These pictures without a little crafting were flatly awful, so I spent the better part of three months taking pictures that looked like this…
...and turning them in to this:
So, aside from my other photographic work, this day and several other similar efforts are what took the bulk of the time I needed to get these done.
We got to Glacier Bay on a cloudy, dark, almost depressingly cold day. It was not a good day for picture-taking. These Alaskan glaciers are big, complex sheets of jagged blue ice. They have all sorts of textures, and because of that, they tend to have deep shadows, especially on a cloudy day.
Glacier Bay’s headquarters and lodge are somewhere just north of the little town of Gustavus, population 429. If you wanted to make a vacation of Glacier Bay, this is where you would find Beds and Breakfast, or maybe an Inn, or you could always stay at the Park’s Lodge. If you’re a glacier fan and want to get up close and personal with them, then a cruise is not for you. Staying in Gustavus or the park is. You can get a guide, charter a boat tour, or just hike on your own.
The area was discovered by Vancouver in the middle of the 18th Century, but it was completely frozen over and impassable and he skipped on past it. The entire area that is now Glacier Bay was covered in one giant sheet of jagged, earth shaping ice. The ice flows reached all the way out to the aptly named Icy Strait, 53 miles away from Margerie Glacier, our viewing stop for the day. What Vancouver couldn’t have known at the time was that this ice was actually in the process of melting (well before the Industrial Revolution). By 1907, the ice had receded all those miles to Tarr Inlet, and the Margerie Glacier is what remains of it. The glacier is still receding, letting those calved ice chunks off every so often. The sound of calving ice is like distant thunder, following a loud crack. It rolls over the water and engulfs the surroundings all around. Very majestic, and humbling.
Except actually photographing a calving is nearly impossible. The glacier itself is 2 miles wide at the mouth here where we viewed it. It's also hundreds of feet high. So you watch, you hear the boom, then of course sound travels slower than light so you don't know where to really find it and by the time you get your camera up, oh, you missed it. I feel very lucky I got anything at all of these events.
Glaciers are made of compressed ice, built up over a very long time. The glacier ice itself is compressed to the point that it reflects only azure or sky blue light. As the seasons changed, and the air warmed up, earth would stain the top of the glacial ice, then a new layer of ice would come the next winter. This gives glaciers a striated appearance.
After we spent an hour or so exploring the glacier, we turned about and headed back for the Gulf. And that was it for the camera on this day. Or so I thought. After we turned around I packed the gear away and we started getting ready for the second formal dinner night. On our way to the evening’s entertainment, I wandered out onto the deck of the ship, simply to see what could be seen. Shortly I was running back to the room for my rig. At Missy’s encouragement, mind you.
I looked out over the Gulf of Alaska and saw still waters below and parting clouds above. The sun was low in the sky, but obscured by a cloud. Below it, a brilliant orange reflection spread across the horizon in a narrow band right where the water meets the sky. The immediate background was darkening, so the effect was even more stunning. It was as compelling a sunset as I’ve seen, and my camera was 4 decks and half a ship away from me. I only heard “Go get…” By the time she got to “...your camera” I was in a full sprint back to my room. Happily, I got back in plenty of time.
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