Glacier Bay National Park
In some way, it is appropriate to start the day at the face of the Grand Pacific and Margerie Glaciers. Over the course of 250 years these massive glaciers have receded to this northern-most point of Glacier Bay. So, in essence, we started with the present and traveled back in time as the day progressed. Journeying south, we visited areas that many years ago cradled the terminus of this great river of ice.
As the National Geographic Sea Bird slowly edged along the imposing front of Margerie Glacier, time stood still. Massive vertical serracs tested gravity to the very edge of its resistance and still nothing fell into the sea. In the relative scheme of things, these glaciers are receding quite rapidly, but as we waited for these impressive towering blue spires to calve it seemed an eternity had passed.
Mocking our impatience, harbor seals very unobtrusively poked their heads up through the icy water contentedly going about their business in this cold place that they call home. Finally, an avalanche of ice poured down from the face of the glacier, its thunderous roar reaching us moments later. Exposed: a fresh new slab of ice. Allowing time to wash over them in the form of a slow swell caused by the calving glacier, the seals took little interest in the drama. On board our ship, however, cameras clicked, clicked, clicked, this short moment in time cherished and now preserved.
As we continued on to where the face of the glacier was during John Muir’s visit in 1880, we caught a glimpse of animals whose awareness of the passing of time is of particular importance—brown bears. Heading into the end of summer, this is a time the bears commit themselves to eating as much as possible in preparation for winter. Nine bears roamed the beach along Russell Cut—two juveniles, a mother bear with two cubs and another mother bear with three cubs. Perhaps, in avoiding larger bears in streams teaming with salmon, these more vulnerable bears looked for food along the intertidal zone.
With time, everything changes. Our friends, the sea lions gathered in large groups on South Marble Island, a small island close to the bay’s entrance. Just 10 years ago, very few sea lions ventured into the waters of Glacier Bay. Sea Otters numbering in the thousands are also new residents of this area. Unfazed by its diverse plethora of islet companions, a sea otter casually rolled about as gulls, common murres and puffins flew overhead. Of course, the occasional run-in with a rambunctious sea lion is probably a common occurrence for this lone sea weasel as well!
Some things are predicted to happen after a certain length of time. This is the case with the succession of plants that eventually develop into forests on rocks stripped clean by glaciers. During the early evening we stopped in Bartlet Cove, the entrance to Glacier Bay and the site of the terminus of the Grand Pacific Glacier in 1750. Here we hiked through a rich forest, only 250 years old and filled with life! Aside from the many wondrous plants, a porcupine was spotted hiding beneath an alder. The lesson we learned from this experience is: patience truly pays!
In some way, it is appropriate to start the day at the face of the Grand Pacific and Margerie Glaciers. Over the course of 250 years these massive glaciers have receded to this northern-most point of Glacier Bay. So, in essence, we started with the present and traveled back in time as the day progressed. Journeying south, we visited areas that many years ago cradled the terminus of this great river of ice.
As the National Geographic Sea Bird slowly edged along the imposing front of Margerie Glacier, time stood still. Massive vertical serracs tested gravity to the very edge of its resistance and still nothing fell into the sea. In the relative scheme of things, these glaciers are receding quite rapidly, but as we waited for these impressive towering blue spires to calve it seemed an eternity had passed.
Mocking our impatience, harbor seals very unobtrusively poked their heads up through the icy water contentedly going about their business in this cold place that they call home. Finally, an avalanche of ice poured down from the face of the glacier, its thunderous roar reaching us moments later. Exposed: a fresh new slab of ice. Allowing time to wash over them in the form of a slow swell caused by the calving glacier, the seals took little interest in the drama. On board our ship, however, cameras clicked, clicked, clicked, this short moment in time cherished and now preserved.
As we continued on to where the face of the glacier was during John Muir’s visit in 1880, we caught a glimpse of animals whose awareness of the passing of time is of particular importance—brown bears. Heading into the end of summer, this is a time the bears commit themselves to eating as much as possible in preparation for winter. Nine bears roamed the beach along Russell Cut—two juveniles, a mother bear with two cubs and another mother bear with three cubs. Perhaps, in avoiding larger bears in streams teaming with salmon, these more vulnerable bears looked for food along the intertidal zone.
With time, everything changes. Our friends, the sea lions gathered in large groups on South Marble Island, a small island close to the bay’s entrance. Just 10 years ago, very few sea lions ventured into the waters of Glacier Bay. Sea Otters numbering in the thousands are also new residents of this area. Unfazed by its diverse plethora of islet companions, a sea otter casually rolled about as gulls, common murres and puffins flew overhead. Of course, the occasional run-in with a rambunctious sea lion is probably a common occurrence for this lone sea weasel as well!
Some things are predicted to happen after a certain length of time. This is the case with the succession of plants that eventually develop into forests on rocks stripped clean by glaciers. During the early evening we stopped in Bartlet Cove, the entrance to Glacier Bay and the site of the terminus of the Grand Pacific Glacier in 1750. Here we hiked through a rich forest, only 250 years old and filled with life! Aside from the many wondrous plants, a porcupine was spotted hiding beneath an alder. The lesson we learned from this experience is: patience truly pays!
