This week I’m tackling I is for Ice and IUCN, the International Union for Conservation of Nature.

Listen here or download on iTunes or Google Play.
Welcome to the I is for Ice part of the program. This episode is packed with information about ice—I’m going to talk for a few minutes about the relationship between ice and seafood, then I’m going to tell you a story about the first time I saw a glacier in the French Alps. I’ll finish up with glacier ice.
In the IUCN part of the program, we’ll explore the high seas and what is being done now to protect this mostly unchartered area.
It’s no secret that ice and seafood go together.
Hit up any grocery store or fish market and you’ll see what I mean—whole fish and shellfish are buried in shaved ice. Kudos to anyone in the shaved ice machine business. So since seafood decomposes quickly once it is brought out of the water, Ice is critical to maintaining freshness and flavor. But ice also slows bacterial growth.
On a sustainable fishing vessel, the fish are held in containers with ice. Some of those massive trawlers are out on the high seas for weeks and months. Think of the ice! Now think about what no ice means for the fish. Seafood pirates or those fishing for illegal, unreported unregulated fishing aren’t super concerned about whether there’s enough ice for the fish. Hell, some of the illegal fishing captains aren’t are even concerned about the humans on board.
The moral of the story?
Know where your fish comes from.

* Now when you are shopping for fish at the market, remember to bring your cooler bag (and if you’re really awesome, bring a few frozen gel packs from home), or ask the person behind the fish counter for a small bag of ice for transport.
* Once you get your fish home, you should not store your fish on ice.
* But do keep your fish in the coldest part of the refrigerator. Usually the back.
* And if you aren’t going to cook that day or the next, toss it in the freezer in the same package that you brought it home.

So, I was thirty years old during the early winter of 1991 when I traveled from the Florida Keys where I lived and managed a 64-seat run down diner, to ski the French Alps.
It was for the first time I was awed by the beauty of aquamarine-colored glacial ice.
After a few days swooshing down the slopes in Chamonix, my fiancé at the time and I began our day trip to Aiguille du Midi and Vallee Blanche, considered by some to be the most famous off-piste ski run in the world. Now. You might like to know, I was a beginner skier. This wasn’t Everest, but Vallee Blanche is over 12,000 feet altitude and one of the tallest mountains I’d ever skied.
We rode the tram to the mountaintop in Chamonix. There were maybe thirty or so people in our group, but there were many groups skiing that day and every day. We boarded the cable car that would carry us to the twelve-mile run. Thirty minutes later we arrived at the most gorgeous site I had ever witnessed. The snow was a brilliant white and went on for an eternity.
At this point, there was no turning back. The only way down was to ski the glacier and the mountain.
I was terrified, but my ego and pride kept me grounded.
In groups of ten, tethered only by a small rope tied around our waists, we set off down a set of steep steps that had been carved into the snowy mountainside. Just like the thing the kind of mountaineering you see on National Geographic.
I held my ski poles in my left hand and held or maybe clutched is a better word a thick rope with my right hand. A sheer drop off lay to my right. Untouched snow glistened like diamonds in the morning sun. The guides carried our skis.