Alaska: Day 3: 7-8-93: Glacier Bay Tour/Climbing Mt. Cooper

What a Day! Lot's to report -- all good! I woke up bright and early at 6:00 a.m., packed up all my gear and boarded "The Spirit of Adventure" for my nine hour tour ("a nine hour tour" ... I hope the weather doesn't start getting rough ...) of Glacier Bay. As soon as I got on, I looked for other people with backpacks to see if I could join up with them. I struck gold on my first attempt. I met four people who were not only getting dropped off and going hiking and camping, but they actually worked at Glacier Bay National Park and knew a helluva lot more than I did. The first thing I learned was that someone neglected to inform me about the mandatory "life-saving" camping orientation for all people getting dropped off for the night -- a slight oversight, to be sure! I'm lucky I talked to these guys before the boat left, because I was supposed to have a bear canister to ensure that a grizzly doesn't smell my rations and mistake my ass for a roast beef sandwich. Fortunately, one of the park naturalists had enough time to run back to the lodge and procure me one. He then gave me a cram orientation: don't drink the water; don't leave food at your campsite; and burn your used toilet paper. I thanked him for the crash course.

Next, I introduced myself to my new potential campmates -- Larry, Matt, Jill and Gill. Gill was staying for two nights and hiking up to the top of the snow-laden mountains to go skiing. Larry, was going for one night (like myself), but he wasn't into hiking. That left Matt and Jill, who were basically "going my way", and after several hints (wink-wink, nudge-nudge), Matt invited me along. Matt was a real nice, social guy, and we hit it off immediately. Since he worked at the park, he got his share of perks which he said he could extend to me. He invited me to partake of free food, a canoe "on the house" for the last day at Glacier Bay, and a chance to ride up in front of the ship with the captain. I immediately accepted this latter offer, and I'm glad I did! At the bow of the ship, I got the best view and photo ops. So much wildlife! Harbor Seals, Killer Whales, Bald Eagles, Tufted Puffins, Oyster Catchers and several other species of birds abounded. We did not, however, see any of the large land bound mammals such as Mountain Goats, bears or wolves, which was a little disappointing.

So much for the appetizers. Now it was time to sail towards the tidewater glaciers, our main course for the day. We were teased by iceberg sightings and far-off glimpses of glaciers along the way, and then, suddenly, we were there. I saw two enormous glaciers, the Marjorie and the Grand Pacific. The (less than) Grand Pacific was full of dirt, rocks and silt, and it wasn't much to look at. But Marjorie was simply stunning! At 27 miles long and one mile wide, this grande dame dwarfed our ship and provided quite an eyeful. She was white and topaz blue, shimmering brightly in the perpetual Alaskan sun. Her icy beauty reminded me of a scene I had once seen in a PBS documentary on Antarctica (a continent I hope to visit someday).




-----------------------------------The Marjorie Glacier---------------------------------

At this point, the captain stopped the boat, and we watched and waited in the hopes of witnessing the most anticipated, though elusive, sight of all -- calving! Calving is when huge chunks of ice fall off the glacier into the bay (whereupon they officially become icebergs). The beginning of our vigil was very promising. I saw some minor action straight off: boulder-sized balls of ice fell off the top of the glacier and plummeted into the bay, spuming geysers of foamy water. The naturalist said we were in for a day of unprecedented calving. So I waited with an expectant face and prone camera for a calving of historic proportions . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . and, uh-yeah, waited. About 30 minutes later, the boat started up again and we headed further on down the bay, feeling somewhat jilted by the fickle whims of Mother Nature.

--------The Tour Ship Was Dwarfed By The Massive Glaciers---------

After scarfing down a turkey sandwich, chili and corn bread, I made my final preparations to leave the boat. Steve was kind enough to let me make two triple-decker peanut butter sandwiches to take with me, considering that the only food I had with me was three juice packs and eight whole wheat fig bars (I don't know where my head was at when I packed my rations -- did I expect to wrestle down a bear for sustenance?!). With that, Steve said he was "stoked" for me, and jealous that he couldn't come along. We exchanged addresses, and I joined my fellow campers at the stern of the ship.

My "Glacier Bay Camping Adventure" started with an unexpected wet drop off. I had to doff my boots and socks, don a pair of shorts and wade through the rock-laden 20 degree water to shore. After regaining sensation in all ten toes, I replaced my footwear, strapped on my backpack and began a five hour/ten mile hike to the snow encrusted peak of Mt. Cooper (elevation: 2,000 feet). As an East Coast "tenderfoot", I was decidedly ill-prepared for the ruggedness of the The Great Northwest. Although I've hiked before, it has almost always been on trails, all neatly laid out and "bushwhacked". Now I was the trailblazer, and the most logical route -- following the Ptarmigan Creek -- was not so simply tamed. Matt, Jill and I walked precariously on top of the rocks which lined the creek. The slickness of the wet, mossy surface in conjunction with the shifting weight of my unbalanced 60-pound backpack (did I really need all this gear?) led to a few unexpected baths (once I misjudged a jump and landed up to my knees in the chilly water, and another time I fell ignominiously on my ass). After about two miles of rock hopping, we came upon a new challenge. Alder, a wild Alaskan shrub which enveloped most of the mountainous terrain surrounding the creek (in many places, so thick as to be impassable), had now grown right over the creek, ensuring a half mile of pure hiking Hell. Trying to maintain my balance and spot "steppable" rocks while pushing through the heavy brush proved trickier than ever, and along with the increasingly inevitable dips came bloody scratches. . Eventually, the going became too tough, and it became necessary to go into the heart of the thickets themselves. We left the creek and plunged into the chest-high Alder. I cut my bare legs to ribbons, but my pack-laden shoulders were in too much pain for me to notice until later. (Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, not really: I loved the hike and would do it again, but I would be lying if I didn't admit it hurt.) Anyway, by this time it became apparent that if we were going to make the steep climb to the top of Mt. Cooper, we would have to lose the packs. We looked in vain for a viable campsite (i.e. flat, dry and rock free). After a fifteen minute search turned up nothing but rocky plains, mossy bogs and alder-ridden fields, we were ready to resign ourselves to hiking all the way back to the beach. But upon leaving the bank of the creek and climbing 100 yards up the brush-filled hillside, I found a 20'x20' clearing -- well "clearing" might be stretching it a bit, as this patch of Earth still had clumps of alder shoots and a smattering of rocks (plus the ground was damp and sloped some 30 degrees), but beggars can't be choosers, so we decided to doff our packs and claim the spot.

Here's where we get to the fun part! We had hiked to the base of Mt. Cooper, and now we had to climb our way to the peak. I boldly took the pole position and started leading our fearless expedition to the summit. Ours was a rocky and steep ascent. At one point, I foolishly attempted to make like Sylvester Stallone in"Cliffhanger" by scaling a portion of the vertical rockface with my bare hands. Almost immediately, my inexperienced hands and feet had difficulty finding decent holds. I soon found myself halfway up the 40' cliff wall, scrabbling for purchase, when the boulder I was leaning upon gave way and pressed all of its significant weight against me. Fearing I would plummet faster than Sly's career, I tightened what little grip I had and slid my midsection aside, silently praying that the rock wouldn't crash into my legs on its way down, propelling me to my doom (or at least, a nasty broken bone). Thankfully, it dropped cleanly, and I gingerly continued my climb. All went well until I was about six feet from the top. Searching for my next handhold, I soon discovered there was none within reach. I was stuck! Luckily, Matt (who, along with Jill, had wisely taken the long way -- so much for my "leadership"), gave me a hand -- or more precisely, a foot -- and pulled me to safety.

------------------------Climbing Mt. Cooper's Rockface-------------------------

That crisis averted, we all made our leisurely way to the apex. What a view! I stood atop a rock on the highest point of the mountain and looked around me at the enchanting world nature had wrought. A sparkling, silent bay ensconced in a circle of mountains and glaciers. It was wondrous and peaceful -- I sat back and drank it in. After we took a couple of well-earned photographs, our stomachs started complaining, so we decided to head back to camp. Not looking forward to climbing down the mountain via the steep, rocky slopes, I came up with a more ingenious method of descent. We had climbed so high that the snow covered peaks were covered in snow. As I tied my raincoat to my bottom to make a makeshift sleigh, I suggested that we slide to the base of the cliff. Doubting my admittedly questionable judgment (the cliffhanging incident still fresh in every one's mind), Matt and Jill diplomatically offered to do it if I went first (and survived, presumably). Well, I braced myself and let it rip. I sped down the mountainside with snow spewing out behind me. I steered myself around both a sizable fissure and a sharp outcrop, making it about halfway down before a bald patch stopped my progress. I proudly stood and gave my new skeptical friends a "thumbs up" sign. They followed and we took two or three more slides apiece until we made it back to the base of Mt. Cooper. My feet, legs and butt were soaking wet and my unprotected hands were numb, but I was exhilarated. I didn't even notice the mile long walk back to the campsite.

-----------------------View From The Top Of Mt. Cooper------------------------

Upon arrival, we set up our tents and then walked down to the bank to eat dinner. After emptying most of our respective bear canisters, we closed them up for the night, hung them high up on branches and returned to our tents.The first thing Matt and I noticed was that our tent was pitched at a very uncomfortable angle. It was so steep, in fact, that it was all we could do not to slide right out the opening. I managed to dig my heels in and get a little shuteye. At about 2:30 a.m., I awoke to a rain shower and an aching bladder. I quickly went outside to relieve myself and batten down the hatches of the tent before falling back to sleep.