Prince William Sound looking across at Columbia Glacier

Alaska Journals
Part 7: Glacier Tour
Date: September 19

Of all the sights and people and deeds encountered in the Kenai Peninsula, none have such a clear image in the mind as the
glaciers. The are huge, jagged, bluish-white behemoths often set against dark green mountains, or silvery blue seas.

Glaciers are the result of overflowing ice fields formed on the tops of mountains. An ice field is formed when thousands of years of snowfall -- which doesn't melt at high altitudes -- packs itself into a highly dense, frozen reservoir. Glaciers are formed when the ice field overflows, creating these enormous, lumbering, frozen rivers that slowly bulldoze down the mountain.

From an aerial view, the whole thing looks like a spider: the ice field being the abdomen and the glaciers being the legs.

Though glaciers in Alaska are as common as Margaritas in Mexico, it wasn't until I was close enough to touch one that my
affair with these fascinating natural wonders truly blossomed.

This is the view of Exit Glacier from over a mile away. H.A. and I took the trail to the right to get an up close and personal view of the side of the glacier..

This is the right side of the glacier. For size reference, note my
presence in the left/center of the photo.

The Tidewater Glaciers of the Prince William Sound.

Because Honey Bucket is an employee of the Princess Tours, she was able to hook me up with all kinds of killer deals. One of them was an astoundingly cheap passage on the Phillips Glacier Cruise operating in the Prince William Sound from the port of Whittier.

View Map

There are only two ways to reach Whittier: boat or tunnel. The tunnel is open only a few select minutes of the day, and in only one direction at a time. The last tunnel out of Whittier is 7pm. Then the populace of the town, and any tourists who missed the tunnel, are stranded there; which is why they sell sweat shirts that
say,

P.O.W
Prisoner of Whittier.

The population of Whittier is about 300 people. Almost all of them live in the same dormitory building. Whittier was primarily a naval port that had housed many seamen in the Buckner Building which was severely damaged by the Earthquake of '64 and subsequently abandoned by the Navy.

Whittier, as far as I can see, is little more than a train tunnel, ship masts, train tracks, a bar/restaurant, two noisy bulldozers, the dormitory building where everyone lives, and the trashed Buckner Building (which Half-Ass calls the Haunted House), and of course the turquoise waters of Prince William Sound – all couched inside the crux of a series of glacier-laden mountains that form the walls of our cage.

This is my second visit to Whittier. I was here a week earlier with H.A. He took me to the Haunted House -- so named for its many rooms and vaults and machinery and decrepit floorboards and overall eerie-ness of a ghost town.

Half-Ass -- who had explored the Buckner Building manytimes -- describes the Haunted House as such:

"[It has an officer's lounge, operating room, movie theater, bowling alley, mess hall, some place spray painted, 'Fuck Room', an underground tunnel, and the septic tanks (where a noted local mountain racer stuck his head into thirty-seven year-old freeze dried shit and threw a handful at Honey Bucket)."

Once again, I had a view of Half Ass's ass as he climbed quickly recklessly up the fire escape. I went slower, carefullier up the rickety stairwell, dodging upwardly protruding shards of glass, tetanus infested slivers of dried paint on the handrail, and rusty metal barbs– all of which exist solely to put humans in the hospital.

On the top floor, we climbed through thrashed window, walked across floor boards that sometimes sagged when you stepped on them, and avoided people-sized holes that could have easily been created by some other idiot, who came before me, and fell five stories to his death.

Certainly, walking through the Haunted House was a game of architectural roulette, but Half-Ass barreled through as though he were late for the reading of a will. I, to my credit (or cowardice) tested the floor with nearly every step.

Consequently my view of Half-Ass's ass became a view of no ass at all. He had gone on without me. So I wandered the building alone. Sometimes (like when I found some super special secret vault) I roamed in total darkness. Other times (like when I was in outer rooms with missing walls) the sun shined through and warmed up the room.

The Buckner Building was on a hill, so, from the top floor you get a great view of the whole town. I found an upper room with a large trashed window, snapped this shot, sat down, and wrote in my blue journal.

Whenever I paused in my writing to gather my thoughts, I glanced around the room or over the city for inspiration. On one such pause, I looked at the ceiling and saw that it was convex: bulging
and cracked and ready to collapse. I climbed out the window, up the fire escape, and onto a vent box to see what made the roof sag so drastically: Well, it was thousands of pounds of water,
about two feet deep that was making it sag so drastically. The water was black and grimy and it was all encased by the three foot wall that was the perimeter of the roof, making it look like a giant, unkempt, swimming pool.

I left immediately. I did not try to find Half-Ass either; not because I was overrun with fear, but because I knew that craziac wouldn't leave anyway. He was on a mission – danger was part of it.

An hour later, Half-Ass emerged from the Haunted House and we boarded The Klondike Express.

Phillips' 26 Glacier Cruise

Now before I go on about this, I just want to say that I am not Mr. Advertisement guy; nor am I getting any kickbacks from Phillips (though I should probably check that out huh?). I don't normally gush over somebody else's business because most businesses and corporations and their owners suck tortoise farts. The sole of entrepreneurism is usually obscured beneath the cold, heavy foot of capitalism. But every now and then you encounter a business that is as concerned with meeting the customer's needs as much as it is making a buck.

And because so few businessmen fall into that category, I wildly revel in pointing you all in direction of someone who cares. If you travel to the Kenai Peninsula, hire Phillips 26 Glacier Cruise: They don't suck.

The Klondike is the large catamaran owned by Phillips. The Klondike has three levels. The first two have indoor and outdoor viewing areas. The bridge -- which occupies the top level, along with a small viewing area -- is open for client questions and observation. There is also cocktail bar, a kitchen, and of course rest rooms.

The Klondike is a new boat and superior to any others I could find when researching which company to enlist. It has two 16v4000 Detroit diesel engines and two water jets. In short, it flies!

The other companies had older, slower boats and couldn't travel half the distance of the Klondike. According to my research, the spectacular glaciers were in the College Fjord, unattainable by the other companies.

Phillips, however, promises a close view of the many glaciers of the College Fjord, as well as an excellent chance to see Marine life, like otters and such. (The grand prize being the Orca whale)

Brad Phillips, and his wife Helen, by the way, pioneered this whole glacier day-tour business. Having seen and fallen in love with the Prince William Sound, he decided he would bring it to others. In 1958, he began a cruise company in Valdez called Glacier Cruises but the tsunami created by the '64 earthquake yanked his ship out to sea. They rebuilt and kept going.

Our destination was Harvard Glacier. All the glaciers of the College Fjord were named after Ivy league colleges. Harvard is so named because it is the biggest and baddest of all.
It would be some time until we exited the Whittier arm of the
sound. Captain Nina kicked into high gear and the cold winds
whipped up. Not fifteen minutes into the trip, somebody shouted
"ORCA!." The Captain killed the engines and announced that an
Orca was sighted off the bow and to come look.

H.A. And H.B. bolted. I grabbed my camera and followed with my standard, disturbing view of Half-Ass's funky ass (and a rewarding shot of Honey Bucket's butt for contrast). On the way, I pulled out the trusty old Minolta, (Minny) and noticed that she was out of film.

"ROOKIE!!" "I thought.. "How could I go on a glacier tour of the Prince William sound, WITHOUT LOADING THE FRICKIN CAMERA??

I was then faced with a situation: either rush to the bow and admire the beauty and the wonder of a killer whale swimming
alongside of our boat, without capturing it for your sorry asses. Or rush back, load film, and preserve Orca (forever) but risk never seeing it at all.

Naturally I made the wrong decision. I went back inside, loaded film, rushed to the deck, shoved to the front -- a camera wielding touridiot in an Orca feeding frenzy -- looked into the water, and saw nothing.

NADA;

not even a wad of seaweed that could be mistaken for Orca; not even the ripples of agitated waves where a killer whale had once been.

The crowd returned to their tables. Orca waits not for Kodak.

Ray Davies often wrote about the absurdity of the vacationing photographer; pondered about the incessant need to capture
moments in time.

"People take pictures of the Summer,
Just in case someone thought they had missed it,
And to prove that it really existed…
And the moment to last them for ever,
Of the time when they mattered to someone."
--Ray Davies (The Kinks) "People Take Pictures of Each
Other"

I've long had this debate with myself about the merits of photo taking and how bringing a camera along -- whether it's to a house party, or a gathering in Tahoe, or climbing Mt. Everest – hinders the involvement process. When you bring a camera, you cease being the action in favor of becoming just a witness to it.

Not to mention that the whole process of photography -- carrying and caring for the camera; buying film; imposing on your subjects -- is a hassle, and also helps ruins the moment.

All that is a sort of indirect interference. Now, with this Orca thing, not seeing the whale was the DIRECT result of my having a camera. And so I humbly returned to my seat, resigned to the fact that I destroyed what was probably my only chance to see a killer whale in the wild (Shamu Does not count!). And that I would never make that mistake again; that I would always enjoy the moment first, snap pictures second. So, when the Klondike finally emerged into the College Fjord of the Prince William Sound, and these glaciers came into view, I just stood and gaped with my camera at my side.

Only till my eyes and brain were sated, did I snap these pictures

We were many miles away from these glaciers, Harvard is the on
the far right.

On our way to Harvard Glacier, to our left, we passed the smaller,
yet impressive Holyoke, Barnard, Vassar, Wellesley, Bry Mawr,
and Smith Glaciers:

Harvard Glacier was dead ahead.

And finally, we arrived at Harvard.

When we were a 1/2 mile from the face of the ice, Captain Nina cut the engines and let us drift toward the face of the icy monument. This is the moment for which we were waiting.

Above is a sectioned look at Harvard Glacier. The photos on the right and left are the ends of the glacier and the other one is in the center. The center photo is an 800 foot section of the mile-wide glacier

For the past hour or so, the Klondike was cruising at about 45 miles an hour; the icy winds hurricaning past our ears, the engine roaring with the vigor of a teenager on a road trip. When she cut the engines -- and the wind was still, and everyone on the boat had stopped talking -- the only sound was the icebergs crunching under the hull of Klondike.

(Not the icebergs that humiliated the Titanic, mind you, most of
them were the size of filing cabinets. Others were the size of
limousines. Some were even bigger. Many had otters basking on
them as if they were sunning themselves off the radiance of the
glacial face.)

There are four types of glaciers: Alpine, Cirque, Piedmont and Active Tidewater Glaciers. It is the Tidewaters that come down to confront the sea, standing against the water like frozen, white, reservoir dams. Since a glacier is a moving, flowing object, it is constantly cracking and crumbling and reforming as it surges down the mountain. At the face of the glacier, where it meets the water, giant chunks of ice, many as large as automobiles, break off the wall and fall into the sea. This process is called calving.

When a chunk of ice calves, you hear a thunderous "craaaack" which vibrates the glacier and resonates throughout the Sound as though God were breaking redwoods over his knee. Then the chunk falls into the water and creates an enormous splash.

Everyone on board the Klondike is quiet was silent as we waited for the sound of God cracking his knuckles and the subsequent splash of the berg falling into the water.

As I explored the ship, on our way to the last planned spectacle -- the Surprise Glacier -- I found a framed article about a mysterious Polar Bear sighting.

About six months prior, on this very same tour, on this very catamaran, a woman took a digital picture of a polar bear floating on an iceberg down the sound.

Then she went to the bridge and reported what she had seen to Captain Nina.

The Captain told her that there were no Polar Bears in the area. The woman showed her the digital picture. Sure enough, it was a polar bear! Captain Nina turned the Klondike around and searched for the bear but could not find it.

Another passenger came forward and produced video footage of the same polar bear. (ahh the tecnological age).

So in came the experts and this is what they surmised:

On the surface of all glaciers and ice fields are gaping crevasses that vary in width and depth. Some are a mile deep. These
crevasses shift and re-crack and close as the glacier flows so there is no way to map them. And because snow often covers the mouths of these cracks, People and animals can fall into them very easily. And if they do, they can stay there for a thousand years.

The experts think that maybe a thousand years ago, when Polar Bears did inhabit this region, this one fell through the cracks and stayed there, preserved. Until 6 months prior, when the bear finally made it to the sea and calved of the face of the iceberg.

Which brings us back to Krakauer-isms.

As I said, sometimes people fall into these crevasses. But why would anyone go out on a glacier or ice field, knowing at any time they could be plummeting down an icy, mile long, Helter Skelter. It's not like anybody takes a wrong turn and ends up on a glacier top.

No. People intentionally cross glaciers and ice fields and you know who they are: The Krakauers of the world.

Krakauers, whether they're mountaineers who need to cross an ice field to get to a peak, or pioneers like Yule Kilcher
(the grand pappy to our favorite singer-songwriter, Jewel) who crossed the Harding Ice Field to find the new world and salvage his family from oppression, or adrenaline junkies like this tour bus driver from Princess Tours whom I met, who just runs out on them for the rush. (He was the one who stuck his head in the sewer tank of the Buckner Building and produced petrified turds). Once he broke his collar bone trying to stop himself from plummeting down a crevasse.

The mouths of crevasses come in many sizes**

As the Klondike powered toward the last glacier -- Surprise
Glacier, we were treated to a surprise. Crew members had pulled
aboard some chunks of the glacial ice.

This ice, as surmised by the crew, was about 2000 years old.
Honey Bucket called it "Jesus Ice."

They chopped the berg into smaller pieces and put them into
glasses for us. We were warned not to chew it as it was highly
dense (thousands of years of snowfall packed to make this ice)
and would probably decimate our teeth.

So we were licking droplets off ancient water, and I got off on
thinking that maybe Jesus even drank from this very glass of
water. There are also air pockets in the Jesus Ice.

H.A. said that scientists study that air to see what the air quality
was like 2000 years ago: Jesus Air.

Jesus Air

Jesus Air is better air
Because he didn't have a car
or a motorboat
or a washing machine

But what good is clean air
when zealots are
Stringing you up?

Then I had an idea. The Deck had a wicked, awful, evil idea. I was going to have the bartender pour Beefeater gin over the Jesus Ice. She plopped in an olive and, voila!: Jesus martinis.

H.A. and I drank our Christinis, with the Surprise Glacier in our view, and Sea Otters loitering on icebergs near the cat. I snapped off the last of my exposures and put the camera away.

Captain Nina fired her up and headed home. Everybody went inside and were lounging at their tables, exhausted from the
whirlwind of emotions and visions we just witnessed. Everyone was quiet, as in post coital bliss… until somebody shouted
"ORCAS!"

Captain Nina Announced that an Orca pod was aft. I grabbed my camera and bolted out the door.

I emerged outside just in time to see a killer whale shoot out of the water, entirely airborne, and come back down with its nose -- an expert diver.

There were seven of them, of various sizes. Experts in the crew pointed out which was the dominant male and dominant female. We just floated alongside of them, coexisting for a moment, as if we humans too were creations of nature and not the distorted, mangled technology wraiths that we have morphed into.

They hung around us for 15 minutes or so and we could have stayed with them even longer except the last tunnel out of Whittier was in fifteen minutes and we had to go.

So I pulled out my camera to take, what I figured would be the best photos of the trip, and then it hit me.

"NOOOOO."

I snapped out my last 6 exposures at the Surprise Glacier. I HAD NO MORE FILM. "ROOKIE!!" "I thought to myself. FRICKIN ROOKIE.

So I had to steal this picture from www.glaciervoyagers.com