Legends & Tales Of Mount St. Helens

Forbidden South Side Of Mt. St. Helens

--Michael McLeod

Pg. 94-96

From the right angle, the entire mountain could be seen mirrored in Spirit Lake, a deep-blue jewel that took its name from an autumn phenomenon in which human-size wisps of fog rise from the surface and whirl like dervishes. The Indians believed they were the demon spirits of departed chiefs angry about the coming of white men. Spirit Lake didn't need demons to gussy it up, but something about the place, with its legends and otherworldly beauty, invited speculation that all was not as calm as it looked.

In 1847, the French-Canadian artist Paul Kane set out by canoe from Fort Vancouver, located across the Columbia River from present-day Portland, to travel downstream to the Pacific. He kept a journal in which he described camping on what is now called Sauvie Island and visiting with the Multnomah Indians who lived at the mouth of the Lewis River, which flows into the Columbia from headwaters high on the mountain. Kane painted a now-famous picture of Mount St. Helens belching fire, which he visualized from the Multnomah's' campfire tales. The Indians had many superstitions about the peak. Kane, curious for a closer look, asked them to guide him up the Lewis, but they refused. Near the headwaters, they said, lived the Skookums, a race of giant, hairy cannibals, and the river and its surrounding forest were forbidden territory; no tribes ventured up there.

Settlers heard the tales and passed them on. As the population there-about grew, reports of giant, vaguely human creatures living near the mountain began creeping into newspapers. The most famous report occurred in 1924, when a group of miners working a deep canyon on the mountain's eastern flank claimed they were attacked at night by giant apes who rained boulders on their cabin. The miners' story—borne out by the discovery of huge footprints—sparked pandemonium. Law officers and vigilantes stormed the mountain armed to the teeth.

Years later, a retired Forest Service supervisor, Harry White, recalled getting a call from a fellow ranger who found himself caught in the middle of the excitement. "Why, Harry," the ranger shouted through a tiny connection, "the woods are full of people. They're armed with rifles and shotguns and pistols, and they're shooting at anything that moves. I'm afraid that somebody is going to get hurt!" no apes were found, but the canyon became "Ape Canyon," and the story was enshrined in the mountain's official Forest Service history.

Patterson located and interviewed Fred Beck; one of the miners involved in the incident, and began exploring the mountain on horseback. He was particularly taken with Ape Canyon. Viewed from either end, the long, deep fissure—once known as Thousand-Foot Canyon—exudes mystery. In the mid-sixties it was an easy and spectacular ride across the mountain's southern shoulder, passing through patches of wild strawberries, twisted bonsai pines, blue lupines, and red Indian paintbrush, to the canyon's lip, where the walls were vertical and a stream flowed through the middle like a scene from Shangri-La.

Before the mountain's catastrophic eruption in 1980, much of it was ringed by a single road that connected a handful of tiny communities. Everyone in the area came to know the little cowboy on the lookout for Bigfoot, including several grizzled forest veterans who claimed to have seen either the beast or footprints or knew someone who had.

Early in his investigation, Patterson was encouraged by an incident involving a couple fishing on the Lewis River, who reported to the sheriff that they had seen a giant, beige-colored creature walking on the bank. A logger named Charlie Erion, who owned a farm on the river; went to the site with his son and found hundreds of huge humanlike tracks. The couple's story and Erion's discovery made the newspapers. Patterson showed up at Erion's place a few weeks later and peppered him with questions. Erion told him of several other reports. They became friends, and Patterson took to using Erion's place as a way station on his journeys to and from the mountain, occasionally staying overnight.