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| "Knik Glacier Alaska Adventure" An Alaskan Short Story Adventure by Alaskan Artist Dianne Roberson Hendrix |
As the boat raced along the Knik River, I watched the distant horizon with intense concentration that was heightened by a
silence enforced by ear muffs we were required to wear to protect our ears from the boat’s engine. Occasionally I braced my
camera against the side of the boat as I leaned out the open window and took a picture of the passing mountains or elusive
wildlife, but I shot these photos quickly as I was anxious to see the much lauded glacier. Knik Glacier, 28 miles long, in places
six miles wide, and over 1,000 feet thick, is located approximately one hour north of Anchorage, Alaska, by the Old Glenn
Highway and Knik River Road. I had painted four glaciers in Alaska this year and wanted to add this glacier to my growing
series of glacier portraits in my art gallery. My neighbor, Tom Faussett, owner of Hunter Creek Outfitters, offered to be my
guide. Departing about 9:00 a.m. from Tom’s log cabin visitor’s center off of Knik River Road, we traveled seven miles up the
Knik River on his airboat into the road less wilderness to experience great views of the Chugach Mountains at the Lake
George National Natural Landmark.
Deep blue icebergs passed us floating down river on their way out to Cook Inlet. Some of the icebergs were dirty and
encrusted with black rocks, while other icebergs were bright blue with very few rocks. As the boat entered Knik Lake huge
icebergs floated by the boat. It had been about a 20 minute boat ride to reach the lake. The boat slowed to a crawl as Tom
maneuvered it through house size chunks of ice and I was able to take off my ear muffs while he gave me some historical facts
about Knik Glacier and the area. We cruised around mammoth icebergs and traveled two miles along the glacier’s face, then
pulled ashore opposite it at the glacier camp. The bright morning sun gave me hopes of a sunny day ahead.
We got off the boat at the foot of a rocky hill next to the face of the glacier and climbed the hill to the camp which was
camouflaged behind thick foliage. A large orange tent held supplies and soon we were enjoying hot coffee and a warm fire.
Refreshed, I sat up my easel and paints on the peak of the hill, while Tom returned to his visitors’ center. I watched, with
excitement, as the boat pulled away from the glacier, but I must admit to a little apprehension at being all alone in this road less
wilderness. When the boat was out of sight, I tried my cell phone just to see if I could use it in an emergency. After all, a bear
raided the tent last week. Today, I had no one to cover my back when I concentrated on my painting, as I always do. The cell
phone was of no use; a signal was not available. I would just have to pay attention to my surroundings.
The glacier sparkled as the sharp prisms of sunlight struck the clear ice on its top edges and slowly diffused into its inner
turquoise depth. There were several patches of blue in the sky and no breeze at all as noon approached. Feeling hunger
pains, I climbed on the enormous rock with my oatmeal bar and looked over the area to make sure I had picked the best
painting spot. After looking around, I knew it didn’t matter. Every spot was the best. The view was magnificent. Straight in
front of me the face of the Knik Glacier glistened like a field of new cut diamonds, with a lake of huge icebergs in front of it
reaching the bottom of the hill where I perched. I had been informed that the dirty icebergs with rocks all over them had been
traveling for hundreds of years, accumulating debris as they moved along. The clean bright blue icebergs were the ones that
had recently flipped over. Oh, it was peaceful now! The sun was warm on my skin and just enough of a breeze had begun to
blow. There were no flies or mosquitoes to bother me and I began to hope Tom would forget to come back for me today.
I could see the Knik Glacier reaching off into the distance and joining Colony Glacier. High in the mountains behind these
glaciers light blue ice reflecting sun rays glistened off hanging glaciers. Laying back on the rock, I watched as clouds began to
move in. The clear sky became laced with gray slow-moving clouds breaking the streaks of golden sunlight. I marveled at the
depth of my vision into the heavens and leisurely observed the multitudes of layers in its atmosphere.
My pallet was simple, and I painted fast, wanting to record the colors and the passion of this wild untouched work of nature.
There would be time enough for line work and details when I was back in my studio, for now, I wanted to paint as if I was making
music, following the rhythms of the wind and light. After I had painted two different views of the glacier on wood panels, it
began to rain lightly, just enough to make rain drops on my painting, which despite my fast drying acrylics, began to streak. I
put my brushes and paint into my back pack, covered my painting board, but left my easel up in hopes the rain would blow over.
Exploring the area with my cameras seemed like a good idea. I needed some exercise and was curious to see the views down
river. It was rough walking. Gravel and loose sand on a hilly terrain made me glad I had worn rubber sole tennis shoes. The
hills were sprinkled with gold and red fireweed interrupted with dots of bluebonnets. Sandhill cranes hollered in the sky as they
flew toward the distant mountains. Dark clouds were moving in, bringing a heavy drizzle as the winds became more intense. I
especially was eager to walk across the icebergs that lay like stair steps to the solid looking mass of ice on the glacier’s face,
but Tom had warned me that the icebergs could flip when I stepped on them. It was too dangerous he warned, “Stay on the
land.” Still, I wasn’t taking cover in the tent at camp. I wouldn’t waste a minute of this day inside a tent. A folding chair from the
camp was all I needed at my painting spot.
Pulling the hood of my jacket up over my head, I propped my feet on a good size rock and enjoyed watching nature change the
sky and water as the hours passed. The glaciers in the distance were fogged in and I saw the Sandhill Cranes flying back, or
trying to. They were flying in a v shaped formation and seemed to be undecided as to who was leader. I could see the three
cranes near the point of each v changing places, as if challenging each other. Maybe no one could stay lead for long because
of the strong wind that kept pushing them back. About 4 p.m., it started getting colder; as I searched the sky for breaks in the
clouds I could see patches of blue toward Anchorage. Occasionally the sun would dart through and beam a glaring ray off the
glacier ice, breaking the gray fog like a magic wand. As I watched the variations that nature gave my day, my thoughts
wandered to the universe. I felt so insignificant amidst this display produced after thousands of years of evolution. Finally I had
taken the time from my busy life to see my surroundings; which in several hours of total immersion lead me to feel these
awesome surroundings and explore their connection with my physical and mental existence. The longer I sat alone near the top
of the world in the wilderness, the more I became serene, relaxed.
Large waves rippled through the water getting my attention fast. Suddenly roaring thunder startled me. The thunder was not
coming from the sky, but from the water. It was followed by a big splash and right in front of me a big chunk of a huge iceberg
broke off into the lake, flipped over, and sailed down river. The rain had stopped and I took out my paints and brushes rushing
to record in paint the action I had seen. Quickly my brushes flew over the painting board with bold strokes of whites, blues, and
grays. I was painting the power of nature as I had witnessed it minutes before. These paintings were my field notes, the
emotions and colors my camera couldn’t record for me. Even though the rain had stopped, the wind was becoming stronger
and I had to paint with one hand on the easel to keep it from blowing over and the other hand with painting with rapid brush
strokes before my moment disappeared. Satisfied with the results, I packed my supplies and returned to the top of the hill as
darkness approached and the storm grew stronger.
All too soon, I heard the hum of the airboat engine. I laughed when Tom ask if I thought he had forgotten me. He was anxious
to depart because of the high winds and it was starting to rain very hard. Reluctantly, I hopped on the boat, my eyes glued to
the magnificent Knik Glacier as we pulled away. The winds were taking control of the airboat and it was apparent that Tom
was struggling to maneuver the boat as the winds pushed us toward the iceberg. I was clinging to the window and unable to
hear his warning shout because of the ear muffs when I was jolted to the floor as the airboat rammed into a big iceberg and slid
up the slick icy slope. The boat turned on its left side for an instant, that seemed to halt the action, and then it reversed its
forward motion and slid back down the iceberg with a splash into the lake again. Tom expertly maneuvered the boat through
the icebergs as he fought rough water and high winds and brought us safely to his dock. It was only after the motor was silent
and we were safe on his land that Tom was relieved. I was never stressed at all. The Knik Glacier and surrounding are was
so magnificent that I was mesmerized by their beauty.
Dianne Roberson Hendrix: free-lance artist, writer, and photographer works from her studio in Palmer, Alaska showing her
on line art gallery at: http://www.diannehendrix.com with her original paintings and on http://www.artworldplus.com with her
digital art, photography, and short stories.
silence enforced by ear muffs we were required to wear to protect our ears from the boat’s engine. Occasionally I braced my
camera against the side of the boat as I leaned out the open window and took a picture of the passing mountains or elusive
wildlife, but I shot these photos quickly as I was anxious to see the much lauded glacier. Knik Glacier, 28 miles long, in places
six miles wide, and over 1,000 feet thick, is located approximately one hour north of Anchorage, Alaska, by the Old Glenn
Highway and Knik River Road. I had painted four glaciers in Alaska this year and wanted to add this glacier to my growing
series of glacier portraits in my art gallery. My neighbor, Tom Faussett, owner of Hunter Creek Outfitters, offered to be my
guide. Departing about 9:00 a.m. from Tom’s log cabin visitor’s center off of Knik River Road, we traveled seven miles up the
Knik River on his airboat into the road less wilderness to experience great views of the Chugach Mountains at the Lake
George National Natural Landmark.
Deep blue icebergs passed us floating down river on their way out to Cook Inlet. Some of the icebergs were dirty and
encrusted with black rocks, while other icebergs were bright blue with very few rocks. As the boat entered Knik Lake huge
icebergs floated by the boat. It had been about a 20 minute boat ride to reach the lake. The boat slowed to a crawl as Tom
maneuvered it through house size chunks of ice and I was able to take off my ear muffs while he gave me some historical facts
about Knik Glacier and the area. We cruised around mammoth icebergs and traveled two miles along the glacier’s face, then
pulled ashore opposite it at the glacier camp. The bright morning sun gave me hopes of a sunny day ahead.
We got off the boat at the foot of a rocky hill next to the face of the glacier and climbed the hill to the camp which was
camouflaged behind thick foliage. A large orange tent held supplies and soon we were enjoying hot coffee and a warm fire.
Refreshed, I sat up my easel and paints on the peak of the hill, while Tom returned to his visitors’ center. I watched, with
excitement, as the boat pulled away from the glacier, but I must admit to a little apprehension at being all alone in this road less
wilderness. When the boat was out of sight, I tried my cell phone just to see if I could use it in an emergency. After all, a bear
raided the tent last week. Today, I had no one to cover my back when I concentrated on my painting, as I always do. The cell
phone was of no use; a signal was not available. I would just have to pay attention to my surroundings.
The glacier sparkled as the sharp prisms of sunlight struck the clear ice on its top edges and slowly diffused into its inner
turquoise depth. There were several patches of blue in the sky and no breeze at all as noon approached. Feeling hunger
pains, I climbed on the enormous rock with my oatmeal bar and looked over the area to make sure I had picked the best
painting spot. After looking around, I knew it didn’t matter. Every spot was the best. The view was magnificent. Straight in
front of me the face of the Knik Glacier glistened like a field of new cut diamonds, with a lake of huge icebergs in front of it
reaching the bottom of the hill where I perched. I had been informed that the dirty icebergs with rocks all over them had been
traveling for hundreds of years, accumulating debris as they moved along. The clean bright blue icebergs were the ones that
had recently flipped over. Oh, it was peaceful now! The sun was warm on my skin and just enough of a breeze had begun to
blow. There were no flies or mosquitoes to bother me and I began to hope Tom would forget to come back for me today.
I could see the Knik Glacier reaching off into the distance and joining Colony Glacier. High in the mountains behind these
glaciers light blue ice reflecting sun rays glistened off hanging glaciers. Laying back on the rock, I watched as clouds began to
move in. The clear sky became laced with gray slow-moving clouds breaking the streaks of golden sunlight. I marveled at the
depth of my vision into the heavens and leisurely observed the multitudes of layers in its atmosphere.
My pallet was simple, and I painted fast, wanting to record the colors and the passion of this wild untouched work of nature.
There would be time enough for line work and details when I was back in my studio, for now, I wanted to paint as if I was making
music, following the rhythms of the wind and light. After I had painted two different views of the glacier on wood panels, it
began to rain lightly, just enough to make rain drops on my painting, which despite my fast drying acrylics, began to streak. I
put my brushes and paint into my back pack, covered my painting board, but left my easel up in hopes the rain would blow over.
Exploring the area with my cameras seemed like a good idea. I needed some exercise and was curious to see the views down
river. It was rough walking. Gravel and loose sand on a hilly terrain made me glad I had worn rubber sole tennis shoes. The
hills were sprinkled with gold and red fireweed interrupted with dots of bluebonnets. Sandhill cranes hollered in the sky as they
flew toward the distant mountains. Dark clouds were moving in, bringing a heavy drizzle as the winds became more intense. I
especially was eager to walk across the icebergs that lay like stair steps to the solid looking mass of ice on the glacier’s face,
but Tom had warned me that the icebergs could flip when I stepped on them. It was too dangerous he warned, “Stay on the
land.” Still, I wasn’t taking cover in the tent at camp. I wouldn’t waste a minute of this day inside a tent. A folding chair from the
camp was all I needed at my painting spot.
Pulling the hood of my jacket up over my head, I propped my feet on a good size rock and enjoyed watching nature change the
sky and water as the hours passed. The glaciers in the distance were fogged in and I saw the Sandhill Cranes flying back, or
trying to. They were flying in a v shaped formation and seemed to be undecided as to who was leader. I could see the three
cranes near the point of each v changing places, as if challenging each other. Maybe no one could stay lead for long because
of the strong wind that kept pushing them back. About 4 p.m., it started getting colder; as I searched the sky for breaks in the
clouds I could see patches of blue toward Anchorage. Occasionally the sun would dart through and beam a glaring ray off the
glacier ice, breaking the gray fog like a magic wand. As I watched the variations that nature gave my day, my thoughts
wandered to the universe. I felt so insignificant amidst this display produced after thousands of years of evolution. Finally I had
taken the time from my busy life to see my surroundings; which in several hours of total immersion lead me to feel these
awesome surroundings and explore their connection with my physical and mental existence. The longer I sat alone near the top
of the world in the wilderness, the more I became serene, relaxed.
Large waves rippled through the water getting my attention fast. Suddenly roaring thunder startled me. The thunder was not
coming from the sky, but from the water. It was followed by a big splash and right in front of me a big chunk of a huge iceberg
broke off into the lake, flipped over, and sailed down river. The rain had stopped and I took out my paints and brushes rushing
to record in paint the action I had seen. Quickly my brushes flew over the painting board with bold strokes of whites, blues, and
grays. I was painting the power of nature as I had witnessed it minutes before. These paintings were my field notes, the
emotions and colors my camera couldn’t record for me. Even though the rain had stopped, the wind was becoming stronger
and I had to paint with one hand on the easel to keep it from blowing over and the other hand with painting with rapid brush
strokes before my moment disappeared. Satisfied with the results, I packed my supplies and returned to the top of the hill as
darkness approached and the storm grew stronger.
All too soon, I heard the hum of the airboat engine. I laughed when Tom ask if I thought he had forgotten me. He was anxious
to depart because of the high winds and it was starting to rain very hard. Reluctantly, I hopped on the boat, my eyes glued to
the magnificent Knik Glacier as we pulled away. The winds were taking control of the airboat and it was apparent that Tom
was struggling to maneuver the boat as the winds pushed us toward the iceberg. I was clinging to the window and unable to
hear his warning shout because of the ear muffs when I was jolted to the floor as the airboat rammed into a big iceberg and slid
up the slick icy slope. The boat turned on its left side for an instant, that seemed to halt the action, and then it reversed its
forward motion and slid back down the iceberg with a splash into the lake again. Tom expertly maneuvered the boat through
the icebergs as he fought rough water and high winds and brought us safely to his dock. It was only after the motor was silent
and we were safe on his land that Tom was relieved. I was never stressed at all. The Knik Glacier and surrounding are was
so magnificent that I was mesmerized by their beauty.
Dianne Roberson Hendrix: free-lance artist, writer, and photographer works from her studio in Palmer, Alaska showing her
on line art gallery at: http://www.diannehendrix.com with her original paintings and on http://www.artworldplus.com with her
digital art, photography, and short stories.
| Alaska Artist Dianne Roberson Hendrix painting at Knik Glacier in the Matanuska Valley of Alaska. |
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| Copyright 2005 © Dianne Roberson Hendrix. All rights reserved. |
| Art World Plus | Short Stories Alaskan Art by Alaskan Artist Dianne Roberson Hendrix |