Legends & Tales Of Mount St. Helens

The Legend Of Spirit Lake

--C.F. Taylor & A.L. Russell

In the fastness of the forest, on the slope of Copper Mountain, ran a brook of crystal clearness; o'er a ledge it dash its waters, dancing, prancing to the bottom.

On the left a snow-clad mountain, rose in lone, majestic beauty. All around were wooded hillsides; in the midst of all lay sleeping, lay in quiet, peaceful slumber, lay a lake of limpid clearness.

All was quiet, dreamy quiet, but the leaping, dashing brooklet; none could speak except the brooklet; tongue was it for all surroundings. This its story, and its yearnings, told with frankness and deep feeling:

Long we've been here, waiting, waiting, vainly waiting human footsteps; waiting, but the footsteps came not; campfires came not to the lake shore; plumed brave nor did bashful maiden come within this charming basin. To the west the warlike Cowlitz, and the Yakima to the northward, but they shunned the lake and mountain, shunned them as they would a demon. Thus, no voices came to cheer us; whoop nor laughter waked the echoes. When a brave peeped o'er the mountain into our entrancing valley, joyously he hailed his comrades, and they flock into the basin; scene of beauty most entrancing:

Circling mountains; water plenty; deer and bear, and goats and fishes; stately trees for good canoes. Came unto my dripping waters, and for them I sang my sweetest. Hard I tried to firmly hold them; happy I did wish to make them, for I wish them to dwell with us. And unto the great white mountain turned their eyes in admiration; see her in her robe of whiteness, always in her robe of whiteness, only when the twinge of sunset robes her in a golden glory.

Brave and maiden, woman, children, turned their eyes unto the mountain; calm, serene, and all contented till some eye saw in the water spirit of the great white mountain, 'See! A ghost! An apparition!' then a shriek and all confusion! Left they all, the haunted mountain. Ne'er returned they; for the story, story of the spirit mountain, plain to all within the lake depths, spread to all adjoining country, and became a tribe tradition. To this day an Indian will not set a foot upon the mountain; for he fears the mountain specter always seen in Spirit Lake; bears in mind the old tradition—cannot brave the superstition.

Spake the rill of Copper Mountain, sang the falls of Spirit Lake.

Thus, until a lone prospector came to tap our rocks for metal, we were left in desolation. Welcome to the human footsteps; we have joy and health and comfort if you will but come unto us. See the mountain in her whiteness; see her majesty and greatness; see her in the golden sunset; see her glisten in the moonlight; see her likeness in the water. Not a specter; bodes no danger; only beauty given double; double measures to attract you. Gone the Yakima and the Cowlitz, come the pale face in great numbers to the mountain:

One of substance, one of spirit; one of substance in the azure, one of spirit in the water...bring the weary man of business; bring the heavy-burdened mother; bring the children with their prattle; bring the lover and the maiden; bring the invalids on stretchers to the balsam of our woodlands; bring them all, whose hearts are heavy; bring them all, who worship nature; bring them to the magic mountain; make a shrine unto the mountain.

Spake the rill of Copper Mountain, sang the falls of Spirit Lake.

Bring them in the chu-chu wagon: Hurry with the rails of iron; put the chu-chu wagon on them; bring, oh bring the people to us. Bring the sad and the disheartened; bring the glad and happy, also; bring the laughter of the children; bring the sweetheart and the lover. I will sing and dance or labor; only bring me human faces, upturned faces, eyes all sparkling; bring me them and I'll be happy.

Spake the rill of Copper Mountain, sang the falls of Spirit Lake.

All these years I've sung and wasted, wasted songs of centuries. If you'll come and let me serve you, I will sing or dance or labor, turn your wheels of industry. They have called me 'Independence,' but I'm sure that's not my nature, for I want to be of service; I will sing or dance or labor, be an ornament or servant, for I want to bring the people from their cares and occupations. Bring them from the heat of summer to this place of restful coolness. Hurry, then, the chu-chu wagon; hurry, then, the track of iron; hurry, then, the water power. Then the people gay and happy, with new courage for life's burdens, will return unto their labors after they have rested with us.

Spake the rill of Copper Mountain, sang the falls of Spirit Lake.

Come and see the mountain Psyche; come and see in nature's mirror, see her likeness in the water; see her in the glowing sunset, see her glisten in the moonlight. White man calls her Mt. St. Helens, she the queen, the mountain princess; come and make a shrine unto her. She is robed in whiteness always, and the lake is always crystal; I will sing and work forever if you'll bring me human faces, human footsteps, human voices, something human to inspire song or dance or toil eternal, for we wish to send a message to the spirit in the cloud land, to the spirit in the star land; we must render an accounting of our service here below. Send the people to the mountain, to the lake and to the mountain, to the hills and rills and woodlands that the sick may breathe the balsam, that the weary may be rested, that the children may be healthful, and that job be universal. Bring them from the heat of summer; bring them from their toil and labor; bring them soon and bring them often.

Spake the rill of Copper Mountain, sang the falls of Spirit Lake.

"I will sing and work forever for the people, oh, the people; bring them to the snow-clad mountain, to the mount of snow eternal, to the lake of crystal clearness; show them in the water mirror picture of the great white mountain; mount of gold within the sunset, mount of silver in the moonlight; slopes of green down to the lake shore, balsam in the breath of fir trees, shady nooks within the forest, winding paths upon the hillsides. Tents should dot the circling lake shore, winged boats should cross its surface; all for service of the people; all for rest and health and comfort of the people, blessed people; of the beings who, immortal, after death can bear our message to the Spirit in the star land; bear the message of our labor, of our songs and of our yearnings, to the land of the Great Spirit where must all give an accounting.

Spake the rill one Sabbath morning, sang the falls one peaceful Sabbath, To the spirit, long departed, of the dearly loved Great Poet.