The Saga of Mount Saint Helens, or What Really Happened May 18

The Saga of Mount Saint Helens, or What Really Happened May 18

You had better get set and hold on to your chair,
Cause I’ve got a story that will curl your hair.
It starts with those Arabs who own all the oil,
The cost of which has added a lot to our toil.
The old steel tower I’ve had working on the hill
Don’t run very good on the produce from a still.
So me and the crew were brainstorming for a clue
And pondering on what was the best thing to do.

When one of the boys said, “Hey, I just now remember
A great little find I made while hunting last December.
Way up a canyon over toward Spirit Lake,
I found an old Steam Pot that’s free for the take.
If we could get that old machine on a new wooden sled,
Fix up the broiler and whistle, we could wake up the dead.”
Well, that sounded interesting so we went out to look,
And our heads started spinning, one look’s all it took.

We went out on weekends with fish pole, so no one would know,
And started to work on her to make the old gal go.
We hammered and welded and plugged and we drilled,
Until one spring morning she stood there all frilled.
All we needed was wire to wrap on her spools,
And bull block and guy lines and all them tools.
We managed to scrounge them from the rest of the outfit,
And soon we was ready to make our big hit.

The crew all decided publicity wouldn’t do,
So we looked for a remote area to see how she’d blow.
We moved that old yarder into her dock,
Tied her down good to a good-sized rock.
We cut a stack of wood all full of pitch,
This kind of fuel won’t make Mr. Arab rich.
We snuck out there one Sunday, the 18th of May,
We fired the old boiler and it look’d like we were on our way.
That old broiler a’belching black smoke fit to kill,
And the old steam whistle echoing over the hill.
We looked for something to hook onto to see how it would pull,
And found a big wind-fall down in a hole.
The steam gauge was a’climbing up into the red,
When we give her a charge to raise the log out of bed.
There was a groan that shook the whole mountain side,
The engine struggled into life and opened up wide.
Here come that wind-fall til it hung on a stump,
That main line came tight, then let go with a thump.

Things kinda got mixed up and the boiler blew,
It scattered debris and also the crew.
It blew a big hole in the mountain and ruined Spirit Lake,
Knocked down a bunch of timber, which was sure hard to take.
Now that old machine lies up there on the slope,
And that big load of pitch still gives a puff and a whoop,
And ashes come down all over the West,
Just because a good crew tried to get ahead of the rest!

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