No One Fell in a Crevasse

Standing on top of the Byron Glacier, I looked down at the meltwater flowing fast and cold out from underneath the blue-white ice, and the sunken parts of the glacier around me, and I thought about that expert glacier explorer who recently fell to his death in a glacier crevasse, and I hightailed it over to solid ground.

This little hike was astonishingly beautiful. Pointed peaks rose around us on all sides, a clear stream of meltwater filled the valley with the pleasantly satisfying sound of rushing water, and the glacier extended up the mountain twinkling that mysterious turquoise color from its depths like a reverse jewel. Wildflowers—magenta fireweed, Alaskan bluebonnets, wild pink salmonberry blossoms—dotted the rock piles and the trail. Someone cautioned us she’d just seen a black bear across the valley, but we didn’t see anything.

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The boys collected quartz chips. The girls climbed boulders. Everyone swatted at mosquitos and looked for raspberries (someone beat us to all the ripe ones). Waterfalls cascaded down all around us. Clouds drifted low across the mountaintops.

I asked the kids how Alaska is different from Texas or Belgium. Isaac said, “It’s more wilderness and less museums and WWII stuff.” Jane said, “The wild animals are different; Alaska has more big wild animals like moose and bears, and Texas has armadillos and possums.” I feel like that would annoy Texas coming from any state except Alaska.

The hike to the glacier was short, and we kept all six kids from getting eaten by a bear, trampled by a moose, falling into a glacier or getting swept down a freezing melt water stream! Overall, it was ok I guess, if you’re into shocking natural beauty and that sort of thing.

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