Wow, this is our first in-person viewing of a chunk of glacier calving, and it was amazing! We could hear the ice starting to crack and pop before it broke away from the larger ice face. In the photo on the left, it was already falling by the time I was able to raise the camera with the hopes of snapping an image. In a fraction of a second, it was crashing into the river; a few more seconds and the scene returned to serenity as though nothing ever happened. On the list of things one would wish to see on such an adventure, check off witnessing calving.

The plan for today is for us to hike into Turnback Canyon. I should point out that there are no man-made trails here; at best, we can follow animal trails most of the time, we are simply heading in the general direction of where we hope to end up. I may be repeating myself here, but as much as one might think they have a pretty good idea of what the terrain looks like from any particular vantage point, it only takes one step around a corner to surprise us with how much we couldn’t see.

My best advice for someone visiting this part of North America: Don’t only be overwhelmed by the magnitude of the environment, take time to find the details that are easily missed when seeing the bigger picture. As is the norm when Caroline and I are hiking in a group, the majority (if not all) of the other hikers are well out of view halfway to some perceived destination. Meanwhile, our destination is every inch of terrain we are so lucky to stop at and appreciate.

This small and tranquil aquamarine pond sits about 30 feet (10 meters) above the Alsek River in a small cove. If only the water wasn’t in the 30s, it would make a great swimming hole for us (the Canadian members of our group did not share our reservations and used many an opportunity to jump into icy ponds and coves). In the distance ahead, we can see the rest of our group heading up a steep rock face; we move quickly to catch up. Once in their footsteps, I realize that I’m not going any further. My vertigo and imagination start screaming at me, “Hell no, I ain’t going up that!” One misplaced step, and the fall will deliver me into the freezing cold Alsek some 60 or 70 feet below at the head of No-TurningBack Canyon. I can see it clear as day in my mind’s eye: I race forward, bobbing up and down a few times as I struggle to fight the strong current before entering into the death churn of that narrow passage – end of the story. But not mine today.

Just as I resolve to stay back and Caroline offers to hang out with me, that familiar snap and pop draws our attention directly across from us. Some small piece of ice drops off from high on the glacier, and then another piece. Before we could gasp, we watched the following sequence that was over in seconds.

Our eyes are bugging out of our heads! The dumbest and most obvious thing to say after witnessing such an awesome event is, “Did you see that?” We must have sat there another half hour just waiting for more ice to join the rubble pile at the foot of the glacier. The small ice boulders are the size of SUVs, while the larger ones are as big as houses or bigger. Looking across the river, the thought crosses my mind: what if we’d been out on the river with some hot-dog boatmen who might satisfy idiots like me wanting an up-close look at the glacier to get a real feeling for the size of the behemoth, and then CRASH: buried under the worlds largest snow cone.

Fellow passenger John Hoffman helps give scale to the size of the Tweedsmuir that is across the river behind his left shoulder. It was far to the right in the photo where the glacier calved and just behind John on the steep slope where I stopped my hike into Turnback. For hours, we sat along this path, waiting for the others, content to listen to the river race by and still hoping for more ice to fall.

On our way back to camp. Still, the views are indescribable.

You start to realize that everywhere you look, you see a level of intricate detail that astounds the senses. This is going on every waking moment, is it any wonder when trying to find the words to explain the impressions, we run short on verbal abilities to share just what it was we saw while on this journey?

Back in camp, we ate. Most talked around the fire. I stared out at the river and imagined the overwhelming infinite amount of details that I find here every day, plus the other infinite amount I cannot yet see. Then I add the details of the rest of the earth I may never visit, combined with the heft of the universe, and soon I am a grain of fine silt in the river before me.