Haines to Prince Rupert

Well, I biked from Fairbanks to Haines, and I had dreams of kayaking this leg of the trip. But I didn't have the time, or the friend with time, that I needed to do that. And besides, I grew to love ferry rides in High School travelling to activities (like most kids in Haines), and looked forward to the idea. In Juneau, I was hosted for a day by my friend and fellow runner, Tristan. He suggested running the West Glacier Trail, and I happily agreed, not knowing anything about it…

The trail slowly degrades, and eventually is only marked by cairns built on slippery rocks that were under ice only a few years ago. We keep going. “It’s so strange,” Tristan wonders aloud, “we used to go down to the glacier right here. I haven’t been here in four years, but then the glacier was right there.” He points to a spot to our right, perhaps 400 meters from where the glacier now terminates. We keep going.

“There used to be ice caves here.”

We see people out on the ice, wearing harnesses and looking down. Apparently, they’re about to descend into a moulon.

Eventually, we drop down a steep, slippery rock face, and find three people at the entrance to an ice cave. One of them knows Tristan, of course (he seems to know all the active people in Juneau). “If you go back there, you have to crawl for a little bit, but then there’s an opening straight up to the sky!” Tristan’s friend tells us. We enter.

I’ve never been in an ice cave like this before. On the way to school, my Dad used to help Iris and I scramble into some caverns formed by the waterfalls on Mud Bay Road. And last winter I made a trip to the edge of a glacier South of Fairbanks, and clambered around in a small cave there. But this cave is massive: 3 meters high at the center of the entrance, and 5-10 meters wide. A stream flows into it, probably the source of heat that melted out this cave. It’s cold and wet inside; the glacier drips. Tristan and I walk, then bear crawl toward a bright spot. I poke my head through a curtain of drips and look up at the grey sky above. Tristan climbs out and stands in the light, but only for a second. It’s more like a solid cylinder of drips, rather than a curtain, and he’s quickly wet. We don’t stay long; it’s too cold. But the majestic blue light filtering through the ice is striking.

Back out of the cave, I feel a warm breeze coming off the glacier, and remember that it felt cold before entering the cave. It must really be cold in there, I think. I saying something petty: “That was amazing.”

“Living in Southeast Alaska,” Tristan says, wryly happy.

“It’s the best,” I say, wondering why I'm leaving...To save places like this, I suppose, in some small way.

Later that day, I boarded the Taku for the 44 hour trip to Prince Rupert. I read, slept, and wrote the whole time, only stopping occasionally to heat food in the microwave, and go for short runs in Sitka, Kake, and Wrangell while the Taku rested in port. I always enjoyed ferry rides when I was travelling for activities in High School, and I still enjoy them now.