I was roaming around out west that summer so I swung by to check it out in July. The very fine volcanic ash hung in the air longer and traveled farther. It was like talcum about 200 miles out. The trucks on the interstate kicked up clouds of it as they drove along. The heavier ash fell closer in. It was like very gritty sand.
We camped at a small, private campground about 60 miles from there. It was owned by an old man who had lived there all his life. He had originally opened the campground to cater to fishermen who would arrive for the annual Salmon run. A large stream passed through the campground. We were the only people there. The old fellow invited us into his nearby house, fixed us coffee, and showed us some photo albums with pics taken many years before. They showed men lined up alongside the campground stream catching Salmon. The Salmon run had long been a big event in his life.
He was fairly down about the whole situation. He was an outdoorsy type and the area surrounding Mt St Helens had been his stomping ground for his entire life,..and it was pretty much completely destroyed.
The stream in the campground was dead. It had been blocked by the eruption quite a ways upstream.
Very interesting, very friendly old fellow.
