Billmon: Trembler

In the spring of 1980, a few weeks before Mt. St. Helens completely blew its top, a swarm of microquakes jostled the Cascade foothills of Western Washington, as the magma chamber deep below the mountain began to empty into the central conduit leading up to the crater. One of these quakes was powerful enough to rock my dorm room about 80 miles north of the volcano. It was just a single, sharp shock in the early hours of the morning -- as if a truck had backed into my bed, with a sound like a couple of boxcars jolting together. By the time I was fully awake, it was over, and I lay there in the darkness -- half stoned, half asleep, wondering what the hell was going on.