Right with the Wind

There were no bears in the Tracy Arm Entrance Cove when we dropped anchor that evening. The bears knew: a storm was coming. We were blissed after our visit up Tracy Arm to see the Sawyer Glacier, and we thought that the storm traveling north in Stephens Passage had passed us by while we were protected within the high canyon walls of the fjord. But by one in the morning, Rapport strained on the anchor chain.
 
 We swung violently sideways. I didn’t look out the portholes. I pictured Lt. Dan tied to the mast with a fist to sky, and I curled deeper under the down comforter. I had no argument; but I too wanted peace, or to feel at peace with the wild. 
 
Twelve hours earlier, we had calm waters within the narrow inlet of the Tracy Arm.  We motored through silted-grey waters of 268’ depth to arrive two-hundred yards from the terminus. We anchored and dropped the dingy to navigate the passage choked with ice. Ice of varying colors and sizes amassed: some blue like the sky, most a dingy white, some clear as glass, and some chunks of grey moraine. The mass parted and we wove around the larger bergs to creep to the terminus. Fifty yards from us, seals lay on ice floats, and eyed us warily. The glacier issued low rumbles. A large piece broke from the top, tumbled down the face, and dropped with little splash into the ocean. We heard the ice sever and tumble; we watched it roll and then sink, and we waited for the ocean swell to lift our boat. In the presence of the towering face, it’s hard to believe it’s shrinking. 
 
Sitting in the dingy surrounded by ice and pelted by rain, I was chilled through my life vest, heavy rain jacket, parka, and four layers. It’s rained all week, and hovered in the upper 40s, not the average September temperatures of upper 50s.When we returned to Rapport, an iceberg rested alongside her. We pushed off with boat hooks. The danger is that the iceberg would damage her hull. We pulled anchor, motored along the calm waters of the fjord, to spend the night in the sheltered entrance cove. 
 
​[excerpts from essay: Glacial Speed

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