Iceberg islands dot the glacial lake that we have skied across and walked around since last summer. Although not a comfortable canoeist, Aki doesn’t fight being lifted into the Holy Cow canoe as we slide it into the lake waters. She does whine and pace from the right gunnels to the left as we paddle a course between ice islands, taking care to avoid the sharp edged bits that float near the surface like marine mines.
Some of the ice bergs are pierced like a Barbara Hepworth sculpture. Others have the soft and abstract quality of Henry Moore’s work. Most glare white in today’s strong sunlight but one set is dark with glacial flour and gravel. Some glisten with melt water. Others appear as dry as Styrofoam. I want to float slowly about this sculpture garden, enjoying ice shapes and they way they stand out against the spring colors of the mix spruce and cottonwood forest. But Aki protests. She wants to land on a promised beach where she can wear herself out chasing her beloved orange Frisbee. Guess who wins.