I climbed as often as I could after that, poured over the pictures of rock climbers in magazines every night. Eventually I became entranced with ice climbing, the colder, more volatile sister of rock climbing. I was drawn to the idea of ice and that lead me to glaciers. I read everything I could find about them, stared at pictures in books, fascinated by how thick they are, the rolling hills of deep blue produced by the compression of snow and time. The way they are able to create caves, canyons and ledges, whole landscapes, and then just as easily, destroy them.
The day I graduated from high school, I drove to Colorado. I rock climbed in the summer and learned to ice climb in the winter. I lived out of an old gray van, worked in restaurants and bars, taught climbing lessons in gyms, called home rarely, if ever. Years passed in which I learned how to breathe easy, no longer caught between two opposing forces. Eventually, I got a job leading backpacking and climbing trips in the mountains of Colorado, Utah and Wyoming.
On my twenty-fifth birthday, on a trip in the Medicine Bow Range, one of the other guides asked me what was on the agenda now that I was halfway through my twenties.
“Alaska,” I said without thinking. It was a natural progression from the Rocky Mountain West. Wilder, harsher, steeper. I was drawn by the idea of so much ice in one place—glaciers still actively shaping valleys, creating lakes, keeping everyone but the most determined out.
I saved every dime that fall and winter. When spring had a solid hold on the land, I drove the old gray van north. I was headed to the interior, to the Wrangell-St. Elias mountain range, but never made it.
The van started overheating not long after I crossed the border from British Columbia into the Yukon, before I ever made it to Alaska. I stopped in the next town, which consisted of one building. There was a gas station, a mechanic shop, and a hotel in the building. There were a couple tables in the gas station where you could be served from a limited menu. Beyond the building were some scattered houses and beyond that was nothing but horizon. At first, the mechanic, who owned the building and all of its businesses, was thrilled when my van would not start. It seemed he’d not had anything to do for a long time.
He was somewhere near fifty, with blue coveralls and heavy boots. He had black hair, with lots of white coming in, that wisped out from under his ball cap. I sat on a stool in the garage while he clanged and sweated over the van’s engine. I had slipped the can of bear spray from my pack into the pocket of my sweatshirt, just in case. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around. I made sure the bulk of my sweatshirt covered the shape of the can. After a while, the mechanic announced the problem was with a blown head gasket.
He wiped his forehead with his arm. “You’ve got a couple other problems as well, but we can talk about those later. Has it been running hot?”
“Yeah. I dumped a whole gallon of water in the radiator the last time I stopped. How much will it cost to fix it?”
“Oh…as long as I got it all torn out, might as well replace the timing belt that’s about to go also… ‘bout $4500. Canadian.”
“That’s more than the van’s worth. Forget it.” That was also more than I had in my savings account.
“What do you mean forget it? The only way you’re getting out of here is to have me do the work.”
“Anybody around here want to sell a car?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll find a ride north with someone stopping for gas.”
“Good luck with that. You can stay in the hotel while you wait for someone to stop for gas, it just so happens all the rooms are available. We’ll leave the van up on the rail for when you come to your senses.”
“I’ll camp.” Why spend the money on a hotel room when I have all my camping gear?
“You’re kidding.”
“Is there someone creepy I should know about? There can’t be more than ten people that live here.”
“No one will bother you, it’s just that I have this perfectly good hotel you can stay in for only $50 a night.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine camping.”
I spent the next four days loitering, asking each of the five cars that stopped for gas if I could catch a ride. No one had room for me and all my climbing gear. I bought food from the gas station and ordered ‘lunch’ —no further description—from the menu each day, so that I wasn’t completely freeloading. I met everyone in town and decided for myself that no one was creepy, but still kept the bear spray in the front pocket of my sweatshirt the whole time, because it made me feel safer.
The mechanic shook his head every morning when he came to work and realized I was still there. He deduced quickly that I wasn’t going to spend the money I had fixing the van. Eventually he produced a middle aged man with a beer belly who he said ran a glacier backpacking outfitter on the Juneau Ice Field. I was standing next to the gas pump watching the long straight road for any sign of a car. “Not in Juneau, who would want to live there?” the mechanic clarified, “but from the Canadian side, the better side of the ice field.”
I picked out another Cool Ranch Dorito from the snack bag I had purchased from the gas station and looked at the guide’s old corduroys worn paper thin at the knees, his rope belt and his faded t-shirt.
“And he’s trying to date my sister,” the mechanic added.
The guide ignored the mechanic, held out his hand to me. “Name’s Brad.”
“Anna Richard.” I wiped Dorito residue onto my pants and then offered my hand.
“Bill says you need a job,” Brad said.
“I’m trying to get up to Wrangell-St. Elias. My van broke down. I don’t need a job, I just want to get out on the ice.”
Brad rolled his eyes. “What is everyone’s fascination with Wrangell-St. Elias? The Juneau Ice Field is just as vast and more rugged because we get the weather off the ocean. Everyone always overlooks it, on their way up to Wrangell. Kind of like that guy in high school who all the girls ignored because he weighed ninety pounds, but then he grew up and filled out, and doesn’t he look good now.”
I dug another chip out of the bag and stared at him. “You’re saying the Juneau Ice Field has grown up and filled out?” I glanced down the road again. Surely, someone would have room for me and my gear soon.
“So, can you give her a job?” The mechanic asked. “Get her off my property? Last thing I need is some woman sleeping out by the dumpster all summer. Bad for business.” Of the five cars that had stopped in the last four days, none had needed any work and no one had stayed in the hotel. The mechanic had about as much to do as I did.
“You ever set foot on a glacier before?” Brad asked. He didn’t seem to have anything to do with his day either.
“No.”
He glanced over at the mechanic and then back at me. “You better go on home. We get folks like you all the time up here, been on a few hikes down south, think they are real adventurers. They end up lost on the ice and we end up looking for them.”
My chips were gone. I was tired of being stranded. I had no idea how I was going to get myself out of the situation I was in. “You’re saying that I’m going to need you to come look for me? I doubt it.”
The mechanic gave Brad an exasperated look. “My sister called you a jackass the other day and I said you weren’t. Don’t act like one now.”
“When did she say that?” Brad turned to face the mechanic.
“I’m leaving,” I said, heading toward my tent.
“Hold on,” the mechanic said. “Brad here, owns a guiding service about eighty miles away. He takes high school aged kids out on the ice for three week long trips, and he needs another