I awakened today to the most incredible
dream. My prayer for this morning: That you and yours may be treated to the same joy on
this day that dreaming offered to me.
Everywhere you go in southern Alaska,
you hear about and see evidence of the great earthquake of March 27, 1964. Measuring 9.2
on the Richter scale, it was the largest to ever strike North America. The epicenter was
near the coast, creating a number of tsunamis, or tidal waves, that devasted many
coastal villages. Some small towns never recovered. Others, like Valdez, merely
picked up and rebuilt
three miles away. The wave at Valdez was 70 meters in height.
Fifteen people were killed by the actual
earthquake, with another 120 losing their lives to the ensuing tsunamis. This relatively
low number can be attributed to the sparse population of the area and the fact that the
quake occurred when most people were at home for the Good Friday holiday. Vertical
displacements from three to 15 meters occured over a 500,000 square mile area. This
displacement is readily apparent even today in the old growth forests where some trees
have petrified from the infusion of salt water into their roots and trunks. They stand
out like faded sore thumbs in the stands of evergreen.
The tour guides will tell you there
are earthquakes in Alaska every day, more than 600 per year. I didn't feel any shaking
during the eight days I was there, nor did I want to. The extreme power of the Earth is
very much in evidence in the beauty of Alaska. So too the devastation.
