Naomi Klouda, a journalist based in Homer, Alaska, has unveiled ‘The Alaska Glacier Dictionary,’ a compelling compilation that highlights the uniqueness and stories of Alaska’s glaciers.
Klouda, who spent years gathering notes about Alaska’s glaciers, describes the process as a slow but persistent journey.
“Glaciers are alive. They’re not static,” Klouda explains, emphasizing the dynamic nature of these massive ice formations.
This book, published by Cardamon Press this year, serves as a resource for both travelers and armchair adventurers, providing quick access to a glacier’s vital statistics while also offering deeper narratives that make each glacier distinct.
“Every glacier has a story, and no two are alike,” she remarked, highlighting the individuality of these ice giants.
While the vibrant blue ice of glaciers attracts tourists, Klouda notes that for many Alaskans, glaciers fade into the background of daily life.
For instance, residents in Anchorage consume glacial meltwater from Eklutna Lake every time they turn on their tap, while the region’s iconic vegetation thrives in nutrient-rich glacial silt.
Despite their essential role in the ecosystem, Klouda found that comprehensive information about Alaska’s glaciers was sparse.
“There’s no one compilation that gives you all of the information that this glacier dictionary does,” she said, recognizing the book as a foundational resource.
The research process proved challenging as Klouda encountered data that was often outdated or fragmented, spread across various maps, studies, and organizations.
Rick Thoman, a leading climate change expert in Alaska, supports this sentiment, stating that the dictionary will identify glaciers in need of further research, particularly those undergoing significant changes.
“This is the kind of compilation that its value will grow in the coming decades, when some of this information will be even harder to acquire,” Thoman noted, stressing the urgency of documenting glaciers, some of which may no longer exist in the near future.
Indeed, Klouda’s work is already witnessing the impacts of climate change, with Antler Glacier—located 32 miles from Juneau—having been declared extinct in 2024, only a few years after she began her research.
In discussing the glaciers, Thoman highlights the importance of incorporating Indigenous knowledge and names in understanding a glacier’s history.
“Here in the Interior, there are names that sure sound like they refer to times when the glaciers were much more advanced,” he mentioned, reflecting on the historical context embedded in these names.
Klouda made it a priority to include original Indigenous names in her dictionary wherever possible.
She shared a favorite name, K’idazq’eni from the Dena’ina people, which translates to “one that is burning inside” in reference to a glacier on Mount Spurr.
Another glacier, Nuka, derives its name from both Inupiaq and Supiaq languages, meaning “young bull caribou.”
Klouda speculates that this name indicates the glacier may have served as a landmark for hunters pursuing caribou in its surrounding areas.
Glaciers have historically influenced human migration, particularly in places like Glacier Bay in Southeast Alaska.
“There are stories of glaciers, just all of a sudden breaking or lurching forward or advancing, and then covering up a salmon stream temporarily. So, there goes the salmon run,” Klouda illustrated, revealing the crucial interactions between glaciers and local communities.
The narratives of Alaska’s glaciers also intersect with the themes of colonialism.
Many glaciers received names from explorers, politicians, and notable figures—often individuals who never set foot in Alaska.
Klouda pointed out that the Harriman expedition, for example, named numerous glaciers, with its members predominantly being colonial white men.
These names sometimes replaced Indigenous designations, erasing the historical contributions and experiences of Alaska Natives.
She recounted the story of Chief Sesui, an Athabascan leader who came to the aid of starving explorers in 1899, ultimately guiding them to safety.
Despite this act of bravery, a glacier named after the expedition’s lieutenant Joseph Herron overshadowed Chief Sesui’s remarkable efforts.
Yet, Alaska has made strides in recognizing indigenous achievements, as exemplified by Harper Glacier which honors Walter Harper, a Koyukon Athabascan mountaineer who was the first to reach the summit of Denali at just 21 years old.
Through her dictionary, Klouda aims to reveal the connection between glaciers and the human stories intertwined with them.
“You’re thinking that you’re writing about glaciers, but you’re actually writing about people,” she remarked, encapsulating the essence of her work.
The dictionary features around 700 glaciers out of an estimated 100,000 in Alaska, arranged alphabetically for easy navigation.
Additionally, it includes essays from other writers, a compilation of scientific factoids, and glacier terminology, all conveniently sized to fit into a backpack.
With ‘The Alaska Glacier Dictionary,’ Klouda not only archives vital information but also creates a narrative tapestry that intertwines nature, history, and the resilient stories of its people.
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