River of Light
2024-09-10, Day 4
A sinuous arc of clouds is ignited with sunset light as it appears to parallel the path of the Donjek Glacier out of the mountains, Kluane National Park, Yukon.
We explored the massive gravel bars and heaved heaps of rock near the Glacier’s terminus for some time, marveling at the scale at which Nature works. Sometimes glaciers make booming, cracking, or other sounds as the ice shifts while going about its work, but this one was ponderous and silent while we were in its presence. Earlier in the day we saw two people at a great distance with brightly colored packs moving slowly upstream and following the Donjek River’s gravel bars. We had stayed higher up above the River on undulating benches and where these fellow travelers were now was unknowable - they had been swallowed by the magnificence of the land, much like us.
We returned to camp, retrieved the food bags, and collected some water in the pot to boil for making dinner. The area we selected for the “kitchen” was some ways from the tent and in the opposite direction from where we hung the food, to be as safe as possible given the ubiquitous bear signs. Strategically, I also wanted a spot from which we could see the Glacier while we supped, to better poise us for readily absorbing whatever evening light show might be on offer. Given the northern latitude, the light played with the clouds for an extended period of time, and I paused frequently to put down the evening repast and pick up the camera. A somewhat tepid meal is the inevitable byproduct of such foolishness, but I hardly noticed as the light soared over the Glacier and all around the vast wilderness surrounding us.
Looking at this photo now, I find that photography and memory can mutually reinforce each other such that an image can conjure previously dormant emotions, the simulacrum resurrecting some of the initial wonder of the experience. Yet it is impossible to replicate the first cresting of the rise, the first realization of what the landscape holds.
River of Light
2024-09-10, Day 4
A sinuous arc of clouds is ignited with sunset light as it appears to parallel the path of the Donjek Glacier out of the mountains, Kluane National Park, Yukon.
We explored the massive gravel bars and heaved heaps of rock near the Glacier’s terminus for some time, marveling at the scale at which Nature works. Sometimes glaciers make booming, cracking, or other sounds as the ice shifts while going about its work, but this one was ponderous and silent while we were in its presence. Earlier in the day we saw two people at a great distance with brightly colored packs moving slowly upstream and following the Donjek River’s gravel bars. We had stayed higher up above the River on undulating benches and where these fellow travelers were now was unknowable - they had been swallowed by the magnificence of the land, much like us.
We returned to camp, retrieved the food bags, and collected some water in the pot to boil for making dinner. The area we selected for the “kitchen” was some ways from the tent and in the opposite direction from where we hung the food, to be as safe as possible given the ubiquitous bear signs. Strategically, I also wanted a spot from which we could see the Glacier while we supped, to better poise us for readily absorbing whatever evening light show might be on offer. Given the northern latitude, the light played with the clouds for an extended period of time, and I paused frequently to put down the evening repast and pick up the camera. A somewhat tepid meal is the inevitable byproduct of such foolishness, but I hardly noticed as the light soared over the Glacier and all around the vast wilderness surrounding us.
Looking at this photo now, I find that photography and memory can mutually reinforce each other such that an image can conjure previously dormant emotions, the simulacrum resurrecting some of the initial wonder of the experience. Yet it is impossible to replicate the first cresting of the rise, the first realization of what the landscape holds.