The Cry of a Glacier

Article & Images by Kate Montague

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Winter in mid–July, what could be better? Recently I have returned from a summer trip to Alaska, more specifically to see the glaciers; it was astounding to see such a huge natural ice form. The first one I visited was Mendenhall Glacier just outside of Juneau. It is hard to comprehend such an ice structure in the middle of heavily treed hills and valleys, even more so on a 78 degree day. I also had the pleasure to view several others glaciers along the inside passage.

For centuries these glaciers have carved their way though valleys, creating fjords. With global warming, they are slowly melting but surely shrinking in size. Could they in just decades be the silent waters of a once majestic glacier?

Glaciers are truly phenomena of nature, white on a clear day, but tranquil blue on overcast days, reflecting the depth of their density. Beyond their unique color, one can only marvel at the size. Not only is the huge mass an incredible sight, what lies beneath the water is just as massive if not larger. This is sometimes difficult to comprehend.

Seasons come and go around the glaciers, some days yield brightly filled blue skies with balmy 70 degree temperatures. Others are cold with a north wind blowing 50 degree temps across the land. And with the heat, wind and cold comes the rain. Each element takes its toll, edging off bits and pieces.

If you have never been to a glacier but have only seen the incredible blue ice in scenic magazine pictures, there is one important part of the glacier experience you are missing, the sound. Glaciers make sound? The was new to me also.

As I stood admiring the blue sculpture, a deep rumble ripple out of the form I stood in front of. It was a slow, deep rumble not a high pitched crackle, something only a severe thunder storm could produce; but there was no storm, no wind. The deep thunder echoed through the silence of the land, no sway of trees or leaves rustling in the breeze; only the deterioration of the glacier filled the chilly air. The forward chunks crumbled into a mini avalanche and tumbled into icy waters sending the second phase into action. The underwater tidal wave rippled out like a pebble in a pond, only on a much grander scale, rocking the small icebergs the colony of sea lions were lounging on. As they gently rocked to smooth waters, the whole process repeated itself. It was a constant in an otherwise silent land.

Glacier watching is felt with the heart as much as it is seen with the eyes. God’s creations are all around us, not only to be photographed but to be listened to as well.

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