Had we been bears, we would have been fat and happy. As for the eagles, we each spotted at least one, except for Cole. Flying over the Juneau Icefield in a de Havilland Beaver five-seater, high enough to take in the broad river of ice, low enough to count hundreds of jagged folds from the crush of centuries, he slept, waking only after the engine had shut down at the dock of Taku Lodge, a 1923 log building. Even on a helicopter ride from Skagway that Cole had been anticipating for months, he nodded off, weighed down by earmuff-style headphones that made him resemble a character from Antz. But by the time our bubble craft set down in the Chilkat Glacier System and we stepped out onto the hard ice, he was on high alert.
Guides equipped with crampons strode confidently to the edge of perilous crevasses.
Gripping their arms, we peered down into deep-blue breaks in the ice. No matter how engrossing or exciting the excursions, none could compete with the thrill of the ship itself. Just passing through Harmony's security each time we embarked was a charge for the kids. Fine, except that of course whenever we needed to summon Ivy, her gang had moved on. Occasionally, Cole would set out on his own, to find his new friend Max or to tail Ivy.