A Glacial Requiem
by David A. Ek
In the ‘wet’ Pacific Northwest, it’s hard to imagine droughts and water restrictions. For too long, rain and wetness had become the region’s defining characteristic. David Laskin, in his little gem, “Rains all the Time,” agreed. For me, that defining characteristic continued vertically beyond the rain-soaked 
emerald valleys, past the white cloud-shrouded hillsides, to finally land upon the crowning jewel—the hundreds of glaciers that bound and held together the world of mountain, forest, water, and sky. For someone that spent his youth traipsing through the North Cascades’ hills and dales, the loss of the region’s iconic alpine glaciers had become unbelievable—a poignant harbinger of a widely different future in trying times ahead.
Eminent glaciologist Austin Post in his 1971 publication, “Inventory of 
Glaciers in the North Cascades, Washington,” listed 756 glaciers within Washington’s Cascade Range. Within this same publication, he highlighted the importance that glaciers play in sustaining summertime river flows and water supply. Other researchers, including North Cascades National Park glaciologist Jon Riedel, also recognized the region’s reliance upon glaciers in the otherwise dry late summer dry period. Despite rumors to the contrary, and David Laskin’s book title, the Pacific Northwest does not “rain all the time.” In late summer, the region relies upon ice melt from its abundant glaciers. Well, to put things in the proper tense—used to rely upon. Climate change, including the human-induced variety, has thrust this change upon us. It’s happening faster than anticipated.
In countless teenage and young adult rambles on Mount Rainier slopes, I never entered the Paradise Ice Caves. There was no rush, it would always be there… It was not. Snow and ice melt permanently took them from us by the 1980s. I also missed the opportunity to experience the dangers of Snohomish County’s Big Four Ice Caves. That ice had melted too.
The 1990s saw the loss of the Lewis Glacier, Milk Lake Glacier, the Lyall Glacier, and the West Lynch Glacier. The aughts saw the demise of the Spider Glacier within the once aptly named Glacier Peak Wilderness Area. The 2010s witnessed the loss of additional glaciers within the once-wet North Cascades. A fact sheet produced by the Washington State Department of Ecology stated that by the 2010s, the range had lost 53 glaciers since the 1950s.
Mauri Pelto, of the North Cascades Glacier Climate Project, highlighted at least sixteen Cascade Range glaciers that are imminently headed towards 
evaporation—and only memory. In February 2023, my computer-generated news update brought great sadness to my Virginia morning hours. The news greeted me with a notice of the loss of the Hinman Glacier. This gentle giant was once the largest glacier between Mount Rainier and the now much-diminished-glaciated “Glacier” Peak.
The Hinman Glacier helped feed the Skykomish River, as it flowed past strawberry and tulip fields. It wetted parched riverbanks and thirsty throats on its way into Monroe and then Everett. It sustained salmon runs, boaters, and more… Besides making already existing droughts even more severe and intolerable, our drying punishment is also wilting our psyche, culture, and self-identity. That too is dissipating into the ever our warming and drying times.
In the winter of 2018-19, “Canary–A Literary Journal of the Environmental Crisis” published my short story, “Ice Remembered.” This nonfictional piece lamented the loss of polar ice and highlighted the global importance of this crisis issue. At that time, credible climate scientists knew that global warming is happening faster than originally calculated. However, with the loss of the Hinman Glacier and the likely additional glacier loss in the next few years, suddenly, this loss has landed remarkedly close to home.