Fifty Years Together, One Glacier at a Time

For our golden anniversary, my wife suggested Alaska. I suggested a cruise. We compromised — and ended up kayaking past calving glaciers in Kenai Fjords at age 72. It was the best decision we ever made, which is saying something after fifty years of decisions together.

Eleanor had always wanted to see a glacier up close. Not from a ship's deck with a thousand other passengers, but truly close — close enough to hear the ice groan and crack, close enough to feel the cold radiating off the face of it. Our guide at Kenai Fjords made that possible.

We paddled for three hours through water so still it mirrored the mountains above. Sea otters floated on their backs beside us, indifferent to our presence. A humpback surfaced fifty yards off the bow and exhaled a column of mist into the morning air. Eleanor grabbed my arm and didn't let go.

The glacier calved twice while we watched — great blue-white slabs shearing off the face and crashing into the water with a sound like distant thunder. The wave reached us a few seconds later, gentle by the time it arrived, rocking our kayaks like a cradle.

That evening we sat on the deck of our small lodge in Seward and watched the light go golden on the mountains. Eleanor said it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. I told her she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She told me I was full of it. Fifty years.