For most survivors of Mount St. Helens's catastrophic lateral blast, the devastation was nearly silent. You would think that a wall of ash, hot gas and rock hurtling at a minimum of 100 kilometers per hour (62 mph), mangling vehicles and ripping down every tree in its path, would be loud, incredibly loud - but only one witness reported hearing much more than a rumbling sound.
One tradition in the Hunter household is that things always fall apart over the winter holiday season. This year, the cable quit in a snit, and the computer decided tonight that speaking to the internet was not part of its job description.
I’d like to conduct an experiment someday. I’d like to gather together a group of experts in a particular field and show them a few popular science video clips relevant to their areas of expertise.
Please sit down. I have some news to break. It may be very difficult to hear, and it may shake your innocence and trust. But I need you to know the truth.Are you ready?
A few seconds after the beginning of the directed blast, life within roughly ten kilometers (6.2 miles) of Mount St. Helens within the blast zone was about to be extinguished. Oblique aerial view of the laterally blasted material deposited in the North Fork Toutle River valley approximately seven miles away from Mount St.
One of my regulars over at ETEV pointed me toward this gorgeous E.S. Posthumus song, "Pompeii." In light of a recent Rosetta Stones post, it made sense to listen to it.
A serene terror loomed outside my schoolroom windows. Mount Elden from a classroom window at Christensen Elementary School, Flagstaff, Arizona. You have no idea how delighted I was to find someone else who enjoyed the same view.
I adore Chris Rowan of Highly Allochthonous. He and co-blogger Anne Jefferson were my first exposure to the geoblogosphere back when they were on ScienceBlogs.
I see you jumping up-and-down with your hand in the air, saying "Ooo! I know this one!" I see you, too, over there groaning, "Doesn't every body know?" And I see you, glowering, wanting your Mount St.
I'll tell you the moment I realized I'm a raging ignoramus when it comes to rivers, and that I really needed to educate myself. It was when Lockwood and I were mooching about Avery Park.We'd just had a nice dabble down by the Marys River.Other rivers had compelled me with beauty, power, and drama, but those had been operas: you're so sated by the performance that you don't realize you didn't understand a bloody word.
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