Day 49 - Galloping Glaciers; Rod

Until this afternoon Quijote crew were feeling a little disgruntled about our view of Glacier Bay and the Fairweather mountain range. The weather has been anything but fair. We had a long, rough day yesterday with little to show for it, except to put ourselves into position for today's activities. This morning we woke to light rain and fog. Ugh.

For the first time this trip, we turned on the radar and ventured out into low visibility. Our agenda was not to be denied.

We took a spin around Reid Inlet to get a closer look at the glacier, then headed out into the fog. An hour later it was still raining, but the fog had lifted to about fifty feet off the water, enough to see other vessels if not the scenery above shoreline.

We turned down into Johns Hopkins Inlet and did a drive-by of a couple of the larger glaciers that were cool to see, but didn't display any activity. The iceberg dodging kept us alert, so there must have been some calving going on in the inlet. On the way out, we rounded the point and slid past a massive Holland America Cruise ship going the other way. Next up on our agenda was Tarr Inlet where the cruise ships go and where this one had no doubt come from. The ranger told us they only allow two in the park per day.

The Grand Pacific glacier at the head of Tarr Inlet has pushed up a lot of dirt in front of it, giving it the look of a low, dirty hill side. but the Margerie Glacier entering from the side was spectacular. It is the the calving glacier that people come to see. I saw it once from the deck of a cruise ship and as cool as it was, the experience didn't do it justice. There is something about seeing it close to the water from the deck of a small boat with no one else around that just brings out the WOW!

Shortly after our arrival, we were still jockying around the icebergs looking for a clear spot to cut the engine and drift, when we watched a massive section of the glacier unloose and calve into the bay with a roar. It came crashing down as though we had come to film for National Geographic and a gigantic wave surged outward. Kay looked back at me with something resembling panic, but we were about about a mile away so we were well beyond danger. The scale of the glacier made it look like we were a lot closer than we were. Even so, it was an impressive swell that surged under the hull and lifted us up.

In all, we were there watching the calving go on and on for about three hours. The power of the experience just never seemed to get old. A large tour boat with a deck load of tourists pulled in for about forty minutes of that, their engines droning way, drowning out the sounds of sea birds, the lap of waves against the icebergs and a light breeze on the water. Eventually they left and we had the bay to ourselves again. A pristine couple of hours followed that was in stark contrast to the experience while the other boat was there.

Inquisitive seal pups with big eyes came to check us out. What be this silent thing that watches us, but is content to drift; not swimmer and not iceberg. When seracs calved at the outer edge we could see and hear, from a couple of miles away, large waves racing along the shoreline. The glacier itself was a deafening beast. Even when there was no calving, it was constantly cracking, popping, roaring and groaning. The glacier was about a mile wide and sound arrives later than sight, so unless we happened to be looking at the right spot, we could hear a section of ice go, look over, and see nothing but splash. We learned not to rely on the sound, but to scan and catch movement out of the corner of our eyes.

As the afternoon matured, the weather slowly improved until we were watching in sunlight, which made the show all the more spectacular. Suddenly we were seeing towering snow covered mountains all around us. Wow upon wow.