Harding Icefield a find in Southcentral Alaska – The first thing I noticed was the feeling of an ice-cream headache. It meant we were getting close.
But the chill off the massive Harding Icefield and wind funneled through the surrounding mountains was part reward for the sweat-inducing hike to get there, and part reminder that we were entering a foreign landscape.
To many travelers, Alaska represents adventure, and my visit to this glacier in Kenai Fjords National Park with a friend was part of my first real road trip since moving to the state last year.
The trip, planned largely on the fly, included rigorous hikes amid sweeping, beautiful landscapes. We went from the marshy-grass tussocks and stark, brown-red, up-in-the-cloud peaks of Denali National Park, where we encountered Dall sheep and were soaked to the bone on ridgetop trails, to Kenai in Southcentral Alaska, a few hundred miles away. There we climbed rocks, hop-scotched across boulder fields and creek beds only partially filled with cold, late-summer water, and traversed snow and ice to get to the glaciers.
Harding Icefield in Alaska's Kenai Fjords National - This undated photo courtesy of the National Park Service shows Harding Icefield in Alaska's Kenai Fjords National Park. The National Park Service considers the 7.4-mile round-trip hike strenuous, saying hikers gain about 1,000 feet of elevation with each mile
Our first glacier and the highlight of the trip for me was Harding Icefield, which I'd read about from other backpackers online and was determined to experience. On our way up, we met hikers who turned back early, unable to keep going but who felt rewarded by what they did take in of the valley views and ice in the distance. Those that did make it up raved about it. "It's worth it," one woman said, smiling.
Getting there takes some doing: It's nearly an 8-mile round-trip hike, one the National Park Service brands strenuous because it gains about 1,000 feet of elevation for each mile. Some stretches are fairly steep but the trail is in excellent condition, which helps with footing.
The change in elevation also brings dramatic changes in scenery. Starting out, the surroundings were reminiscent of trails in our hometown of Juneau, which is located in a rainforest — all lush, vivid-green vegetation, with a fair share of pesky bugs in the late summer when we did our hike.
A couple of tourists warned us to keep an eye open for a bear they claimed they saw. Farther up, there were flower-filled meadows — I swear, I felt like Heidi traipsing up the trail here — and then, much starker landscapes: alpine tundra, stretches of soft snow, and barren brown rock leading to edge-of-nowhere cliffs. The cliffs overlooked the icefield and seemingly everything else — clouds, lakes, the valley, mountain peaks.
The only word that came to mind was other-worldly. I half-expected a pterodactyl or something else prehistoric to swoop down from one of the distant rocks. It was wonderfully desolate, stunningly quiet, except for the roar of falling water that we were able to hear in certain areas. I felt very small.
It was hard to leave — the payoff was so great — but the waning sunlight sent us on our way. On our way down, we encountered a small herd of mountain goats that were seemingly oblivious to our existence. ( Associated Press )
But the chill off the massive Harding Icefield and wind funneled through the surrounding mountains was part reward for the sweat-inducing hike to get there, and part reminder that we were entering a foreign landscape.
To many travelers, Alaska represents adventure, and my visit to this glacier in Kenai Fjords National Park with a friend was part of my first real road trip since moving to the state last year.
The trip, planned largely on the fly, included rigorous hikes amid sweeping, beautiful landscapes. We went from the marshy-grass tussocks and stark, brown-red, up-in-the-cloud peaks of Denali National Park, where we encountered Dall sheep and were soaked to the bone on ridgetop trails, to Kenai in Southcentral Alaska, a few hundred miles away. There we climbed rocks, hop-scotched across boulder fields and creek beds only partially filled with cold, late-summer water, and traversed snow and ice to get to the glaciers.
Harding Icefield in Alaska's Kenai Fjords National - This undated photo courtesy of the National Park Service shows Harding Icefield in Alaska's Kenai Fjords National Park. The National Park Service considers the 7.4-mile round-trip hike strenuous, saying hikers gain about 1,000 feet of elevation with each mile
Our first glacier and the highlight of the trip for me was Harding Icefield, which I'd read about from other backpackers online and was determined to experience. On our way up, we met hikers who turned back early, unable to keep going but who felt rewarded by what they did take in of the valley views and ice in the distance. Those that did make it up raved about it. "It's worth it," one woman said, smiling.
Getting there takes some doing: It's nearly an 8-mile round-trip hike, one the National Park Service brands strenuous because it gains about 1,000 feet of elevation for each mile. Some stretches are fairly steep but the trail is in excellent condition, which helps with footing.
The change in elevation also brings dramatic changes in scenery. Starting out, the surroundings were reminiscent of trails in our hometown of Juneau, which is located in a rainforest — all lush, vivid-green vegetation, with a fair share of pesky bugs in the late summer when we did our hike.
A couple of tourists warned us to keep an eye open for a bear they claimed they saw. Farther up, there were flower-filled meadows — I swear, I felt like Heidi traipsing up the trail here — and then, much starker landscapes: alpine tundra, stretches of soft snow, and barren brown rock leading to edge-of-nowhere cliffs. The cliffs overlooked the icefield and seemingly everything else — clouds, lakes, the valley, mountain peaks.
The only word that came to mind was other-worldly. I half-expected a pterodactyl or something else prehistoric to swoop down from one of the distant rocks. It was wonderfully desolate, stunningly quiet, except for the roar of falling water that we were able to hear in certain areas. I felt very small.
It was hard to leave — the payoff was so great — but the waning sunlight sent us on our way. On our way down, we encountered a small herd of mountain goats that were seemingly oblivious to our existence. ( Associated Press )
No comments:
Post a Comment