|Delicate patterns emerge from the formation of grease ice|
The 4-stroke engine of the zodiac purrs quietly as we glide through the crystal clear waters of the protected fjord. The temperature is dropping and I can hear the grease ice crunching against the hull, tiny chips skid away from the skiff as we cut a 3-foot wide swath. Paul remarks “Who needs bread crumbs?!’ and indeed, the trail is very clear. 5 hours of driving the ice edge has yielded no bears even though we did find many sets of tracks. The bearded seals are all on high alert, bolting into the water even before we get within a half-mile. Skunked. At least we know hot soup and cocoa are waiting for us on the boat when we return… where did we leave the boat again?
|Our pathway broken through the new ice|