Seize the Day by Helen Adam
The helicopter was smaller than I had anticipated escalating my fears and apprehensions to dizzying new heights. The body was painted white. The red tail was so narrow it looked as if it would easily snap in two. Sitting on the landing strip surrounded by towering Alaskan peaks it took on the proportions of an airfix model.
The glacier expedition via helicopter was to be the long-awaited highlight of our silver wedding anniversary cruise to Alaska. The highlight, that was, for my husband. As a vertigo sufferer I was a far from willing participant in this excursion but my husband refused to go without me. We stood with the other three passengers beside the helicopter while the pilot assessed our weight for load distribution.
"Which two would like to sit up front on the outward journey?" he asked. No one answered. Then a voice rang out in the crisp, clear air.
"We will." To this day I do not know why those words came out of my mouth. As we scrambled into our seats beside the pilot my husband looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and delight.
The pilot switched on the engine and the blades whirred into action. The noise from the rotating blades grew ever more frenzied until it sounded like a washing machine spin cycle gone berserk. As it reached its crescendo the helicopter rose effortlessly into the air. It took only thirty seconds of flight for the all-encompassing fear to grip me. The last time I was in a glass bubble such as this was on a guided tour of a lighthouse. The keeper had to peel my rigid body from the back wall of the light dome and gently coax me to move to ground level. As I pressed my spine into my seat and fixed my gaze straight ahead I knew there would be no escape for me this time and that if I looked down at the ground now far below my feet I would surely fall to oblivion.
My husband nudged me indicating that I should take some cine film. Tightly squeezing the camera on my lap, I was unable to look to the left or to the right never mind look down to raise the viewfinder to my eyes. I was paralysed with fear. Suddenly we were facing a mountain wall. The airfix model would surely not scale this soaring mass and was about to disintegrate. I closed my eyes.
I heard the pilot's calm, reassuring voice in my headphones describing the cascading Hole-in-the-Wall Glacier ahead of us. I opened my eyes and the sparkling blue and white scene of ice spires and pinnacles captivated me. I had to see more. Tentatively, I turned my head to look out and down. Twisting, spiralling ice steeples rose from the ice flow creating a landscape of almost indescribable beauty. I was entranced.
On rising over the Hole-in-the-Wall Glacier part of the Juneau Icefield came into view. The pilot informed us that this was the mother icefield that fed all the area's glaciers with millions of tons of centuries old ice. Its fifteen hundred square miles of solid ice was a remnant of the Ice Age. The vastness of this landscape was incomprehensible. I felt small and insignificant.
We were now flying over the Taku Glacier, which rose and fell in smooth, deep folds making its slow advance. Its surface was not white but looked as though it had been dusted with cocoa powder.
Over the next ridge the Norris Glacier swept majestically down through the valley. The ice below us was lumpy and uneven. It reminded me of the toasted meringue topping on the baked Alaska puddings served onboard the ship. Deep cuts sliced through the meringue revealing brilliant blue ice below.
Stepping out of the helicopter on to the Norris Glacier was to enter another world. This was truly an ancient land. Only I was not on land. The ice crunching beneath my glacier boots reminded me of that, as did the announcement of the pilot that the glacier was in fact still moving. Our small group dispersed to explore and I enjoyed the serenity and pristine air of this icy wilderness with my husband. I had expected bitter cold but delicate rays from the sun high above filtered through gently warming the atmosphere, which responded with a glistening, glittering welcome. I tried to imagine the mighty forces of nature that had formed this remote, awe-inspiring wonder. Rushing waters of a clear blue glacial stream, which suddenly appeared then disappeared under the icy surface, broke the silence. I peered into crevasses with turquoise walls of ice. I stood still and absorbed the overwhelming power surrounding me. I felt privileged and humbled.
Sitting in the back of the helicopter on the return journey I was relaxed and happy filming the scenery as it changed from ice to mountains to forests. I gazed into the trees when the pilot flew low to enable his passengers to look out for bears and moose. The flight path followed the river until we reached Juneau, the capital of Alaska and our destination.
"Seize the day" is a cliché, I know. It is, however, wise advice. Little did I know then that the glaciers I witnessed advancing would be retreating at an alarming rate just eleven years later.
Another cliché, "life is too short" is only too true. Little did I also know then that my husband and I would have only five more anniversaries to celebrate together. His life ended with other plans and dreams unfulfilled. I am so glad I overcame my anxieties that day and shared with him a wonderful experience to remember.
