River-tainment ~ May 6-7, #12
In all our years of planning for “life after commitments”, and during every time-constrained trip up to this point, we vowed, once we retire, we are going to travel at our own pace and not rush. From the first day atop the saddle in Alaska, it felt different, alien, to know our days were not dictated by anything other than ourselves.
Being fully immersed in the moment each day was allowing us to take in our surroundings and actually watch a season change beneath our feet.
Arriving a second time at the entrance to Whitefish just two days later, we immediately noticed multiple tire ruts in the snow heading down the hill indicating it was no longer our private campground. This time we could half-ride/half-walk our loaded bikes in the tire ruts back to our spot under the evergreen where the island of grass had now expanded by several feet.
Ice-scapes & River-bergs
After reestablishing our camp, we marveled at how the ice-scape on the river in front of us had reshaped itself. A slender island of ice had now formed down the middle where a section of open water used to flow, creating little eddies that spun next to each other in opposite directions snagging chunks of ice into a never ending washing machine. Across the river, slabs of ice had slid underneath each other forming a mini rapid around and over the drop-off of each ledge. Alongside the river’s edge, now several inches higher, large pieces of ice sheets were pushed together in a puzzle maze, adorned with crystalized chunks of varying sizes, catching sun rays to glisten in river shades of clear, opaque, aqua, deep blue and muted browns. We were mezermized, snapping photos at every thing that caught our eye.
The next day after breakfast we parted ways temporarily to be amidst our thoughts and journal. I decided to try a walking meditation with a real camera to explore along the rivers edge. Stepping through chewed off willows in the foot prints of moose that had once wandered back and forth across the frozen river, dining on winter’s meager provisions of bark and limbs, evoked an overwhelming sense of awe and connection even amidst their absence.
Curious where the ice had moved further down river, I went back to the boat ramp and discovered so much of the snow had simply melted into the ground over the last couple days revealing grassy mounds that we had previously thought were piles of snow cleared from the driveway. Butterflies were now dancing underneath the overhang to the bathrooms presumably soaking in the radiant heat from the sun-drenched concrete. It was nearing early afternoon when something told me to find a seat alongside the river’s edge and watch, knowing about this time the sun would have permeated the ice at different points up river forcing it into motion once again.
Molten Ice Flow
Our ears and eyes had become attune to the early signals indicating the ice was on the move. Deep thuds and drawn out scrapes coming from upstream, followed by subtle movements of ice on one side of the river and then the other, wildly flapping wings, branches snapping, willows bending and then submerged. I watched as the ice sculptures we photographed the day before transformed into a molten flow, pushed further and further down river until a new dam rose up from the river bottom along the next bend. Ice chunks began to slam over and under each other some turning on edge, others flipping upside down, forming a new ice-scape to behold. I watched in amazement until I realized that my feet were about to be submerged. To witness a river transform itself literally at my feet was better than watching any nature channel.
Early signs of Flood stage
The next morning we instinctively started packing up early, knowing we had the dreaded climb to Hilltop before our descent back to the RV park. To our surprise, just as we had finished breakfast, the eery thuds and scrapes began. It seemed odd this early in the day, so at first we weren’t sure what to make of it. Within minutes it was clear, this flow was going to be massive. Dropping our gear and picking up our cameras, we rushed as close as we dared to capture the display of icebergs 2-3 feet thick being shoved in all directions.
In an instant what was the river bank only days before was gone and water began to fill the area around the Pavilion just yards from our tent. Although we were on a bit of a mound, Nivaun knew we had better move the tent or within seconds it could be too late. We scrambled to pull stakes and pick up the tent still laden with its contents and lift it over the road-side boulders to rest on the melted out gravel road. As soon as the tent was safe, we turned to anxiously watch the vast, mounting dam of ice downstream while we resumed packing up.
View from our tent spot - overnight the river rose another 2 feet up to eye-level
It was a good day to be leaving the campground. Over the next few days flood warnings were issued for areas surrounding Fairbanks and further North.