Perspective

For four hours, we had bounced and shivered across Prince William Sound observing sea lions, whales, puffins, and sea otters along the way.  We had gratefully gulped steaming hot chowder, wished for mittens and winter coats, and generally had a magnificent if fairly overcast day aboard the Lu Lu Belle, most ably (and gregariously) piloted by Captain Fred. 

Captain Fred pilots the Lu Lu Belle

And then, the first icebergs appeared.  Like discards from the world’s biggest ice carving contest, partially formed icy whale tales and swan necks floated beside clear, white, blue, dirty grey, and sometimes shiny black glacier fragments. 

Yep.  Glacial Ice

As the little ship (60 passengers) picked its way through the ice, Columbia Glacier slowly appeared – a low bank of blue and white ice backed by an expanse of snow that faded far into the distant Chugach Mountains.  “I think we can get within a quarter mile or so,” Captain Fred drawled as he bent, spinning the ship’s wheel furiously to force the ship around a truck-sized ice ball he said was “probably from the time of Christ.”  The snowy peaks of the Chugach Mountains rose 270 degrees around us, and the clouds cleared to reveal a crisp blue sky, the only sound the steady rumble of the Lu Lu Belle’s engines and the occasional putt-putt of a sight-seeing helicopter overhead.  

Just a peak of Columbia Glacier
at the base of the center mountain

Captain Fred, stifling expert chatter had narrated every minute (and I do me every minute) of our journey, now spoke only to call out the distance from the glacier.  “We’re still seven miles out,” he said. “Believe it or not, when we’re ¾ mile to the glacier, you won’t be able to see those mountains.  It will be just glacier and sky.”  I had learned on Denali the trick that monotonous color and vastness play on our sense of distance, yet my eyes still told me the huge glacier before us came to an anti-climactic end about three feet above the ocean. 

The immensity of the north offers so many lessons on perspective.  Certainly, waves and waves of mountains stretching out from any Alaskan pass bring self-centered existence down to size.  Even more, the stories of those who live and work here force reconsideration of what we value and how we see the world.

Beautiful Downtown Chicken

Shelly works summers in Chicken, AK (population 7) welcoming RVers traveling the Top of the World Highway, but she winters “in town” (Tok population 1435) where she revels in the flush toilets and reliable electricity most of us take for granted.  

The Top of the World Highway rises 4515 feet --certainly not the highest mountain in either Alaska or Canada, and certainly not the highest point on our route.  But from that dusty road, we can see wave upon wave of mountains, and as we drive from one to the other on this ridge-line road, we certainly seem to be on top of the world.  Although pot holes and washboards make for a bumpy ride, those who have the sense to drive slowly can enjoy the beauty it offers.  Those who drive too fast see a bad road. 

Adding 2" to the cairn at
Top of the World

What about the history-changing discovery of gold that started the Klondike Gold Rush?  Allison, a guide at the Danoja Zho cultural center in Dawson City smilingly explained.  “You know, we recognized the gold was there long before George Carmacks and Skookum Jim ‘discovered’ it.  We called it ‘shiny rocks.’  It’s good for attracting fish into our nets.”  Throughout the Klondike regions, the miles and miles of gravel mark the trail of the dredges that tore up the ground – and the animal habitat on it – for the high annual payout of a half-bucket of gold dust, which only has value because we choose to believe that it does. 

Dredge #4 near Bonanza Creek

Pointing out the buoy that marks the site of the Exxon-Valdez oil spill in 1989, Captain Fred reflects on the clean bay and the steps taken to avoid future spills.  Responding to the threat to wildlife, thousands of workers and volunteers streamed to Valdez to clean up the mess, working tirelessly through four months of spring and summer.  And over the long eight months of winter?  According to Captain Fred, “Nature did her own clean up.”  He encourages his passengers to “Keep your Exxon stock, folks, and keep driving your motor homes.”

The glacier, from 3/4 mile away, really did block out the Chugach Mountains behind it. Suddenly, all we could see was glacier and sky.  Its chiseled blue ice really did rise 600 feet above the little ship.  And that blue ice?  It’s really not blue – that’s just a trick of light wave reflection.   Perspective.

Dad and me.  Still
miles from glacier