Ice does not lie

May to September is tourist season in Alaska -- the land of the midnight sun. Sparkling glaciers, shimmering lake waters, rugged mountains and rare wildlife draw quite a few visitors to this North us state. These charms have also pulled my family for long -- we got our chance to visit this icy land this year. On May 23, we were among the 2000 Alaska-bound passengers who boarded the luxury cruise, Coral Princess from Vancouver, Canada. The ocean liner landed at Juneau port two days later. A 45-minute ride, along steep valleys, in a six-seated helicopter followed and we were on our way to sighting the famed Alaskan glaciers.

But surprisingly, we landed on a patch of dry land and not snow. The pilot was quick to put our curiosity to rest. "This area was covered with snow, only a few days back. But look at it today. Global warming has arrived, my friend and more than 90 per cent of Alaskan glaciers are receding," he said. From then on, understanding effects of global warming on glaciers became our abiding preoccupation -- and what better classroom than Alaska. Way back in 1946, the geologist Maynard Miller had created the Juneau Ice Research Program to learn the secrets of climates by poking and prodding at the glaciers in the area. Today, the geologist writes, "It is no longer a matter of proving whether the climate is warming, it is a matter of monitoring the effects of that warming and documenting how intense the changes are. Temperate glaciers are some of the most sensitive indicators of climate change. Ice does not lie."
Orderly as a recipe Nowhere was this truth starker than in the famed Glacier Bay in South Alaska. As the Coral Princess neared this bay, almost 40-feet high waves and thunderous roars greeted us. Those were, in fact, death cries of collapsing icebergs. The rangers at the bay informed us that these were once massive glaciers, but tidal waters had melted them away. We wanted to know more and the official handbook of the Glacier Bay National was of some help. "Increased melting undercuts the glacier base and in the process depletes support for the ice above it," the handbook noted.

But what happens to the surface-land after glaciers on it recede? How do the creatures that live around the area survive snow threats? This time, Glacier Bay, a book by photo journalists Mark Kelly and Sherry Simpson -- we bought it on the journey -- answered our queries: "After ice recedes, it leaves behind a rubble of silt and stone, but there are also lichens and mosses to break down the soil. Once these have done their bit, plants such as dryas, fireweed, alder and Indian paintbrush take over and help create organic soil. This process is called forest succession -- it is also referred to as ecological alchemy, sometimes." "Dryas and alder combine with micro-organisms to suck away nitrogen from air and make it available to other plants. Eventually, these plants give way to willow, cottonwood and sitka spruce trees. The entire sequence is as orderly as a recipe," the book continues. Many of the rangers we spoke with said that dryas and alder are such dominant plants that they can be expected to last forever.
Those that we had forgotten Engrossed in the mysteries of the receding glaciers, we had almost forgotten the fascinating animal and bird life of Alaska. Not for long, however. As we moved towards Prince William Sound in the Gulf of Alaska, rapturous flocks of western sandpipers, sea gulls, Canadian Aleutin geese and other migratory birds greeted us. These birds were on their way to the Copper River Delta, the largest contiguous wetland in the Western hemisphere and the summer home of nearly 4 million western sandpipers -- about 80 per cent of the total world population of the species visit it. Today, this wetland is threatened. According to Jeff Renicke, of the National Geographic Corporation, "The Chugach Alaska Corporation (cac) has plans to cut into the delta to create a path to the 77,000 acres of timberlands and coal deposits that lie east of the Copper River. This would threaten the river's water quality, disturb the salmon's spawning beds and endanger the marshes used by the migratory birds." Dune Lunkard, spokesperson of Eyak Rainforest Preservation fund -- a group of indigenous Alaskans resisting the cac -- told us, "The delta has enormous spiritual and cultural significance for us. So any encroachment on it means infringement of our sovereignty."

With our initial curiosity now giving way to almost disquieting sense of loss, we moved on to Ketchikan -- Alaska's salmon capital. This protein-rich fish is the mainstay of the Alaskan economy; traditionally it has given sustenance to many of the region's fishing communities. But today, there is a billion dollar global trade in salmon fishing and Alaska's indigenous communities have very little place in that. We saw a few of these fisherfolk casting their nets in the Yukon river to scour red salmon -- whatever was left after the trawlers had taken their fill!

Our last port of call at Alaska was Whittier. Here we bid goodbye to the Princess Cruise and drove up to Denali National Park. At Denali everything is moving -- wind, water and fauna, all seem to be engaged in a struggle to keep pace with each other. Firewood flowers bloom and shrivel in a matter of weeks; each spring, flocks of arctic terns fly into the park to nest, only to fly back soon to Antarctica -- a journey of more than 35,000 kilometres. Mountain goats nibble at the shrubs at one moment and bury their heads into the snow at the next instance, to avoid flies and gnats -- Alaska is notorious for these creatures.

Grizzly bear, dall sheep, moose, gray wolf and caribou are the most popular animals in the park. But we could spot only the moose and the caribou -- this antelope is extremely easy to sight in Alaska; it even outnumbers humans. Each spring, caribou herds move towards the coastal plains of this North us state, near the Beaufort Sea. The pregnant females lead the procession and calves follow them. Now oil companies have designs on these coastal plains: about 3.2 million barrels of oils is estimated to lie underneath the caribou's calving grounds. Contends Allen Smith, the regional director of the Wilderness Society of Alaska, "Developing the refuge for oil would be a senseless measure. It would destroy the wilderness and ruin the habitat of the grizzlies, wolves and millions of migratory birds. It would also jeopardise the traditional way of life of countless native Alaskans".

We left Denali on this disturbing note. Our 10-day Alaska trip had come to an end. As we boarded the Alaska Airlines flight from Fairbanks to begin our journey back to India, the words of environmentalists who study Alaska's wilderness acquired a poignant immediacy: "So far as known." There is much in the land of the midnight sun that still remained a mystery.

Manu N Kulkarni is chairperson and trustee of the Bangalore-based non-governmental organisation, Hope Foundation

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