Alaska: Day 6: 7-11-93: Mendenhall Glacier - Up Close And Personal

I've just finished, quite possibly, my most memorable day ever. Skeptics may chalk this statement off to youthful hyperbole or a heretofore underwhelming life -- and both charges ring true -- but I prefer to see my glass half full; as such, I will call today's experience a "once in a lifetime adventure!" True, I've had rugged exploits before, but nothing -- I repeat, NOTHING -- like this. It was heart-pounding, spiritual and more than a wee bit stupid. You see, I went to the Mendenhall Glacier today -- to it, on it, inside it! Yes, my friends, today I went where few men have gone before -- hiking unmarked trails and exploring virgin crevices (hmm . . . perhaps I should rephrase that).

Anyway, I'd best be backing up a bit. I'm getting way ahead of myself. . .

This morning, I was supposed to go kayaking, but the water was far too choppy and dangerous, necessitating a reassignment to tomorrow's tour. In an exceptionally adventurous mood, I sought thrills elsewhere. For a long time, I couldn't make up my mind as to whether I should climb to the top of Mt. Juneau or Mt. Roberts or hike to see the Mendenhall Glacier. My mind was made up when I heard that it might be possible to venture all the way to the glacier (not just within viewing distance). The local bus could take me as close as a mile to the 3.5 mile glacial trail, allowing the chance for a healthy 9 mile hike.

At the bus stop, I ran into the same girl from Cleveland with whom I shared the airport limo ride. I reintroduced myself and learned that her name was Cindy and she was a physical therapist. We boarded the packed bus and shared a seat. Recalling her rather laconic nature, I prepared myself for a quiet journey of scenery watching and soul searching. Lo and behold, however, Cindy transformed into Miss Loquacious, and the hour flew by as we exchanged stories from our respective vacations.

Knowing nothing about the Mendenhall hike, I was going to take the bus all the way to the last stop at the Glacier Visitor's Center. But I was informed by a friendly foursome from California that the last stop brought me to the Eastern trail which was nowhere near as spectacular as the Western trail. (indeed, only the Western route afforded the opportunity to actually reach the glacier). So I talked to the bus driver, and he let me know where to get off. (Hey, where does he get off telling me where to get off?!)

I was dropped off on Montana Road and had to hike about two miles (passing the Mendenhall Glacier Campgrounds) to reach the beginning of the Western trail. Along the way, I stopped at the beachfront to gaze across the lake at the glacier. While not as imposing size-wise as the glaciers in Glacier Bay, it was no less impressive. My curiosity assuaged, I continued hoofing it til I reached the head of the trail. I was immediately greeted with a disturbing (and hopefully, not portentous) note posted on a signboard. It told of a man who had been missing for over a month (accompanied by a photo of a smiling, carefree middle-aged face): he had hiked to the glacier and never returned. I had heard that there's been an unprecedented amount of grizzly sightings recently, and, as well, I knew the intrinsic hazards of exploring a glacier -- I macabrely wondered which had been this poor schlep's fate. The poster described the man as last seen, and begged the would-be finder to keep him "warm, calm and reassured". I vowed I would, though I couldn't help but think that he was beyond my assistance by now. A shiver passed through me as, somewhat shaken, I started tentatively along the trail. I was distracted for the first half mile or so, imagining what a human body looks like after it's been mauled by a bear or crushed by a ton of caved-in ice.

Eventually, I made my way to the end of the beaten path. The glacier was close (about a mile away) but not close enough for one as intrepid as I. The trail guidebook said only expert hikers with the required equipment should venture beyond this point. But did I take heed? Hell, no! I, Mr. Fearless Explorer, left the trail proper and went full speed ahead!

It was anything but easygoing, and I have the cuts, bruises, blisters, and aches & pains to show for it. Having no cut and dry trail to follow (there were bright orange ribbons marking the general direction, but I lost them several times), I had to claw my way past prickly spruce trees, step through waist-high alder and scale a sheer rock cliff (we all remember what happened the last time I attempted to be a cliffhanger) . Somehow managing to ignore the voice inside my head which told me I was destined to become bear fodder, I braved on with adrenaline as my prime motivator. Just when I thought I'd end up as another posted notice at the head of the trail, I was there! Right in front of me was the Mendenhall Glacier: tons of ice, in constant imperceptible motion, which built up mountains, carved out valleys and melted into lakes -- in short, a force of nature to be reckoned with. I had made it, but I wasn't done.

-----------------------------------Mendenhall Glacier----------------------------------

Disregarding common sense and the instinct for self preservation, I succumbed instead to the spirit of adventure and the emotions of the moment, and I approached the glacier. First, I simply touched it -- it was cold, the kind of cold that burns with the frost of 10,000 winters. And then I did something foolish, insane, suicidal -- but oh so damn exhilarating! I went INTO the glacier. I donned my raincoat so as to avoid getting soaked by the glacier's mini waterfalls, and then I explored the subterranean glowing ice caves. With each step, I knew the danger grew exponentially and my escape route, longer. . . but the water, the ice, the rocks, the phosphorescent blue -- it was so incredible!

--------------------------------------An Inside View---------------------------------------

I listened to tiny individual drops of water trickle down to form a babbling stream, echoing resoundingly in the frozen cavern. I went in further (too far?) until the passage grew so narrow that I couldn't fit anymore, and the exit to the surface (to life) was a barely perceptible disc of light.

----------------------------------------The Way Out----------------------------------------

I was no longer sure whether my quickened pulse and fluttering belly were the typical thrill seeker's rush or palpable panic (this would be a rather inopportune time to discover I'm claustrophobic!) I took a whole roll of film, and then, with an oxymoronic sense of reluctant urgency, started heading back . . . that is, until something caught my eye. At first I thought it was a snowball or a small chunk of ice, for it was white, crystalline and sparkling in the dim light. When I grasped it for closer inspection, it was indeed hard and cold, but it wasn't ice. It was a rock, an ancient piece of the Earth trapped for God-knows-how-long in the belly of the glacier. I clasped the natural treasure tightly and pocketed it, a fitting trophy which would serve as a perpetual reminder of this day. Suddenly thirsty, I reached down to the rushing stream of glacial water and drank a mouthful. It was sweet, wet and cold -- I savored the refreshing taste as I never had before with water. Then I rose and completed my return journey to the surface.

Since I had conquered the interior of the glacier, I decided next to walk on top of it. It was incredibly slippery! Ergo, I couldn't venture very far (indeed, it was all I could do just to scrabble for purchase and avoid falling in a crevasse). Nonetheless, I felt like I had tamed the "snow beast", and I managed to maintain my footing long enough to snap a few photos before sliding down on my bottom. Whee!

After one last longing look at the Mendenhall Glacier, I scratched my way back to the trail, returned to the bus stop and caught the next ride to town.

When I arrived back in downtown Juneau, I still had an hour to kill before the hostel reopened, so I took advantage of the time to buy souvenir gifts for Mom, Dad, Mark and Christine. I shopped around and handpicked tchotchke (not to be confused with Chachi, the paramour of Joanie) for my loved ones. Proud of myself for finishing all my shopping in one fell swoop, I triumphantly returned to the hostel with my booty.

I was so famished when I got back that I wolfed down my leftovers from the mega-burger of the night before and went to lay down in my bunk. Far from getting a well-deserved nap, I spent almost an hour rapping with my bunkmates. I met Pat from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, Bob from Portsmouth, England, and Otis from Lord Knows Where. I liked them all, but I hit it off especially well with Pat, who was closer to my age and extremely laid back. He owns a Cajun restaurant (The Acadian) and he is a skier. We all got on so well that we made plans to go together to a bar downtown and unwind with a few local brews.

Just then, the "housesister" (a younger, nicer version of the housemother) came in to inform me that Kathy was on the phone (Oh, damn -- I had forgotten all about her!). Kathy and I chatted about my day's adventures, and she asked me if I was hungry. Though I was still digesting some serious beef, I assured her I had some room left. So she invited me to join her at her friends' house to partake of some spaghetti.

Kathy picked me up, and we drove on over to her friends' house about 20 minutes away. Her friends were a married couple (Scott and Jahn) who had two young children (Morrit [4] and Blake [1]). Kathy had met Scott when they worked aboard the same cruise ship. Scott and Jahn were so welcoming, they made me feel like one of the family. Their daughter Morrit was as cute as a button! She was very perceptive and had an exceptional vocabulary.

The dinner was top-notch: I feasted upon salad, garlic bread and spaghetti with homemade mushroom sauce (this following an Alaskan appetizer of crackers with salmon and halibut spread) -- it was so nice to have a home cooked meal for a change. During dinner, we talked about all sorts of things including boats, "no-see-ums" (nasty pepper-sized insects which hurt like Hell) and Morrit's forthcoming induction into Pre-K. One story which stands out is rather gruesome, but so strangely fascinating that it bears repeating:

It seems a longtime local fisherman snagged a whopping 500 pound halibut, "the catch of a lifetime." Unfortunately, when he pulled it into the boat, the fish flopped right on top of him, crushing him to death. Now that's a fish tale! The moral of the story: "Live by the sword(fish), die by the sword(fish)" [ha-ha!]. Sal, animal lover that he is, will appreciate the irony.

Anyway, after the meal was concluded, I suggested to Kathy that we meet up with my bunkmates downtown. They said they'd probably be drinking at a bar inside the Alaskan Hotel. After casing the place twice, I finally managed to locate Pat & co. The lot of us mellowed out to the funky sounds of a jazz duo. I only imbibed two beers (Guiness Stout and Alaskan Amber), but they were both very good. At about 10:00, Kathy had to leave to go to bed because her boat left at 6:00 a.m. the next morning. We exchanged addresses, and I told her to look me up when she visits her brother in Merrick. Pat and I stayed a little longer, but we felt kind of rushed since we had to be back at the hostel to make 11:00 curfew. We walked back, stopping briefly at McDonalds, where Pat extolled the virtues of the new chicken fajita and lamented the change in the hot apple pie recipe.

Before going to bed, I got to talking to a couple from Pennsylvania, John and Susan Fisher. John works in Delaware for Dupont (wait until I tell Scott!), and Susan is a social worker in a geriatric center. They were a fun-loving couple and coincidentally scheduled for the same sea kayak tour I am taking tomorrow. I was tired and sore (most especially my right knee, which hopefully isn't seriously damaged from the glacial expedition), and bid them good night.