A Walk in the Woods, Part 2

 

 

12/18/2014

One of the commandments in The House of God (a satire on internship) is, “There is no body cavity that can’t be reached with a 14 gauge needle and a strong arm.” That phrase captures my love of procedures, though I rarely get the pleasure—oops sorry—the duty, of wielding large, sharp instruments anymore. Unfortunately my skill with giant needles and small knives would not be useful with a large animal, such as a bear, should I happen to do something unwitting to disturb it. While most bears want no more to do with humans than we want to do with them, most bear attacks in the USA occur in Alaska, because, duh, that’s where most of the bears are (and arguably, the least cautious humans).

I could have bought mace—but it’s 50$ a can!—and that seemed kind of steep for the one walk my remaining day off and the weather was going to permit. So after my last exciting solo attempt at a trail, I was thrilled to hear that a couple of staff members were interested in a hike, and that our nursing director’s husband, Bill, packed a gun and knew how to use it. Margie volunteered that Bill also happens to like hikes. I wanted to sound like I was inviting him along, but, well, it probably came out more like begging. Fortunately, Bill’s a good sport and a very nice guy, which is great, because, as I mentioned, he carries a gun. Still, this was not as reassuring as it might have been because Katy and I stared straight into the muzzle of a grizzly several years back, and after that age-accelerating experience I read all the stories about bear attacks I could find,  and some of those flayed people had guns (and mace). I was, however, quite confident about the noise level 3 big boys and 1 girl who likes to sing would make. Furthermore, what kind of a snack would I make compared to those guys? Fearless. That’s how it was.

The stars were surely aligned because the weather cleared and we had the first truly sunny skies all month! So, no funny pictures of me in the overlarge rain gear which I would have been thrilled to model in a Cordovan downpour no matter how silly I looked. There are several glaciers accessible from town. We chose the closest, Sheridan, to maximize daylight which doesn’t start until 9:30 and is pretty much gone 6 hours later. (We lose around 6 minutes of daylight every day here until, YAY! the 22nd, when we gain 6 minutes per day.)

According to the National Park Service Alaska’s glaciers have been retreating for the last century, more accelerated recently. The photo above shows our first glimpse of a sliver of the Sheridan–the blue strip at the base of the mountains. It was a couple miles of pretty easy hike (though our muscles didn’t necessarily agree the next day). The diciest part is in the foreground–the narrow wooden bridge over the glacial melt. Look at the color of that water–a deep translucent blue. That’s how glacial melt always looks, though the shade and clarity vary depending on where you are (Lake Louise in Banff is crystal clear and light aqua, Antarctica is more steely blue). But they are all stunning variations glacier blue. Even though it was above freezing, here’s what that charming little wooden bridge looked like up close. I had to resist the urge to crawl.

 

 

 

 

First good view of glacier from top of trail.

 

 

We’re standing on the glacier here–dirty up close from rocks/ sand which are prominent as its edges scrape down the sides of the mountains. Bob’s holding a box of handmade habanero and salty caramel chocolates he brought as a surprise, along with a bottle of red wine to celebrate…the hike, the glacier, the sun, the scenery, life! It’s 5 o’clock somewhere! It was such a surprise, we had no corkscrew. But our trusty boy scout Bill had a pocket knife, and no stitches were needed. Darn.

Bill and Letcher explore an ice cave (those are Letcher’s legs to the right–wayyyy in there). There are some things even I won’t do. 

 

Look how the light shines through. The iphone does not do it justice.

 

 

Closer surface of ice all corrugated on top, with melted edges from the recent rain and warm temps. 

Even closer detail weird, huh? —>>>

 

 

 

 

Bill is standing at the edge of the most popular ice rink in town. Seriously. Icebergs calving off the glacier freeze in place and people skate around them and into the caves at the margin of the glacier. Claudia??? This has your name all over it!

The climb up Mt Sheridan starts at the whitewater (below), which they’ve all sampled while I’m in the best smelling outhouse on the planet! (It’s frozen! Another excellent Alaskan feature!) Bob is sipping away despite my mentioning there is no sterile mountain spring water on the planet. “It’s good,” he says, and hands the cup to me. I feel fine. Really, I do.

 

 

 

 

 

Below, right. Guys are standing on top of, and I am climbing up toward, a fall of dead trees sculpted by moss into a home big enough for Goldilocks and the three. If you’re ever lost in the woods and you need a place to shelter for the night, stay here. Just make sure it’s empty first…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It takes 3 things to form a glacier: abundant snowfall, cool summers, and the gravitational flow of ice. You can see all these forces at work when you visit one.

As we drove away we spotted a dozen bald eagles perched in the pines along the stream. It was a glorious day, just perfect for enjoying the unparalleled beauty of Alaska. I am tremendously grateful to my new friends for the company and the laughter, and to Margie for sharing Bill with us. And, I am delighted to report all the heart-racing on this hike was due to the terrain and the body parts not quite equal to it! 

Epilogue ~~~

When we first hit the trail I was overcome by an urge to sing out, O What A Beautiful Morning, just like Maria von Trapp (yes, for my theater friends, I know it was Gordon McCrae in Oklahoma who sang it, but I was overcome like Maria on the Austrian hillside).  The scenery alone was cause enough for singing, but as I flung those notes out into the boundless wilderness I realized I was calling my dad, who used to rouse my sister and me out of bed on particularly splendid Saturdays with that catchy ditty, sung almost in tune. If there’s a place on this earth he could hear me, it was there, in the beauty of the outdoors he taught me to love. I hope part of your joy this holiday season is in finding your own lost loves in unexpected places.

Mary Jo

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