This article originally appeared in the Metro Plus edition of the Hindu
The Beatles ditty, "The Long and Winding Road" pops into my head as the minutes gobble up the distance. There's no sign of human habitation for miles on end. I'm on Highway 94 in Alberta, Canada driving with the family to the Athabasca glacier in the Banff National Park. Earlier that morning we had flown into Calgary, the capital of Alberta and headed into Banff, a charming town nestled in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. Ringed by mountains, the town with its resplendent meadows, sparkling streams, abundant parks and trails is our base. The Athabasca glacier in the Columbia Icefields between the towns of Banff and Jasper, is one of the most accessible glaciers in the world. All along the highway, I see nothing but white-topped, pointed pine trees and frozen lakes on either side that remind me of a still life painting. The few lakes that are not fully frozen have an unusual blue-green colour and reflect the mountains that surround them. The road itself is clear - the snow has been neatly shoveled to either side by huge snow ploughs. It's nearing dusk when we get to the Columbia Icefields. The dim sunlight makes for fascinating shadow play on the ice and rocks. For the first time I appreciate that white is not
colour but so many different shades. The parking lot is nearly full and the murmur of voices from the cafe above the visitors center reminds me that I'd better hurry. We trudge along slowly towards the Icefield Visitor Center careful not to slip as the snow on the ground here is melting in some areas. "It's a 5 km round trip to the Athabasca glacier,” the lady at the ticket counter informs us. “You'll have to hop onto one of those snow coaches outside - you can't miss them!" she adds as she hands out pamphlets with our tickets. The snow coach is a specially designed vehicle that takes tourists right on to the glacier. My 12 year old's eyes grow wide as saucers, as she looks at the size of the snow coach's tyres - they're HUGE, nearly twice as tall as me. We manage to stop gawking long enough to get on to the snow coach and find ourselves window seats. The driver maneuvers the huge vehicle onto the ice road with a remarkable ease. Our tour guide introduces herself and begins her commentary. The Columbia Icefields are one of the largest remnants of ice from the Ice Age. The ice fields serve as a "hydrological apex" – a water source, with the ice from it melting and flowing into the major oceans of the world. Due to global warming the glaciers all over the world are retreating to higher altitudes in the mountains. The Athabasca glacier is no exception. "It's receding several centimeters every day from the icefields -
where it was last year!" she remarks ruefully. Despite this, the Athabasca Glacier is still an incrediblely large blanket of ice – a kilometer wide, it stretches for over six kilometers and is more than a thousand feet thick. It's a 15 minute ride to the glacier and when the bus goes down a slope at a 60 degree angle , I hold my breath. It doesn't deter the enthusiastic teens in the bus who want to explore the area. The guide cautions them. "There are many hidden crevasses and you don't want to fall into them - just stay in the designated areas!" When the snow coach stops at a designated point on the glacier, we scramble out. I step onto the ice gingerly. I don't feel any movement. I'm not sure what I expected – maybe that it'd feel like one of those slow airport people movers! All those pre-conceived notions seem silly at this point as I walk around slowly on the ice, placing one foot in front of the other carefully, much to the amusement of others. There's frenzied picture taking by most of the people even as they clomp their way around on ice. The pristine snow on the glacier and the icy panoramic mountains that surround us hold me enthralled. As I stare at the mountains in the distance, everything and everyone around me recedes into the background. All that seems to be missing is a flying sleigh drawn by reindeer!
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