Strong earthquakes aren’t unprecedented in Montana, but they’re not the kind of thing you plan on if you’re living in or visiting Big Sky Country.
Nonetheless, that’s how a visit a Harold Mitchell and I made to Helena, Mont., a couple of weeks ago basically began.
Maybe you saw a report, because the rare occurrence rightfully made national headlines, but if not, a robust 5.8 quake hit southwest Montana at about 12:30 a.m. July 6. To put it lightly, it was quite an experience.
To set the scene, Harold and I were sleeping in a couple of upstairs rooms in the home of his brother and sister-in-law in Clancy. We had arrived by plane less than 24 hours earlier, and were resting comfortably after a nice first day in a place I had rapidly grown very fond of.
Having been a youngster living in Southern California and still having family connections there now, I’ve been in earthquakes before – including a pretty big one in San Diego in the late 2000s. But these are always strange and unusual experiences, and there’s really no way to “get used” to them.
Anyway, during this one, I clearly recall becoming half awake and sort of lying there thinking, “what the heck?” as I felt the bed moving and my ears perceived several abnormal sounds.
As I became a bit more coherent, I was like, “oh, it must be the train – wait, there’s no train!”
I sat up on the edge of the bed and I could tell by the light of the outside security light that the house was moving like it was mounted to a trailer rolling along a bumpy dirt road. And the sound! It was like a combination of thunder and pocket change rattling, with a bit of passing freight train mixed in.
At that point, I knew what was happening and I thought, “holy cow, an earthquake!” By then, a good 15 or 20 seconds had passed since the dang thing began, and I yelled out, “Harold!”
He had obviously been awakened by the calamity, and yelled back a one-word question: “Earthquake?”
“Yeah, man!” I said. “And a big one!”
Seconds later the event was over. Or so we thought.
Once the adrenaline subsided, we bedded back down. But when I was still in almost-asleep mode, the bed, house and world began rockin’ and rollin’ all over again.
We found out the next day that the encore measured 4.5 on the Richter scale – a whopper of a tremor in its own right.
That night, our hosts hosted a gathering of about 20 or so locals, and one of the main topics – obviously – was the quake. Several people had very similar stories to mine, right down to the “wait, there’s no train” part.
But more than one also brought up something else that really made us “flatlanders” stop and think. In that region, increased activity within the Yellowstone super-volcano had definitely been a concern over the past couple of months, and the subject had even made national news a time or two.
I kid you not, when the 5.8 was in progress, a few people shared the same thought: “The volcano has blown and we’re about to die.” One woman was describing how she was looking out the window for the massive ash cloud and pyroclastic flow that was about to end everything in the area.
She said she was actually a bit surprised when no such thing happened. A man told almost the same story, adding he had turned on the TV and radio to see if anyone was reporting on a doomsday eruption.
Harold and I were simply blown away by it all, but we fully understood how these people could have that mindset, considering their proximity to a monstrous volcanic powder keg.
The rest of our week in The Treasure State transpired without a hitch, and gave Harold and I a real taste of how great the place is. But wow, watch that first step; it’s a doozie!
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. His columns are posted online at www.houstonherald.com. Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.