59 Degrees North Latitude

July 7th, we motor into Barlett Cove inside Glacier Bay National Park for our 11:00 Park Service Orientation Lecture. The day is beautiful, and the bay is peaceful with distant mountain views. It’s hard to believe that the land of glaciers is just a few miles away.



As we head north into Glacier Bay, something, however, changes for me. Maybe it was that lecture, but I begin to feel a jumpy uneasiness. As we motor deeper into Glacier Bay, the scenery takes on another character. The white snow-covered fortresses that distantly drew us north are being replaced by rocky, jagged, snow-crusted behemoths, coldly menacing and forbidding. There’s Mt. Fairweather at a formidable 15,700’ above us. Where sailing in Desolation Sound had reminded us of Telluride’s San Juan Mountains, these mountains here are the San Juans on steroids. There’s a Himalayan upthrust about them. I did not feel this anxiety in Misty Fiords and Tracy Arm. What is bothering me about this area? Though also glacier carved, vegetation had taken over Misty Fiords and Tracy Arm in abundance. The areas were choked with tall standing pine. The snowy peaks were off high in the distance. Here in Glacier Bay, the forests are not grand or abundant. Much of it is scrubby, just barely hanging on. There are vast areas of exposed, rough scraped glacial rock and the snow comes right down to the sea. The very starkness gives a feeling of life hanging in the balance. One missed step, and you’re history. It is a colder, more brutal and unforgiving wilderness up here, and I am not comfortable with it.

However, unbelievable as it certainly is, after several dreary, rainy days, we are treated to a “Chamber of Commerce” picture perfect day. With a day like this, how can I make my case that I was uneasy with it all? But I was, and poor Bill will miserably confirm it. Until we reached 59 degrees north latitude at the northern end of Glacier Bay where Bill declared he had seen enough glaciers and we were heading south, I was nervously irritable. Once he announced that we had gone as far north as we were going and it was south from now on, I felt an uncontrollable, spontaneous surge of relief, and, if not true happiness, at least the inkling of it.

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Halfway up the bay, we pass Marble Rock with its aquatic bird and seal rookeries.








Near the northern end of Glacier Bay, we head down Reid Inlet and anchor for the night below Reid Glacier in a barren, cold glacier-carved bowl. It was magnificent in its starkness, but overbearing and ominous, too. It felt a thousand miles from civilization.









There was unexpected beauty, too. We look out at 10:30 before heading to bed and are treated to a gorgeous sight.












The next morning the weather is misty and overcast. Bill did not need to add to my discomfort by telling me the water is a bone-freezing 39 degrees, but he does.












An uneasy First Mate at the helm.







The approach to Johns Hopkins Glacier has the First Mate on squawk alert. Bill can’t imagine what for. It’s so deep that the depth meter can’t even find the bottom for a measurement. We can drive almost up to the glacier and still have plenty of water below us. Bill appears to be piloting forward to do just that, but remembering how quickly these depths can shore up, the crazy squawk meter sounds off to Bill’s irritation. Fortunately, a ¼-mile stand off from all glaciers is advised due to possible calving of icebergs and the tidal waves ensuing.






Tortured rock, formidable landscape. Need I say more?












Grand Pacific Glacier straight ahead with Margerie Glacier on left. The day is beginning to clear with blue skies threatening.





Two kayaks below Margerie Glacier. See those small dots on either side of center? We stop the boat and drift with the ice. You can hear the glacier cracking and groaning. The pressure building up must be tremendous. Every once in a while, a large junk resoundingly cracks off and falls into the water. How long had that ice been there? Unbelieveable.










Ice sentinels march forward. Margerie Glacier is an active glacier with frequent calvings. It is also at 59 degrees north latitude. About face, Avante! Go South, my boat, go South!










Bill watches the ice slide by Avante’s hull.









With impending rain, we head into Blue Mouse Cove to anchor on our last night in this land of glaciers, rock and ice. After dinner I peak out to make sure all is still right with my world. I hear a rooshing sound and follow the sound to a whale’s fin just going below surface. It’s dinner time for the whale, and she’s making her way around the perimeter of the bay inhaling krill and coming up regularly for a breath of air. It’s a Minke Whale -- one of the smaller ones weighing in at a mere 7 tons or so. We watch her for quite a while and are amazed to see her swim and dive just a few yards from shore. She’s so close to the surface that we can easily follow her progress by watching the bubbles. What a treat for our last night in Glacier Bay!

July 9th dawns with rain, and the weather forecast is of a stalled low front giving rise to 4 or more days of rain. We had hoped to head down the west side of Chichagof Island where we would be open to the ocean and might find enough wind to sail again, but it’s a rugged coastline requiring exacting navigation and is no fun in poor weather. Instead we will stick to the Inside Passage and know we’ve got 3 days of dismal motoring ahead of us to get to Sitka. But, oh, you Weather Gods out there – I’m not complaining. Every time we have really needed blue skies and sun, they’ve been there for us.