On a clear August 2015 morning, I met longtime family friends in the parking area of Knik Glacier Tours. Charles and Jimmie, ages 84 and 82, had done this tour more than a dozen times, but it was to be my first experience, and they were taking me along as their guest.
In preparation for this trip, they told me about their first experience with Knik Glacier back in April 1976 with the Alaska Prospector’s Society. A rather large group had organized a day trip with a guide to see the glacier. The guide provided both transportation and food. Because an unexpected open water lead had developed due to an early breakup, the canoe which was supposed to only haul the food unexpectedly ended up being used to ferry people, also. There were no life jackets available, but this minor glitch did not stop the Prospector’s adventure that day.
Although the provided lunch was appreciated, the extra ferrying took longer than planned and as the day trip turned into evening and night, the last load of people grew quite hungry waiting for the pickup truck to return and take them back to their vehicles. They built a fire to stay warm and then all shared whatever emergency food they had tucked away in their packs. It was an adventure never to be forgotten.
My youngest sister was along that day, as she was living with Charles and Jimmie (in Anchorage) at the time for two weeks while participating in a “work experience” as part of one of her Glennallen High School classes. I’ve seen slides from that trip and the April 10 scenery of stark palette of black, white, and gray look nothing like the greens of early August.
On the August 2015 morning, I left my house off Palmer Fishhook and traveled out the Old Glenn Highway past the Butte. Then I drove 8.5 miles out Knik River Road, arriving at the base camp about 9:30 a.m. Charles and Jimmie met me there and we were joined by five other guests.
Promptly at 10 a.m. the owner/guide, Tom Faussett, and his assistant got us all loaded into the custom 4x4 van for the safari ride—the first part of our journey. The body of the van had been raised and fitted with oversized, deep treaded tires for riding comfort and stability.
Tom carefully drove over rough terrain until he approached Hunter Creek. Then he confidently drove right into the creek, which looked more like a river. But he knew the creek bottom well and after several minutes of purposeful driving in bumper-deep water for a distance of about 20 yards, he pulled up onto the opposite bank to continue the safari ride to the boats waiting at the side of the Knik River.
Half of us got into an air boat and the other half boarded the jet boat. Noise-silencing headphones were provided in both boats. We journeyed up-river 7 miles passing a waterfall and an occasional iceberg, cameras clicking as we viewed the picturesque countryside. The closer we got to the glacier, the bigger the icebergs.
Soon Tom slowed the engine, and we seemed to float among the icebergs— every size and shape imaginable, with some more blue than others. Brilliant diamond-like sparkles dazzled as the sunlight bounced off pieces of the less common, crystal-clear lumpy chunks of ice. Surrounded by icebergs, we were close enough to reach out and touch them.
After a while, the two boats pulled up to dock at the shore. We hiked up a trail a short distance to the top of the hill, from which we could look southeast to the spectacular Knik Glacier—5 miles wide and 28 miles long. Miles away on the other side of the ice mass was Colombia Glacier, which flows into Prince William Sound.
A short way back from the crest of the hill, in a little secluded area, Tom had set up a tent shelter and picnic tables and just a short walk away, an outhouse. After accepting a cup of hot chocolate, I joined Charles and Jimmie on the ridge so we could eat our picnic lunch while enjoying the fabulous view.
Promptly at noon, it was time to gather up and head back down to the boats. A couple chunks of glacier ice had been placed on the wooden dock for one of the Alaskan guests to take home. That was the perfect opportunity for Jimmie to pick up an approximately 20-pound mass and stand next to Charles, holding it long enough for me to snap a couple of pictures. A re-creation of one of their 1976 photos. (Their 2015 Christmas card greeting featured the two photos taken almost 40 years apart.)
Then we rode in the jet boat, skippered by the assistant, back to the landing where the van waited. On our return safari to base camp, I visited with the mother/son tourists from Ohio, who had learned of this tour only the day before. The three other guests included an Alaskan hosting a father/daughter couple from Louisiana.
On the other side of Hunter Creek, I asked Tom if he found the creek bottom rearranged every spring. He said that the rearranging occurs not just in the spring, but after every big rainfall. In one of the earlier years of operation, he had quite a large bill with a tow company because of getting his vehicle stuck in the creek bed more than once.
Back at base camp, guests paid for their tours and scattered their separate ways, and Tom and his assistant left to ready the vehicles for the next tour —a larger group. Meanwhile, Charles, Jimmie, and I gathered on the steps of the base camp office and listened to a spellbinding, incredibly true moose story as told by the other Alaskan guest. A story for which she’d won first place at an Alaska State Fair senior story telling contest and which she’d also told at the Arctic Entries story telling venue in Anchorage.
That fantastic moose story was a bonus and a perfect way to end an awe-inspiring trip. An adventure thanks to Charles and Jimmie, who continue to enjoy life these days at ages 94 and 92.
Maraley McMichael is a lifelong Alaskan now residing in Palmer. Email her at maraleymcmichael@gmail.com..
