.
Prest went on to become a paramedic in Prosser and with the fire department at Hanford.
It Happened Here is a weekly history column by Yakima Herald-Republic reporter Donald W. Meyers. Reach him at [email protected]. Sources for this week's column include historylink.org, the U.S. Geological Survey and the archives of the Yakima Herald-Republic.