Tracy Arm
Thirst. A thirst unlike any natural thirst. Contrary to my hydration, this place makes me thirst. Something about the sound of the word “glacier” coupled with the blue of the ice, or the smooth transparency, purity of the crystalline brash ice. The bluer they are, the thirstier I get. Icebergs white and clean,.
When our guide kills the engine, he also kills floating rocks chilling a fjord martini. Sub-zero sentinels guarding a liquid Emerald City sound. Amazing quiet, cathedral quiet, but the service began long ago. A sermon of time and erosion surrounds us, speaking its geological gospel in silence. We are humbled and blessed by the service of Tracy Arm and the Sawyer Glacier.
“…these are the times of dreamy quietude…”
When forewarned about the perils of Southeast Alaska: the rain, the clouds, the rain, the wind, and of course, the rain, and then met with an afternoon abundant in perfection: not a jet-stream, let alone cloud, not a drop of precipitation lest flung from kayak paddle, not a trace of moisture except beneath us, tears may be shed and regrets enumerated for the hundreds of dollars in newly purchased all-weather gear hanging dry in the closet. Probably not, and I say let it hang. A day like today comes in travel brochures and fairytale endings, and tonight we are the sunset riders, chasing off after our legendary quarry. “Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale…”
(Quotes taken from Moby Dick by Herman Melville)
Thirst. A thirst unlike any natural thirst. Contrary to my hydration, this place makes me thirst. Something about the sound of the word “glacier” coupled with the blue of the ice, or the smooth transparency, purity of the crystalline brash ice. The bluer they are, the thirstier I get. Icebergs white and clean,.
When our guide kills the engine, he also kills floating rocks chilling a fjord martini. Sub-zero sentinels guarding a liquid Emerald City sound. Amazing quiet, cathedral quiet, but the service began long ago. A sermon of time and erosion surrounds us, speaking its geological gospel in silence. We are humbled and blessed by the service of Tracy Arm and the Sawyer Glacier.
“…these are the times of dreamy quietude…”
When forewarned about the perils of Southeast Alaska: the rain, the clouds, the rain, the wind, and of course, the rain, and then met with an afternoon abundant in perfection: not a jet-stream, let alone cloud, not a drop of precipitation lest flung from kayak paddle, not a trace of moisture except beneath us, tears may be shed and regrets enumerated for the hundreds of dollars in newly purchased all-weather gear hanging dry in the closet. Probably not, and I say let it hang. A day like today comes in travel brochures and fairytale endings, and tonight we are the sunset riders, chasing off after our legendary quarry. “Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale…”
(Quotes taken from Moby Dick by Herman Melville)
