Glaciers recede and advance. Vegetation forges ahead. Even the ground rises measurably each year as it rebounds from the weight of ice that smothered this corner of Southeast Alaska two centuries ago. You can examine each tiny cog and study every subtle ratchet, and still these movements cannot explain the whole laid out before you. Glacier Bay is not just a place of physical transformation.
People can change here, too.
They learn to see the world differently, to find beauty not only in serenity but in severity. This happened to me. On my first kayak trip into Glacier Bay, the rain fell for days. The wind blew, too. This is a place where a person must expect a certain rawness of landscape and experience, but not everyone can be as cheerful about such things as Muir.