Franz Josef.

The four of us -- Cindy, Steph, Claudia, and I -- got up late this morning (for us, anyway: 9:30) and made a leisurely breakfast. I took a walk over to the visitor center, met Steph, and got rained on a little bit before we met back up for our glacier hike. We'd booked a half-day hike rather than the full-day we originally planned: when we arrived yesterday it was raining a steady, heavy downpour that we were none too keen to hike in all day. Today's been more cooperative, thank goodness, but not dry.

Onto the glacier guides' bus we went, newly decked out in the over-trousers and huge blue raincoats provided for us. A ten-minute rattle over gravel roads and a ten-minute trek on rainforest singletrack later, we splashed through an icy meltwater river and into the flat gravel valley below Franz Josef Glacier. The broad U-shape of a classic glacial valley, its bottom a jumble of gray schist boulders, lay out two kilometers in each direction. The sheer valley walls towering above us were deeply notched by the white ribbons of streams swan-diving off the mountains. The sheer size of the barren boulderfield spoke of frequent, catastrophic floods -- every spring, I suppose, with the thaw. And then there was the glacier itself -- a jagged mass of blue-white ice, its rock-dirtied front lowering at the head of the valley and its body crouched another ten kilometers up to the saddle high above.

Up the valley we went, pausing to admire the falls and then, at the very foot of the glacier, to strap on our crampons. Our tread in the scree squeaked lightly once we'd attached the metal claws. At the rock-shod foot of the ice river we turned upward.

The first few climbs were punishingly steep, up narrow trails eked out across the glacier's shoulders, reduced in some places to steep staircases chipped out with an ice axe. Once of the older members of the party actually had to drop out just below the turnoff, unable to match our guide's pace. Most of us made it, though, to turn and admire the mist- (and intermittently, rain-) veiled vista down the valley back toward the township and (we were told) the sea.

Twenty meters later, we actually crossed onto the bare ice. Barely translucent, white shot with streaks and blushes of robin's-egg blue, it was less solid and monolithic than I'd expected. Given that the temperature was nowhere near freezing, I shouldn't have been surprised at the slightly-crunchy, slushy texture, easy to slam a crampon into and surprisingly grippy under the metal treads. Water trickled over it in a thousand places, rivulets joining and sluicing down elegantly-sculpted holes toward the river flowing invisibly under the ice. The fluted surface of the ice swept down into crevasses, some small enough to step across and some big enough to walk in, to shape the glacier's surface, or to swallow an unwary tramper whole.

Off we went, up the glacier and into that starkly lovely landscape. Ice staircases became common; some even had safety ropes. I managed somehow to overcome my usual fear of icy surfaces (what? I don't like landing on my rear!) and get more or less used to keeping my grip on the firm, slushy substrate. Rain squalls came and went; before long we were all very glad of the tough, well-hooded blue raincoats (and I was thankful that I'd dry-bagged everything before leaving). Exertion kept us warm, though -- sopping gloves aside, I wished a few times that I could shuck a layer.

It was worth it. Our $100-per-person bought us two hours on the ice -- two hours of spectacular views and acquaintance with a stylized ice world. Amazing. Even the rain had a silver lining: hail the size and consistency of small Dippin' Dots, which added a certain surreality when floating in the slush.

Back to the hostel and nice hot showers we trudged afterwards, damp and tired but satisfied. Claudia made a delicious pasta alfredo for dinner; halfway through, I let slip that I'd never tried Tim-Tam Slams and in fact had no idea what they were. They turned out, after some very entertaining-if-frustrating secrecy and set-up, to be the art of sucking up hot cocoa through the center of a Tim-Tam (a biscuit rather like a rectangular, chocolate-covered, chocolate-cream Oreo), then stuffing the whole thing in your mouth before it can melt completely. Verdict: delicious. Hilarity: infectious.

We ended up staying up late (til 11:30, ha), chatting and joking, filling an entire page of the guestbook with colorful drawings, and getting to know each other better. Putting together a jigsaw puzzle last night, cooking together, sleeping, doing laundry, hauling gear, catching buses: these are the times when I've gotten to know my traveling companions, much more so than during hikes or planned activities. You people are awesome, you know that?