Ice - the second form of water. Solid, yet for ever moving, a form so deep its blue-fissured crevices threaten to engulf us.We catch sight of it at first in the distance, a faint calling as we speed toward it in the tour bus. Late morning sun reflects from the ice-peaked crown of the mountainous volcano, and the temperature drops in time. Will the ice creak and groan its deep secrets? We are no more than a brief speck on a narrow, twisting path as the glacier stares down impassively upon us.
This immense power, frozen in place. When the volcano erupts the ice will melt and sweep all before it. A huge iron bridge, twisted and torn, bears testimony to the raging waters just a little time away. Will it blow today?
Ice. We venture to the height of the glacier, wrapped baby-like in swathes of thick cushioned material and clinging precariously to the frame of a battered 4x4. This landscape is alien, blackened and unforgiving. A ford, wheels slipping as the vehicle bounces across safe to the other side, and there beneath us a surreal motorised parking lot laid out in neat formation.
We pair and mount the skidoos, gliding across the ice-melt as we crawl in line toward the glacier. All we hear is the roar of the engines as we draw deeper into the white, trailing lines behind us as we pass. Over in the distance a sled of huskies pulls off to the left, and then we are alone in the midday sun. On top of the world.
Ice. We visit its mysterious depth once more, this time pushed out in an amphibious duck that skims across a water of eerie, blue silence. We see shapes form before us - whale-tail, castillations, some deep ocean monster rearing up to greet us. Then a guide-boat pulls close. We hold ice formed fifteen hundred years ago, suckling on its time-chilled freshness.
Alone in this lake of calm, we watch time melt ...
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