Canada: The Galloping Glacier

As chief pilot for the U.S.-Canadian Icefield Ranges Research Project, Phil Upton had for years stared down from his plane at the billions of tons of antediluvian ice frozen onto the east slope of Mount Steele in Canada's Yukon Territory. Perhaps 20,000 years old, it looked much the same as any other glacier—until six weeks ago, when Upton gazed down and did a double take. To his astonishment, Steele Glacier's normally mirror-smooth surface now was churned into cathedral-like spires 250 ft. tall. The huge chunk of ice was on the move.

By last week Steele had been nick named "the Galloping Glacier." Presently moving at what scientists described as a "spectacular" two feet an hour, the river of ice, 22 miles long and more than a mile wide, had traveled some five miles in "pulsating surges," shearing through adjacent mountains and destroying everything in its path. What made Steele unique was not its movement—glaciers often shift—or even its speed, but the fact that it was the first in North America to be spotted in such action.

Beside themselves with excitement, some 30 top Canadian and U.S. geological scientists rushed to the area to take advantage of what one called "the opportunity of a lifetime" to observe glacial movement. One theory was that Steele's takeoff originated when a section near its base sank a hundred feet, causing the glacier to start "overriding" itself. But the scientists were unanimously chary of conjecture. "We just don't know anything about the action and reactions of glaciers," confessed bearded Professor Samuel Collins of the Rochester Institute of Technology. "That's why we're here."

In any case, Steele hardly seemed to herald another Ice Age, which, according to the direst predictions, is not due for another 10,000 years. In fact, the glacier appeared to be tearing itself apart, and, in the view of McGill University Meteorologist Dr. Svenn Ortig, "is doomed. It will stop, stagnate, and in due time melt." No one, however, knew when or how long Steele would keep going in the meantime. Fortunately, it posed no immediate threat to human life. At week's end, as it crunched along in a vaguely northeasterly direction, the nearest town in its path was Burwash Landing (pop. 200), 50 miles away on the Alaska Highway. Even at the Galloping Glacier's thoroughbred pace, it would take 16 years to get there.