I had the opportunity to take a weekend off and head to Seattle. On the way back, I was seated in a window seat, and was treated to one of the more spectacular and rare views that one experiences in Alaska: The view of the Kenai Mountains by air.

The coastal mountains of Alaska guard the interior of the state from the moisture of the Gulf of Alaska and the Pacific Ocean, and in doing so, pile up some impressive snow, which then turns to ice and fills vast valleys with glaciers. These glaciers creep down the valleys and either terminate into a lake or river, or plunge all the way to the sea, forming the sight that many guests to Alaska have come to expect, large chunks of ice falling into an otherwise-glassy bay.

Another way to look at these glaciers is that they exist in an area where the Ice Age never ended. These are the last remnants of the thousands of years of continental glaciation, and are just now retreating into the alpine areas of Alaska.

Most people think that the ice age has been over for thousands of years. But in a significant part of Alaska (as well as other far northern and southern regions), the ice continues today as it has for millenia.

One of the things that has scientists so concerned about global warming is that many of the glaciers in Alaska and in other places have been historically stable – their rate of retreat has been slow, or oscillated between advance and retreat. However, in the last thirty to fifty years, many glaciers have shown a dramatic retreat as their rate of growth has not matched their melting. In fact, there are a number of places around Alaska where a guest can get instant feedback of the rate of glacial retreat. If you visit Exit Glacier near Seward, as you drive up the road to the visitor center, you’ll see wooden signs along the road, that list the location of the terminus of the glacier by year. On the slopes of Mt. McKinley, one can see the lateral moraines where the Ruth Glacier has pushed rocks and gravel to the side, and how the glacier has since melted away from the moraines, leaving walls of gravel dozens or hundreds of feet high.

Alaska’s glaciers are not in danger of disappearing in our lifetimes. But when we talk about change in a geologic time frame, these changes are occurring essentially instantaneously.

One of my most lasting memories of my first visit to Alaska was the view out the window of a van as I was heading back to Anchorage to leave. It was September, and late in the afternoon, and we were driving south near the intersection of the Parks Highway and the Glenn Highway. The weather was rainy, and there really wasn’t much to see in terms of scenery, because of all the clouds and fog. [This area is actually quite scenic, with views of the Chugach and Talkeetna Mountains.] At the time, the roads here were two lane roads with at-grade intersections. Today the road is expressway, with interstate highway-style interchanges.

What was memorable was the crossing of the Knik River. The river originates at the Knik Glacier, 20 or 30 miles east of where it crosses under the road. Like all glacial rivers, the silt load is tremendous, and the water is as opaque as chocolate milk. The water was grey, the sky was grey, and the boundary between the two was almost invisible, as if the sky and water and fog melted together into a single impenetrable blob. This probably sounds unappealing, but for a kid from the east coast, where glacial rivers are something you read about in a book, this was a fascinating experience and strangely beautiful scene.

It is raining today here in Anchorage, and Alaskans far and wide are complaining about the weather. But I think if you dig a little deeper, you’ll find that most of us are really rather spoiled. We do get our rainy days, especially at this time of year, but a weekend is a weekend, and we’ll all still probably go fishing, or visit our cabin, or go four-wheeling, or whatever our weekend plans are. If we catch that monster silver salmon, we’ll quickly forget that it was raining. If we sit in our cabin and finish that mystery novel we’ve been meaning to read, the weekend will be a success. And as we drive down the road, and see trailer after trailer of muddy four-wheelers heading back home on Sunday afternoon, you won’t hear their owners complaining about the rain, but rather the fun they had splashing through all the puddles and mud.

Alaska in the summer is about being outdoors. When it rains, we complain, but when it is sunny and 75, we complain that we have to put on sun screen and that it is too hot.

I guess there isn’t a perfect Alaskan day… but on a scale from one to ten, almost all of them are a nine.