North to Alaska - Live!

by Kathy 6. July 2011 11:48

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The Changing Face of Child’s Glacier

Leading away from Cordova is a road that stretches for almost 50 miles and then fizzles out after crossing the Million Dollar Bridge. Although some may think so, this is not a “road to nowhere,” as it ends near the massive face of Child’s Glacier—surely one of the most beautiful glaciers in all of Alaska.

The glacier face is taller than a 20-story building, and the size is difficult to convey in a photo:

We have already seen quite a few glaciers on this trip--even hiking on one and kayaking into the ice caves of another. But Child’s Glacier was the first one that allowed us to witness “calving”—a term that refers to the glacier’s release of large slabs of ice, often with an accompanying crack and thundering roar as the ice plummets into the water below.

The resulting waves would glide across the Copper River to our viewing area on the opposite river bank.

None that we saw exceeded 2 or 3 feet. However, in 1993, a 30-foot wave rose up and supposedly swept a woman from her perch.

It was hard to believe that a wave could reach us. However, warning signs were prominently posted showing the possible heights of a wave:

Much of our time at Child’s Glacier was spent just sitting and watching the ice--in sun and rain and bone-chilling wind—listening to the loud pops and rumbling. And waiting.

Ben and the kids:

Ben, solo:

Me, in the cold rain:

Sebastian and Genevieve:

While waiting, we kept an eye out for wildlife and spotted a few seals, who would pop their heads up occasionally from the chilly water:

We also saw bald eagles soaring above:

And we witnessed one bald eagle swoop down and aggressively shoo away a seal:

We later learned that a pair of bald eagles had a nest high up in a nearby cottonwood tree, so the eagle was probably protecting its territory.

During long stretches of waiting, the kids amused themselves by piling up rocks to create a protective shelter under some tree roots:

The shallow cave area kept the raindrops off their heads on the second day:

We took a break from glacier watching and hiked along the river. Genevieve found a tent spike, and we played a game where each person took a turn inventing a “use” for the spike—a candy cane, a sword, a magic wand, a shot dispenser, a monocle, a sewing needle, a calligraphy pen, and so on.

About a mile down the trail, we reached the Million Dollar Bridge—a former railway bridge that cost over a million dollars to build in 1910.

About half of the bridge is shown in the photo below:

Up close:

We walked across the entire bridge, and I have to admit that it stretched my comfort zone. The lack of a tall railing, combined with the narrow width and the age of the bridge, kicked my mother instincts into high gear; thankfully, both Genevieve and Sebastian listened fairly well to my mantra of “Stay away from the edges!”

Sebastian and Ben:

The bridge was once part of the railway line that extended a couple of hundred miles over the mountains from the Kennecott copper mines to Cordova. After the mines closed in 1938, the tracks were no longer used. Since Cordova had no roads to connect it with the rest of Alaska, some people in the 1950’s envisioned building a road (the Copper River Highway) over the old railway line. The plan was abandoned in 1964, however, after a 9.2 earthquake dropped one of the bridge spans into the river.

A woman we met at the Cordova museum told us that the Million Dollar Bridge should really be called the “$17 Million Dollar Bridge,” as the U.S. government had recently spent over $17 million to repair the dropped span.

Looking at where the fallen span had been reattached to the rest of the bridge, I couldn’t help but think that for $17 million, the engineers could at least have aligned it correctly:

At the end of the bridge, the Copper River Highway curved to the right and disappeared behind some trees:

The road is only supposed to continue another mile or so. However, we didn’t see it for ourselves. We had already walked a fair distance, and we weren’t curious enough to want to test the bridge’s weight limits by driving our RV across to reach the dead end.

Back at Child’s Glacier, we spent many more hours in front of the face, becoming intimately familiar with the temporary ice formations, giving many of them nicknames and predicting which parts might slide off next. Right before we left the glacier area, we finally witnessed the fall of a colossal spire, about 15 stories high, that we had been calling “the finger”: