Log Two: The Wild Side
A Night At God’s Camp
This is without a doubt one of the coolest places I have ever slept, made even better by the grueling three hour trek to get there. Not only does it reward your efforts with incredible views of the Chilkoot mountains across the way, and endless sights up and down the Lynn Canal, but you are level with the Rainbow Glacier. You are so close you can feel the chill of the ice.
I’m not sure which was more incredible: the visual of the blue and white glacier ice cradled in a valley surrounded by rock peaks, or the sound of the glacier. Three waterfalls flow boisterously from the overhanging ice, melt that is undoubtedly canyoneering below the glacier’s ice field for miles before it falls and collects in the icy pool. The pool drains down the Ludaseska Creek and out into the Chilkat Inlet, sharing its precious glacier sediment with the ecosystem as it goes.
There was even a subtle scent of glacier in the air, like the smell of winter when you step outside early in the morning, or the smell of an ice box. Proximity to the glacier dominates this campsite and makes for the most extraordinary setting for a night of camping.
First things first, we had to find snow to melt. There isn’t a flowing water source near this site, come to think of it we didn’t come across any water sources on the way up. Our water bottles were all empty so finding water was first priority.
Luckily, it took only a few minutes for someone to find a patch of snow and soon all our stoves were set up in a neat row, roaring slightly as they worked to melt pots of snow. The first round of boiling water turned into hot toddies, Julie had kindly carried a bottle of whiskey. Once everyone had shared in the first (of many) rounds of toddies, we made dinner, set up camp, started working on a fire and laughed about some of the more intense moments of the trek.
Julie On Hot Toddy Duty
Sunset was in full swing as we got settled in, fed and watered. Light was changing by the second as the sun sank ever lower in the sky, ever closer to the horizon. As I ate dinner facing the glacier I watched a line of shadow inch towards the tops of the peaks, happening so quickly it almost appeared to be a timelapse. Every moment created new shadows, new colors and I was in a constant state of awe, for every moment was better than the last, or was it better than the next.
Right after the sunlight left the peaks, the sky turned an incredible shade of blue, soft, light and somehow fuzzy. It was the gloaming.
The changing light played with how the ridge line appeared to meet the sky. As the blue sky lost its brightness and became the softer, faded blue of the gloaming or twilight, the mountains seemed to lose their dimension, the ridge edge blending into the sky as if flat. Or perhaps it was the other way around, perhaps the mountains looked more dimensional against the soft sky, I sat there eating my dinner trying to decide which way it was.
Sunset From Way Up Here
From camp some 4000 feet above sea level we watched night come over the land. You might notice that in almost every photograph to follow the sky and landscape are different colors, a composition of sunset, exhibiting the lights evolution. It changed by the minute, it changed by the direction you were facing or what mountain you were looking at.
Across the Lynn Canal, the clouds and Chilkoot mountain tops caught some of the very last light cast by the sun. The peaks and clouds in the southeast glowed pink, alpineglow, for maybe five minutes before the world turned all blue.
Light was now confined to the sky, a lingering glow from the sun who was now shining in a different part of the world. The lack of light turned everything blue, land was the darkest shade except for the snow and ice in the mountains which stayed sharply, starkly white. The fjord was the next darkest hue of blue, a kind of dark turquoise, and then the sky. The sky had its own gradient of blues, lightest in the west and darkest in the east.
It was a calm evening, even from our camp you could seen the waters below were smooth as glass. There was now wind at sea level or up high, it was nearly as calm. Only a gentile breeze swept across our campsite, keeping the bugs at bay.
Good Night
Our little fire was fickle and provided very little heat in return of our efforts. Nevertheless, we sat around it well into the night trying to identify stars and a bright planet to the south. Julie and I, a pair of Scorpios, started calling the planet Pluto even though we both knew it was probably Jupiter.
To the north, we could see the collection of lights that make up the tiny village of Haines and Skagway slightly farther north. From camp, the lights of Haines far below looked the same size as the stars in the sky, a constellation of humanity.
Still around the fire, though meaning to go to bed, one of the women mentioned how unusual it was that there were no lights in the canal. Typically this part of the Lynn Canal would see upwards of five cruise ships a day, the massive ones that host hundreds of tourists. Looking north and south, there was not one light out on the water.
It was late when we all finally said good night, I was tired and cold, but the night was so beautiful I didn’t feel like sleeping quite yet. With my camera I took one last walk around camp to say good night to the glacier, the Chilkoot mountains across the way, to the stars and planets, to the city lights, to the islands and the sea far below.
By the time I finally cozied into my sleeping bag, my feet were frozen and would stay cold all night. I had not dressed warmly enough for the hours spent by our tiny fire and neither my layers of wool nor wrappings of down would warm me up. I should have jumped around before laying down, jumping jacks would have done the trick, though my bag has always been trustworthy. I could have filled my bottle with hot water and put it down by my feet, but I think I was so tired I couldn’t solve the problem and hoped sleep would free me of my discomfort.
On top of the cold, it was one of those nights when you stand on the edge of sleep, but never fall into unconscious bliss. Somewhere around 2am, still awake and frustrated, I had to pee. I crawled out of my tent to see the moon rising above the Chilkoot Mountains. It was a waxing moon, a delicate crescent, tucked in a banner of clouds that were illuminated in her light, my frustration melted away.
