Did I have any business, at 55 years old, hiking across a glacier last week?
Let’s not dig too far into that, okay?
Okay, fine, let’s.
What happened was…last year, when in Alaska, a handful of fellow travelers returned from an excursion with the most amazing pictures ever. The pictures showed them traipsing across an ice field in matching outfits (with pockets!), with a few Icewalker tools in hand. The pictures all looked very “I am one with frozen nature” and also, “Check out these pants!” I love a great outfit almost as much as I think I love doing all things nature-related and testing my own limits within it.
Still, as I looked at those pictures while sailing away from Juneau in September of 2025, I told my husband, “If we’re ever back in Juneau, I’m totally signing up for whatever tour that was.” He nodded along likely thinking two things:
- We were probably never going to be back in Juneau.
- Being my sidekick is nothing if not an exercise in following me into situations that I don’t belong in so he can rescue me when things go awry.
Our first trip to Alaska was a bucket list vacation that took us on multiple planes, trains, buses, a ship, and one dog sled all the way from Vancouver, BC to the Arctic Circle. It was as unbelievable as it was a one-time experience. Therefore, telling myself that I’d do “Whatever that ice-hiking tour was” was like telling myself that I’d be fine with snakes as pets someday. It sounded nice, but it was never going to happen.
Except it did.
Just three weeks after returning from that first Alaskan adventure, we were signed up for our next after a casual invite from dear friends to join them on a June 2026 cruise to Sitka, Ketchikan, Prince Rupert and, yes, Juneau. If you know me at all, you know better than to throw out a casual invite anywhere unless you fully expect me to show up at some point.
Shortly after putting down our trip deposit, I started studying excursions to hunt down that glacial jaunt. It was easy to find, as it turned out, though I was not expecting the path to the glacier to be by helicopter (holy hell), cost a car payment (times three as I wouldn’t be going solo), and include a bold warning that the tour was classified as extreme. Obviously, I shoved all of that new information out of my mind, swiped my card, and started mapping out how a failed Mendenhall Glacier summit might read in my obituary
After ignoring all the signs…Jyl took a two-mile tumble down the northern ice wall of Westeros.
I’m not unfamiliar with dissociation while on vacation, especially when that vacation takes us to the final frontier. In last year’s version of Alaska, I took a shot from a glass that included a mummified toe, watched a horse collapse just a few feet ahead of me, and cried my way through a flight to the Arctic Circle where I was sure a future Dateline mystery would be filmed. This year would offer more moments to check-out mentally, thanks to the addition of our twenty-year-old son and my husband’s need to say “Yes” to anything our baby adult suggests. I mean, we’re still the coolest parents ever, right? Right?
The moment our ship pushed away from the Port of Vancouver, the butterflies started swirling around my stomach. Maybe the hike would be rained out. Maybe we’d have to skip Juneau due to whales blocking the pier (not a thing). Maybe our helicopter pilot would call out sick. I had three days to talk myself into a low-level panic as we sailed our way to Juneau.
What could go wrong?
Don’t answer that but do know that I sent both our financial and estate planners an updated list of contacts in case of emergency.
What could go wrong?
Turns out, only minor things that did nothing to diminish the fact that the glacial hike was everything I imagined. It ended up being fine that our tour company didn’t have hiking boots in my shrinky-dink size. In fact, I think my calves got a better workout because I had to walk in such a way that they wouldn’t fall off. It ended up being fine that my rescue gear (some sort of climbing harness) dropped straight down to my ankles as I leapt over that first treacherous crevasse. In fact, it probably provided a learning moment for the teen tasked with buckling me in and whom had probably never been quite that close to a older-ish woman’s lady bits.
It was epic. It was beautiful. It was challenging. It was exhausting. It was something I would absolutely do again.
While we hiked, our base camp was always within sight even as we traversed three miles of the Mendenhall Glacier, climbing up, down, and sideways. We each carried ice axes, necessary to test the solidity of our path prior to each step lest we inadvertently disappear into a supraglacial lake (more commonly known as a melt pond).
Were there moments when I thought I wasn’t going to make it to the end? Yes.
Did every inch of my body ache from the combination of cold and climbing? Also, yes.
Could I have been any prouder of completing that hike? Nope.
Deep beneath my jacket, sweatshirt, thermal, hoodie, hat, another hat, and a helmet, I was beaming.
Did I have any business, at 55 years old, hiking across a glacier?
Probably not, but as long as I can safely and intelligently YOLO, I’ll keep pushing myself to do so.
