“I spoke to Dad — I know what you’re up to,” my sister sternly told me. “Don’t kill Mom.”
That warning played in my head as I bounced along in a van beside my mother on an unpaved road towards an enormous blue glacier in Alaska.
Unbeknownst to me at the start of our mother-daughter 10-day, action-packed adventure, the 49th state has a rugged beauty that brings out the bold and the brave in people.
We began our journey in August from Fairbanks, where the sun never seems to set, down to Anchorage via float planes, the Alaskan Railroad (in the GoldStar class), and automobiles.
What seemed to worry my sister, Audrey, who was back in Florida, was that I would convince our mom that we should wander off on our own and who knows what would happen to us, She had already heard that I had arranged an up-close and personal hiking experience through Denali National Park, home to wandering grizzly and brown bears as well as foxes, otters, eagles and a variety of critters best seen from a distance.
A truck picked us up, then randomly dropped us off on the side of the highway under a light drizzle to meet our group of fellow hikers. Out of the forest, a tall, brown-haired woman appeared, holding several hiking poles. She was our guide and her first instructions were, “If you see a bear, wave your arms in the air so you appear big and shout, ‘Bear go away!’ ”
Aghast, my mom looked at me and said, “I don’t think this is for me!”
I responded, “That’s nice, Mom, now let’s go hike.”
It wasn’t as if there was an easy way to get back to our lodge, as we were in a remote wilderness area. Unless she wanted to start hitchhiking, the hike seemed our safest option.
Our guide, a cheerful woman, recounted how a few days earlier a group from New Jersey had been approached by a bear and the husbands ran to hide behind their wives. She hoped our group would be a little braver. We laughed, but nervously.
Then we walked through a magical misty rain, up hills and through valleys, some overgrown with grass and fauna, others where the path was clear. We watched otters frolic in the lake, while eagles soared overhead.
The hike was a success: no bears sighted, no one eaten. Mom breathed a sigh of relief, but she seemed to relax and relish her role as my partner in crime.
The next day’s trek took us to an even more secluded area. It was like stepping into a natural history diorama with a silver-gray sky, a small fishing shack and miles of blue and white flowing water, over smooth brown river rocks.
We pulled on a variety of fishing gear, including waders, as we were learning to fly-fish while standing in a fast-moving freezing river. Following our guide, we navigated to the perfect spot while stopping to eat wild blueberries that dotted the way.
My mom masterfully held her ground, catching several fish and feeling at one with the elements. Meanwhile, I struggled to get my footing. The guide had to help me cross the river and after hours of throwing out my reel, I failed to snag a single bite.
Mom, as usual, encouraged me to keep being positive. My fish would come, she said.
Our trip also included a visit to the Fountainhead Antique Auto Museum in Fairbanks, along with riverboat cruises. We flew in a floatplane and went to a reindeer farm, and even got up close and personal with musk oxen.
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As the trip continued, I realized I was seeing another side to my mother — not the habitual worrier I always knew first-hand but the one I had heard about, a former sergeant in the tank division of the Israeli army, showing courage and tenacity.
I’d always thought my adventurous side came from my dad, but as the days unfolded, my mom’s willingness to try new escapades made her fun-loving personality shine even brighter.
I was able to experience her not just as my mom, but as an engaging and witty woman, willing to conquer every physical challenge not only without complaint, but with more gusto than me.
Towards the end of our trip, as my sister’s words echoed in my head, we arrived at Matanuska Glacier, a two-hour drive northeast of Anchorage. As we drove towards the mesmerizing icescape, it grew larger by the minute. Moments later, we piled out and walked up a brown, muddy trail.
Preparing to step onto the ice, my mom sat on a pile of rocks and calmly laced her crampons to her boots. At that moment, she was approached by a woman noticeably older who asked, “Are you really going to hike the glacier for the next four hours?”
Mom responded, “Sure I am, why else am I here?” This was definitely not the mom I thought I knew, and I was so grateful to meet her.
Siegel is a freelance writer and photographer.
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