Tracy Arm, Southeast Alaska
Gliding along glacially sheered walls that soar upwards around our trusty vessel, it is almost jarring to remember we are still at sea level. Granite peaks emanating an ancient majesty feel almost within arm’s reach despite being several thousand feet above and wreathed with clouds. Icebergs steadily increase in size and frequency as we draw close to the main event of the day, Sawyer Glacier. Zodiacs are lowered and loaded before zooming off through the captivatingly turquoise water. Slaloming amidst a steady stream of bergy bits, it almost seems as though the glacier is a living creature, shedding pieces of itself as it retreats back to its ice field burrow after gnawing its way out to sea through stone. Each time we glide around a bend, the anticipation of the hunt builds, until, at last the cerulean behemoth swings into view in all its magnificent glory. Scale and perspective are constantly reassessed as we near the frozen face. Flanked on both sides by darkly somber moraine the visceral beauty of the chaotic blend of blue and white practically pulsates into our memories. The ice we see in front of us essentially has been in a crystalline purgatory for several centuries and is now a single, inevitably one-sided, contest between gravity and friction away from rejoining the planet’s water cycle. Plummeting chunks fall hundreds of feet into the welcoming turbid and nutrient rich salt water, as we cheer and clap as one would to a runner completing a marathon in a full sprint. The comforting purr of the Zodiac engines and the shrill calls of pigeon guillemots fill the silence between disingenuous thunder-like cracks and rumbles that raise our hopes they are heralding the next finisher of this geological race.
Satisfied, but perhaps not fully sated in our thirst for seeing house sized masses of ice hurtle from great heights, we pull away back to the National Geographic Sea Lion and waiting hot chocolate. The afternoon activity of kayaking amongst the ice from the ship provides one last opportunity for all involved to display their warm gear donning expertise. Red and yellow kayaks flit close to shore and around serenely floating icebergs, under the watchful eyes of staff and coy harbor seals alike. The sun makes a point to check in from time to time, as does the rain, and sometimes they do so together! Back onboard and underway, more excitement abounds as the ship is expertly guided just a few feet away from a waterfall. It simultaneously feels as though the trip only just started a few moments ago and that at the same time everything has become so familiar it must have always been like this. Wakeup calls, daily schedules, tagboards, turndowns and recaps have become routines to be missed. You now may find yourself asking your children if they signed out as you leave the house or wondering if the trip to the supermarket is going to be a wet or dry landing. We hope you take these good habits and remember them for next time and until then safe travels and following seas.
