Fiery Depths
Looking down into the pits of hell, are those the screams of your political opponents you hear? Maybe it’s only last night’s burritos talking.
Regardless, I don’t want to be pitched over the edge.
TL120-55, Ilford HP5, DR5 processing (Yes, I typo’d the title on the mount, but given the scarcity of mounts I didn’t feel the need to remount in a clean one.)
The winter ice has been terrible at the Mendenhall Glacier this year. The combination of snow, rain, and avalanches has meant I haven’t ventured near it, much less tried to cross it to get new winter images of the glacier. These two views from 2008 (captured with my TL120-55) will have to suffice. The area of ice pictured here is now long gone. In the summer it is open water. In the winter, it is lake ice.
This image is taken about a mile and quarter across the lake from where I laced on my skates. Because of the current lake level, 
there is a patch of stable, rocky beach here. Because of cliff and creeks, it isn’t possible to walk around the lake to get to this bit of beach. Crossing the lake is the only way. Everything off that bit of beach is in flux and subject to change at any moment.
The cracks parallel to the shore show that the lake ice has sunk, and may again. The white froth beside the green glacier is a flowing and frozen waterfall. There is another stream coming down closer to the camera. Both are flowing under the ice, taking relative warmth, and creating areas of thinner lake ice. The glacier is calving from above and below, even in winter. Because of all this, approaching the glacier is a dance with an uncertain beast. I hunt for images and capture them as I approach, never certain when I’ll decide I’ve gone close enough and its time to retreat.
This image was made early in the morning’s dance. The colors and textures beckoned me closer despite the poor ice conditions.
Closer (and farther to the left) than the previous one, I captured this image. My exploration is stymied. The lake ice has been broken and refrozen several times, 
and there is water between the farther cracks. The advancing glacier has plowed up the lake ice like I might my driveway. Farther back there are pieces of lake ice resting 10′ out of the water, having been lifted there by the rising glacier. The textures in the ice in front of me still beckon, but I declare the dance done and retreat.
Back in August, I had found an awesome cave at the edge of the ice. I had been under the ice for about 30 minutes trying for some images of the stream running at the bottom of the cave. The light level was low
and I was having to guess at 1.5 or 2 second exposures while the melting roof falling all around me. These two ladies climbed and slid down to where I was and asked if they could take a few pictures without disturbing me.
“Sure thing!”, I said. They weren’t going to interrupt my process, and I really wanted some pictures of them against the blue.
While they took each others’ pictures, I tried to advance to advance the film, open the aperture enough to get the shutter-speed down to a more realistic number, compose a new image, and focus for the shallow depth of field. I think I got off three exposures before they were done and ready to climb out and head home. This is the only one which is close to useable, and it’s still too dark. I really need to carry a small flash and learn how to use it 🙁
This is in the same cave in which I made Crack of Doom. I’m turned 180 degrees and thirty feet farther in.
Tripod mounted TL120-1, Provia 400X, un-recorded aperture and shutter.
Yes, this is the noon light, not the moon light. Early in January, the sun doesn’t get very high in our sky. It rakes in very low, and there are often shadows mid-day caused by the sun being obscured by some mountains. In earlier folios, you have seen where the ice meets the land. This is where the ice meets the lake.
Catching the dawn light on the glacier is a tricky business. By definition, it involves starting the mile and quarter trek across the lake (either by skate or by ski) before dawn. It requires a bit of nerve to lace up my skates and set out across the lake in the dark with a pack loaded with camera gear. Once there, in the pre-dawn light, the challenge is to find the image that will be there when the sun arrives.
In this case, I caught the light on the extreme face of the glacier. There is nothing for scale, but the hummock to the right is probably only four feet high. That makes the face about 30 feet high. The lake ice in front of it (as well as where I’m standing) is a mass of re-frozen crumble. At any time, the glacier may slide forward and wrinkled the ice for many yards. The lake is also littered with bergs which have fallen off the face. If that should happen, the resulting waves will leave broken ice for half a mile. I have never been there when it happens, but the evidence that it does happen is recorded in the ice at my feet.
This was shot with my TL120-55 on a tripod in January, 2010.
My contributions for re-seeding our folio are all from the Mendenhall Glacier area of Juneau. These are near-duplicates of some work I offered in FolioA-Loop 23 (Raining Under Ice, Path To The Underworld, and others). As the folio-box fills and we need the space, I’ll have these images pulled and returned to me to make room for others’ work.
This image is made much farther under the ice than Path To The Underworld. It felt, however, much less dangerous and I spent almost half an hour enjoying the space and composing images. A cavern like this this has required months to open and is fairly stable and mature, while the sliver revealed in Path is probably only weeks old and still changing rapidly.
If you have a wide-angle viewer, this would be an excellent time to bring it out. In any case, you will need a bright viewer to reveal the details in the wet floor, but this is my favorite from the set of images I made that day.
This was shot with my TL120-55 on a tripod.
Another image shows what’s going on above the ice, but here we’re down under the edge of the ice. We’ve gone back in time far enough that this section of rock has never seen the light of day. The wear-grooves are visible in the rock as are the gravel and sand which the ice used to make the the grooves. Next August, I may be walking on this section of stone, though I doubt I’ll be able to locate it exactly.
Walking around the cliffs above the glacier can make you feel small. But screwing up the nerve to climb down and place a tripod under the glacier makes me feel mortal (and upsets my wife).
Tripod mounted TL120-1
This is the “peninsula” which has figured in many of my recent submissions to the folio. 
As you look at this, the Mendenhall Glacier is receding up the valley to your left and the newly exposed rock surfaces are below you on the right. We’ve crossed the peninsula at the highest point you see and walked down to the edge of the ice. We’ve traveled along the edge of the ice and climbed this cliff to have lunch and try to get some perspective.
The blue-ice caves we’ve visited are down at the edge of the ice. The hikers in the center of the frame are heading back to the trail after visiting the glacier. The forest service visitor’s center is visible on the far side of the lake in the center of the frame. In the winter, I’ll skate or ski from there to the glacier to try to capture images of its presence.
Twenty years ago, every inch of this peninsula was under ice. The spot my wife is sitting would have been about 200′ below the surface. Twenty years from now, these smooth cliffs will be covered in scrub alder and willow and the contours will be hidden forever.
Tripod mounted TL120-1