Saying Goodbye to Winter

Hey Tribe,

There is a brief window of time where lovers of blue ice can easily access the alluring Knik glacier via fat tire bike, foot, or small ATV.  In early spring/late winter the snow melts or is blown away by the relentless Knik winds, yet the ice remains to form bridges across otherwise oft treacherous streams and angry rivers; TheFather and I take advantage of this time to visit the glacier by driving out in our little “Turtle” side-by-side wheeler as a ‘farewell to winter’ journey.

  

We started out early in the day, so as to ensure ice covered the infamous Jim Creek – known to suck large trucks into its silty, never satisfied waters.  Our Turtle inched its way across the ice, overflowing water lapping at our feet, as we zig zagged our path like a crazy game of connect the dots – going from one questionable patch of ice to the next until we were safe on the silt bank once again.

Journeying to the Knik glacier is a bit like Pilgrim’s Progress, with many trials and tribulations that travelers must overcome to earn their rich reward.  Once over the Swallower Of Men’s Dreams (Jim Creek), travelers must bravely navigate the silt and gravel riverbed so ribbed with ruts it could be mistaken for a giant’s washboard and the travelers’ rattled and bounced brains become so addled that it is difficult to recognize the turn to exit the riverbed.

Before the travelers’ bones have time to stop vibrating, our Turtle met its match with the Swamp of Mud and Doom.  This section, formerly known by old timers as “The Inside Passage,” has become the spinning, mucking ground of weekend warriors aiming for a quick way of coating their vehicles in mud so they appear to have been doing some serious off-roading as they drive through the streets of town.  Or maybe they are poor drivers.  Tough little Turtle puttered through the rotten egg swamp with minimal false turns and flinging of the foul goop.

We encountered several moose in this area, browsing on the willows and trying to enjoy the remains of their quiet week before the afore mentioned swamp slingers clogged the area.  Fly was a good girl and did not bark at them, but did keep a wary eye.

After the Swamp of Mud and Doom, travelers are tested via Waters of Unknown Depths.  That brown puddle in the trail – is it 6 inches deep, or 6 feet deep?  Who knows?  The travelers know, generally once it is too late, when the feet and the seat are wet; then the driver desperately fumbles the gears into reverse and the passenger selfishly bails out the window in search of dry land.  Fly was then deployed to act as emissary to the murky waters: wading ahead of the Turtle to test the depths.

Another trial of riverbed rocks must be endured by the now weary travelers, for a section that seems to last like that nightmare where you are running, but getting nowhere: the glacier sits before the travelers, but no matter the distance covered, it seems to move no closer. To add the ordeal, and differentiate it from the first riverbed trial, fierce silt-filled wind berates the travelers head-on, without abatement.

Just as the travelers begin to lose hope, a ridge is summited (the terminal moraine) and the glacier spreads out in full icy glory, to the immense relief of the rattled, wet, silt encrusted travelers.  Ah, sweet relief!  Sweet satisfaction!

To add to this year’s adventure, it was raining.

Fly was brave and ventured out onto the thin ice that still blanketed the lake resting at the mighty glacier’s feet. 

She sampled the ancient ice.

She posed.

She ignored my warnings that the water was, literally, icy cold.

Finally, we, the travelers, decided we could tarry no longer and retraced our path back through all the hazards, making better time than the former because we learned from our mistakes.  When we arrived back at Jim Creek, true to its ‘Swallower of Men’s Dreams’ title, there on the far side of the bank wallowed a white truck – its face firmly planted into the swirling waters, its tail up in the air like an ostrich, and its woe begotten passengers standing helplessly behind it.  The Turtle, looking small and meek compared to the upended ostrich, confidently zig zagged its path across the softened ice without hesitation.  To add insult to injury, we pulled up alongside the drowning truck and asked if they needed help – no, they had someone coming was the sullen reply.  So we lightly traipsed our way home and counted ourselves lucky to have survived the limited window of opportunity, annual glacier visit.