Margerie Glacier's towering 250-foot ice face in Glacier Bay National Park. This advancing glacier flows 21 miles from the Fairweather Range and regularly calves icebergs into Tarr Inlet. The distinctive blue ice indicates dense, ancient glacial ice formed under immense pressure.

In July of 2013, we set off on the adventure of a lifetime. We sailed on the MS Statendam (Holland America Line) from Vancouver, Canada to Seward, Alaska, USA. Our route? The famous and incredibly scenic Inside Passage of the North American Fjordland. After the cruise, we swapped sea legs for road wheels and drove from Seward all the way up to Fairbanks. This is the story of that epic trip.

Here is the complete map of our sea and land route, with all our day trips and excursions marked. Spoiler alert: it involves a lot of blue water and even more stunning scenery.

Geographical Context: The Inside Passage is a 1,000-mile coastal route stretching from Washington State to Alaska, protected from the open Pacific by countless islands. This labyrinthine network of channels and fjords was carved by successive ice ages, creating a navigable waterway that has served Indigenous peoples for millennia, European explorers in the 18th century, and modern maritime traffic. The route provides calmer waters and breathtaking access to coastal rainforests, glaciers, and wildlife.

Flight to Vancouver: The Journey Begins

June 28, 2013

We waved goodbye to Washington, DC and settled in for the long flights to Vancouver. The excitement was real, slightly tempered by the realization of how many hours we'd be spending in airplane seats.

Boarding our American Airlines flight at Washington D.C.'s airport. The mix of anticipation and pre-dawn travel fatigue is palpable as we begin our long journey to the Pacific Northwest.

Vancouver: Where the Land and Sea Have Been Friends for Millennia

June 29, 2013

Vancouver International Airport isn't just an airport; it's a love letter to the Pacific Northwest. It's built on Sea Island, which is a pretty fitting name, and it feels more like a beautiful museum than a place to collect your luggage. The design honors the ancient history of the region, which is seriously ancient.

The area around Vancouver has been home to Indigenous peoples for at least 10,000 years. Let that sink in. Ten thousand years of history, culture, and connection to this land and water. The city itself sits on the traditional territory of the Coast Salish peoples, whose cultures here are over 6,000 years old. The airport's art and architecture do a fantastic job of reflecting this deep, deep history.

The expansive, cathedral-like interior of Vancouver International Airport's main terminal. The soaring wooden architecture and natural light are inspired by the coastal forests, while the displays of First Nations art establish a powerful sense of place.

Walking through the terminal, you're surrounded by towering totem poles, beautiful First Nations carvings, and natural light. It's a powerful and respectful introduction to British Columbia. It sets the tone perfectly for a trip that's all about appreciating majestic natural landscapes and the people who have called them home for centuries.

A meticulously carved First Nations welcome figure, likely representing a chief or ancestor. These monumental cedar sculptures serve as guardians and storytellers, conveying clan histories and welcoming visitors to traditional territories.

The Pacific Northwest is famous for its "Cascadia" culture, which blends Indigenous traditions with a modern, eco-conscious lifestyle. This airport is the gateway to that world. The region sits on the seismically active "Ring of Fire," which has shaped its dramatic coastlines and mountains. It's a land born from tectonic drama!

"The Spirit of Haida Gwaii, The Jade Canoe," a monumental bronze sculpture by renowned Haida artist Bill Reid. This iconic piece depicts a crowded canoe filled with mythical creatures from Haida cosmology, symbolizing the interdependence of all beings.

A contemporary art installation at YVR, showcasing the airport's commitment to integrating art into the travel experience. The fluid, abstract forms contrast with and complement the traditional Indigenous artwork found throughout the terminals.

Sailing from Vancouver: Bon Voyage!

Boarding the MS Statendam at Canada Place Cruise Ship Terminal

June 30, 2013 11:30 AM

Vancouver is consistently ranked one of the most livable cities on the planet, and from the port, you can see why. The Canada Place Cruise Ship Terminal is an iconic building right on Burrard Inlet, smack dab next to downtown. It's famous for its five giant white Teflon sails, which make it look like a ship that's already set sail. This place was the Canada Pavilion for the 1986 World's Fair (Expo 86), and it's been wowing people ever since.

The iconic Canada Place cruise terminal with its distinctive fiberglass "sails." The Holland America Line's MS Statendam is docked alongside, ready for boarding. Vancouver's downtown skyline and North Shore mountains provide a spectacular urban backdrop.

We got to the port in the morning, went through the boarding process (which is a mix of excitement and mild chaos), and found our way onto the Statendam. First order of business: the mandatory safety drill. We were assigned to Lifeboat #10. I tried to pay attention, but let's be honest, I was mostly just excited to be on the ship. A quick confession: I forgot to set the date on my camera, so the first few photos have a timestamp from over a year earlier. Whoops!

A close-up profile view of the MS Statendam. The ship's classic lines, dark blue hull, and Holland America's trademark colors present a stately and elegant appearance, contrasting with the modern architecture of Canada Place.

Passengers participating in the mandatory safety muster drill at Lifeboat Station #10. The crew demonstrates the proper way to wear the bright orange life jackets, a sobering but essential ritual before any voyage.

We set sail right on schedule at 11:30 AM. Our first destination was Ketchikan, Alaska, a cool 615 miles away. That meant we had two full days at sea to relax, explore the ship, and watch the incredible scenery of the Inside Passage roll by. Not a bad way to start a vacation.

The moment of departure: the Statendam's lines are cast off, and the ship begins its slow, graceful movement away from the Vancouver dock, officially starting the journey north to Alaska.

The Inside Passage is a protected sea route that winds through thousands of islands along the Pacific coast. It was formed by ancient glaciers carving deep fjords, and it's a paradise for wildlife like whales, sea lions, and eagles. Early Indigenous peoples used these waterways for trade and travel for millennia, and later, during the Klondike Gold Rush, it became a major route for prospectors heading north. We were literally sailing through history.

A farewell view of Vancouver's skyline as the ship enters Burrard Inlet. The white sails of Canada Place are still visible, framed by the city's high-rises and the forested slopes of Stanley Park.

Historical & Navigational Context: Navigating the Inside Passage requires precise skill due to its narrow channels, strong currents, and frequent fog. Modern cruise ships rely on advanced radar and GPS, but for centuries, Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian pilots used intimate knowledge of tides, landmarks, and star patterns. The route's protection from Pacific swells made it vital for steamships during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, establishing the coastal communities we visit today.

One of the Statendam's many comfortable and elegantly appointed lounges. Plush seating, warm wood paneling, and large windows create a refined atmosphere for relaxation and socializing while at sea.

The heart of the ship: the multi-deck atrium featuring a central sculptural fountain, polished brass, marble, and glass elevators. This grand space exemplifies Holland America's classic and art-focused interior design philosophy.

A breathtaking final panorama of Vancouver as the ship progresses into the Strait of Georgia. The city's dense urban core is nestled between the waters of the inlet and the rugged, green mountains, showcasing the region's stunning geography.

The industrial scale of the Port of Vancouver unfolds as we depart. Container cranes, freighters, and terminal buildings give way to the natural contours of the coastline and the beginning of the vast wilderness ahead.

Soon we were leaving Burrard Inlet and heading into the wider Strait of Georgia, the first step on our journey up the Inside Passage. The water was calm, the air was fresh, and the feeling of being on a grand adventure was setting in.

The MS Statendam underway in the Strait of Georgia. The ship moves smoothly through the deep, sheltered waters, its wake a crisp white line against the blue, reflecting the clear skies overhead.

Looking astern at the Statendam's powerful, foaming wake trailing into the distance. This view symbolizes the journey itself—leaving the familiar behind and heading toward the remote and wild landscapes of the Alaskan coast.

The characteristic scenery of the Strait of Georgia: densely forested islands with rocky shorelines emerge from the calm, silvery water. These islands are the remnants of a submerged mountain range, smoothed and carved by glacial activity.

The expansive view from the deck as the ship enters more open waters. The scale of the landscape is immense—low clouds hug the peaks of distant islands, emphasizing the wilderness and solitude of the coastal passage.

The MS Statendam: Our Floating Palace

Holland America Line

The MS Statendam in her prime, cruising open waters. As the lead ship of the Statendam-class (or "S-class"), she represented Holland America's mid-sized, premium cruise experience, emphasizing classic elegance and global itineraries until her retirement in 2015.

Registered in Rotterdam and sailing under a Dutch flag, the 55,500-tonne Statendam was a proper lady of the sea. She was built by Fincantieri in Italy and could carry 1,258 passengers with a crew of 557. With two 16,000 hp engines, she could zip along at 22 knots (about 25 mph).

This ship was classy and elegant, a world away from the loud, pool-party Caribbean cruises we'd been on before. The whole vessel felt sophisticated, with over $2 million worth of art scattered around like it was no big deal. They had a theater named after Van Gogh, a huge three-story atrium with a fountain sculpture in the middle... it was fancy without being stuffy. It felt like world-class cruising from a bygone era, but with all the modern comforts.

Ship's History & Design: The MS Statendam was launched in 1992 and served as a floating ambassador of Dutch maritime heritage. Her interior design was a hallmark of Holland America's "Signature of Excellence" program, featuring museum-quality artwork, antiques, and fresh flowers. The ship's namesake recalls a long line of historic Holland America vessels, the first of which sailed in 1898. This connection to maritime history was palpable in the decor and the dignified atmosphere on board.

MS Statendam Deck Plan. Picture credit: Globus

I made a little video slideshow walking around the ship to capture the vibe. Sailing on her was an experience in itself.

Watch: MS Statendam, Holland America Line

We found our cabin, unpacked, and started to settle into our home for the week. It already felt cozy.

Vancouver to Ketchikan: Sea Days and Salmon

On Sea

July 1, 2013

11:00 AM

We woke up still in Canadian waters, sailing along Queen Charlotte Sound into Hecate Strait. A little screen in our cabin, kind of like the map on an airplane, showed our progress. We were making our way up the coast of British Columbia, a region rich with First Nations history and some of the most biodiverse temperate rainforests on Earth.

The navigation channel on our cabin television, showing the MS Statendam's real-time position and track along the British Columbia coast. This digital map provided a constant, fascinating reference as we progressed through the intricate waterways.

It had been foggy at breakfast, the kind of thick, atmospheric fog that makes you feel like you're in a mystery novel. By late morning, it was starting to lift, revealing glimpses of the wild coastline.

Breakfast in the ship's dining room with a view of dense, white fog enveloping the outside world. The atmosphere was quiet and introspective, with the ship moving slowly through the opaque, misty seascape.

The fog begins to dissipate over Hecate Strait, revealing glimpses of the steel-gray water and the faint outline of distant land. This strait is known for its shallow depths and notoriously rough conditions, but we were fortunate to encounter it in a calm state.

We had a full day and night of sailing ahead to reach Ketchikan. The plan? Relaxation. I found my favorite spot on the deck, cracked open a book, and prepared to do absolutely nothing productive. I had brought two books and was determined to finish them both by the time we reached Seward.

The quintessential sea day activity: reading on deck. Wrapped in a blanket for warmth against the cool sea air, this quiet corner offered the perfect escape with the soothing sound of the ship's wake as a soundtrack.

The Inside Passage is a major migratory route for humpback and gray whales, especially in the summer. We kept our eyes peeled, hoping for a spout or a tail fluke. The water was also full of salmon making their own incredible journey back to their spawning streams, which explained why the dinner menu was about to get very fishy.

A peaceful, sheltered deck area lined with empty lounge chairs. On a ship of this size, it was always possible to find a serene spot to enjoy the panoramic ocean views and the crisp, salt-tinged air.

A cozy, well-appointed lounge with expansive windows—an ideal indoor venue for wildlife watching or simply contemplating the ever-changing seascape while enjoying the comfort of the ship's amenities.

20:02 PM

Dinner time! By now, we were almost certainly in U.S. territorial waters. The fog was long gone, and it was still bright daylight. In fact, it wouldn't get properly dark at all tonight. We were far enough north in July to experience the "midnight sun" phenomenon, where the sun just dips near the horizon before rising again. It does weird and wonderful things to your sense of time.

When in Alaska, you eat salmon. It's basically the law. So we did.

The stately main dining room aboard the Statendam. White tablecloths, polished silverware, and attentive service created a refined atmosphere for the evening meal, a daily highlight of the cruise experience.

An exquisitely presented appetizer, showcasing the culinary team's emphasis on artistry and fresh, high-quality ingredients. Dining was a multi-course event, with each dish thoughtfully prepared.

The star of the menu: a perfectly grilled wild Alaskan salmon fillet. Sourced locally, the fish was remarkably fresh, with a firm texture and clean, rich flavor emblematic of the cold, pristine waters of the North Pacific.

An alternative entrée option, demonstrating the kitchen's range. The menu always offered multiple choices, catering to diverse tastes while maintaining a high standard of execution and presentation.

No cruise dinner is complete without dessert. A rich, chocolate-based creation provides a sweet finale to the meal, a indulgence made guilt-free by a day of sea air and scenic exploration.

A celebratory toast with wine glasses at the dinner table. This ritual marked the end of a perfect first full day at sea, filled with relaxation, good food, and the growing anticipation of reaching Alaska.

22:12 PM

With the sun just skimming the horizon, dusk bled directly into a very bright dawn. The sky was lit with a soft, golden glow that lasted all night. It's a disorienting but magical feeling. We tried to get some sleep, but with the sun still shining, it felt like a very long afternoon nap.

The surreal glow of the midnight sun illuminates the Inside Passage around 10 PM. The sun, having barely dipped below the northern horizon, casts a perpetual golden twilight across the calm water and forested islands.

The endless evening light creates a mirror-like reflection on the ocean's surface. This tranquil, almost otherworldly atmosphere is a hallmark of summer in the high latitudes, where night is temporarily banished.

Another perspective of the luminous horizon late in the "evening." The low-angle sun paints the sky in pastel hues, making time feel suspended and offering photographers a seemingly endless golden hour.

The ship's decks are quiet and peaceful in the soft, lingering light. It's the perfect time for a solitary stroll before retiring, with the gentle hum of the ship's engines and the vast Alaskan wilderness as the only companions.

Biological & Environmental Context: The nutrient-rich waters of the Inside Passage support an immense marine food web. The summer salmon migration is a keystone event, driving the ecosystem. Humpback whales use bubble-net feeding to trap herring and krill, sea lions haul out on rocky islets, and estuaries provide critical rearing habitat for juvenile salmon. This abundance is what Indigenous cultures have sustainably harvested for thousands of years and what now draws visitors from around the world.

Glacier Gardens: Where Trees Grow Upside Down

First things first: Glacier Gardens has zero glaciers. It’s a privately owned nursery and landscaping business that offers a paid cart ride through a slice of Alaska’s coastal temperate rainforest. Think of it as a botanical amusement park, but with more trees and fewer roller coasters.

Located approximately 6 miles from downtown Juneau, Glacier Gardens was founded in the late 1980s by Steve and Cindy Bowhay. The property spans over 50 acres and was originally a gravel pit before being transformed into the lush gardens seen today. The area's abundant rainfall—over 90 inches annually—creates ideal conditions for the vibrant floral displays and dense rainforest growth.

The main entrance to Glacier Gardens showcases the temperate rainforest landscape with traditional totem poles and manicured floral displays.

The star attraction? Upside-down trees. Yep, they take uprooted trees, chop off the stems, and stick them in the ground roots-up. Then they plant flowers in the old root balls. It’s like the trees decided to grow a hat. I especially loved the pops of blue flowers—nature’s way of saying, “Look at me!”

The upside-down tree concept originated after a 1984 landslide destroyed much of the original forest on the property. Rather than removing all the fallen trees, the owners creatively repurposed them into these distinctive floral planters. Today, over 20 inverted tree installations dot the gardens, each hosting a variety of flowering plants that change with the seasons.

An inverted Western hemlock root ball serves as a natural planter overflowing with pink and white impatiens flowers during summer bloom.

Rainforest Adventure: A Ride Through Ancient Forests

The “Rainforest Adventure” is a guided cart tour up a hill through a lush slice of the North American coastal temperate rainforest. This rainforest stretches 2,500 miles from California to Alaska and is packed with ancient Western hemlock, Sitka spruce, Mountain hemlock, and Alaska yellow cedar trees. It’s like driving through a green cathedral.

This ecosystem represents the largest intact temperate rainforest remaining on Earth. The Tongass National Forest, which surrounds Juneau, encompasses nearly 17 million acres of this habitat. The tour provides accessibility to environments typically requiring strenuous hiking, with educational commentary about rainforest ecology, traditional Tlingit uses of plants, and local geology.

The Rainforest Adventure cart follows a gravel path through towering Sitka spruce and dense undergrowth of ferns and mosses.

From the top of the hill, you get a killer view of the Juneau airport, Mendenhall wetlands, and the Mendenhall River meeting Fritz Cove in the distance. It’s a panorama that makes you want to write a postcard, even if you hate writing postcards.

The viewpoint sits approximately 600 feet above sea level, providing a geographical perspective on Juneau's position between mountains and water. The Mendenhall Wetlands State Game Refuge visible below spans 3,800 acres and provides critical habitat for migratory birds, with over 100 species documented using the area throughout the year.

The overlook provides an aerial perspective of Juneau International Airport runways, the winding Mendenhall River, and the expansive tidal flats of Fritz Cove.

Inside the main building, you’ll find a nursery, a cafe, and a gift shop. The lobby is decorated with hanging flowering plants that make you feel like you’re walking through a floral chandelier. It’s a peaceful, well-organized place—perfect for a relaxed end to a busy day.

The nursery specializes in plants adapted to Southeast Alaska's climate and offers landscaping services throughout Juneau. The garden center operates as a social enterprise, providing employment and horticultural training opportunities in the community while promoting sustainable gardening practices suitable for the region's unique conditions.

We left Glacier Gardens feeling refreshed and headed back to the Juneau Cruise Ship Port to board the Statendam. Next stop: Skagway, 202 miles away. But first, let’s talk about that scenic sail through the fjords.

Skagway Bound: Sailing Through the Fjords

Happy 4th of July! The Statendam sailed from Juneau around dinner time and cruised through the night. By 4 AM, we were gliding through the fjords of Favorite Channel toward Chilkoot Inlet and Lynn Canal. The scenery was unreal—snow-capped mountains, glaciers, and waterfalls everywhere.

The navigation from Juneau to Skagway follows the protected waters of the Inside Passage, avoiding the open ocean of the Gulf of Alaska. Lynn Canal, at approximately 90 miles long, represents the northernmost fjord in North America and reaches depths exceeding 2,000 feet in places. The channel's steep walls were carved by massive glaciers during the last ice age.

Dawn breaks over the tranquil waters of Taiya Inlet, with low clouds clinging to forested mountainsides beneath a soft morning sky.

As we passed the town of Haines, we might have spotted Davidson Glacier in the distance. It’s one of many glaciers that feed into the Inside Passage. Then, we saw something magical: the Disney Wonder cruise ship sailing alongside us. It felt like a cameo appearance in our Alaskan adventure.

Davidson Glacier descends from the Chilkat Range and terminates in a proglacial lake approximately 4 miles from the Lynn Canal. Unlike tidewater glaciers that calve directly into saltwater, Davidson's meltwater flows through the Davidson River before reaching the ocean. The glacier has retreated significantly since the Klondike Gold Rush era when it extended much closer to sea level.

The Disney Wonder, recognizable by its navy blue hull and yellow funnels, navigates the narrow channel of Taiya Inlet en route to Skagway.

The fjords just kept getting more stunning as we sailed deeper. Waterfalls cascaded down cliffs, glaciers gleamed in the early light, and the air felt crisp and clean. It was the perfect preview for our next adventure: Skagway, the historic gold rush town. But that’s a story for the next chapter.

The numerous waterfalls visible along the fjord walls are primarily snowmelt and glacial runoff features that peak in flow during summer months. The steep topography of the Coast Mountains, with some peaks exceeding 7,000 feet, creates dramatic vertical relief that channels precipitation into these spectacular cascades, some falling uninterrupted for hundreds of feet.

Snow-covered peaks rise above steep, forested slopes where multiple ribbon waterfalls trace vertical fractures in the granite bedrock.

That’s it for this leg of the journey. From icy glaciers to upside-down trees, Alaska never runs out of surprises. Stay tuned for Skagway, where gold rush history meets rugged wilderness. Until then, keep exploring!

Sailing into Skagway: Alaska's Gold Rush Gateway

Let me tell you about waking up at 5 AM in Alaska—and actually wanting to. As we sailed into Taiya Inlet, the morning light was painting the mountains in shades of gold and purple. No filter needed, folks.

The early arrival timing is strategic for cruise ships, allowing maximum daylight hours for shore excursions in Skagway. During summer months at this latitude (approximately 59°N), daylight extends up to 18 hours, with nautical twilight beginning as early as 3 AM. The low-angle morning light creates dramatic shadows and enhances the texture of the mountainous landscape.

Morning alpenglow touches the highest peaks while lower elevations remain in shadow, creating layers of color in the pre-dawn sky.

We were entering the northern end of Lynn Canal, the deepest fjord in North America. At 2,000 feet deep in some places, it makes your average swimming pool look like a puddle. The water was so still it looked like glass—until the Disney Wonder cruised by to say hello.

The exceptional depth of Lynn Canal results from both glacial carving and tectonic activity. The North American Plate subducting beneath the Pacific Plate creates this deep marine trench. The calm water conditions often experienced in early morning are due to temperature inversions and reduced wind, creating perfect reflective surfaces known locally as "glassy water" conditions.

The Disney Wonder maintains a safe following distance behind another cruise ship as both vessels approach the Skagway harbor entrance.

Welcome to Skagway: Where the Wind Blows Cold and History Runs Deep

At 6 AM, we arrived at Skagway—the northernmost port on our Inside Passage route. This tiny town (population: about 1,000) has a big personality and an even bigger history.

Skagway's population fluctuates dramatically with the tourist season. While the year-round population remains around 1,000, summer months see an influx of seasonal workers that can triple this number. The entire town is part of the Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park, preserving over 100 buildings from the 1897-1898 gold rush era.

Dawn light reveals multiple cruise ships docked at Skagway's Broadway Dock, with historic false-front buildings visible along the waterfront.

Skagway’s name comes from the Tlingit word “Skagua,” meaning “where the north wind blows.” And let me tell you, that wind has stories to tell. For thousands of years, this was Tlingit territory. Then, in 1896, gold was discovered in Canada’s Klondike region, and suddenly 100,000 fortune-seekers flooded through this little inlet.

The Tlingit people utilized the Skagway Valley as a seasonal hunting and fishing ground for centuries before European contact. The name "Skagway" likely derives from "Shgagwèi" meaning "rough water" in Tlingit, referring to the turbulent conditions at the mouth of the Skagway River. The 1896 gold discovery on Bonanza Creek in Canada's Yukon Territory occurred approximately 600 miles inland, but Skagway became the primary maritime gateway due to its deep-water harbor.

Imagine: prospectors arriving with a ton of supplies (literally—Canada required it), facing two brutal trails: the 33-mile Chilkoot Trail (so steep even horses couldn’t manage it) or the 40-mile White Pass Trail. They called it “the dead horse trail” for a reason. Let’s just say the gold rush wasn’t for the faint of heart.

The Canadian government's "one ton rule" required each prospector to bring approximately 1,000 pounds of goods to ensure they wouldn't become destitute burdens. This equated to about a year's worth of food, mining equipment, and other necessities. The Chilkoot Trail's "Golden Stairs" section rose 1,000 feet in just half a mile, requiring prospectors to make 20-40 trips to shuttle their supplies to the summit. An estimated 3,000 horses died on the White Pass Trail during 1897-1898 due to overwork, accidents, and malnutrition.

The Golden Princess, with its distinctive white superstructure and blue hull, occupies one of Skagway's two main cruise berths at the Ore Dock.

The Legend of Face Mountain: Alaska’s Stone Sentinal

Looking across the fjord, you can’t miss Face Mountain—a giant rock formation that looks like, well, a face staring at the sky. According to Tlingit legend, this is Kanagoo (also called Shakaԍéi, or “Pretty Woman”), who turned to stone while waiting for her sons (or lover, depending on who’s telling the story) to return from the sea.

The geological formation known as Face Mountain is part of the Coast Mountains batholith, composed primarily of granite that formed deep underground approximately 50-100 million years ago. The distinctive profile resulted from glacial erosion during repeated ice ages, with the "face" orientation making it visible from multiple points in Skagway and Taiya Inlet. Different Tlingit clans maintain variations of the legend, but all speak to themes of waiting, loss, and transformation.

The natural rock profile of Face Mountain shows distinct forehead, nose, lips, and chin features when viewed from the southwest.

They say her endless crying creates the fierce winds that whip through Skagway. So if your hat blows off, now you know who to blame.

The meteorological phenomenon referenced in the legend corresponds to the "Skagway wind," a katabatic wind that accelerates down the steep mountain slopes, particularly through the White Pass. These winds can exceed 60 mph and are most common during fall and winter months when temperature differentials between inland and coastal areas are greatest.

White Pass & Yukon Route: The Railroad That Defied Mountains

Now for the main event: the White Pass & Yukon Route Railway. Built in 1898 during the gold rush, this narrow-gauge railroad was an engineering miracle. It climbs from sea level to 2,865 feet in just 20 miles, crossing cliffs, gorges, and waterfalls.

The railway's construction represents one of the most challenging railroad engineering projects of its era. Using a 3-foot narrow gauge (compared to standard 4-foot 8.5-inch gauge) allowed tighter curves on mountain switchbacks. Construction required 450 tons of explosives, and at its peak, employed over 35,000 workers, many of whom were experienced railroad builders from the recently completed Canadian Pacific Railway.

Here’s the irony: by the time the railroad was finished, the gold rush was basically over. But instead of becoming a ghost town, Skagway survived because the railway started hauling freight, mail, and eventually tourists. Today, it’s called “The Scenic Railway of the World”—and after riding it, I can see why.

The railroad reached White Pass summit in February 1900 and connected to Whitehorse, Yukon, by July 1900. While the Klondike gold rush had largely subsided by 1899, the railway proved essential for transporting silver, lead, and zinc ore from mines in the Yukon throughout the early 20th century. During World War II, it played a crucial strategic role in supplying materials for the Alaska Highway construction and Pacific theater operations.

Restored early 20th-century passenger car features original wooden bench seating, brass fittings, and historical photographs lining the walls.

Our train car had wooden panels, brass fittings, and an actual potbelly stove. It felt like stepping into a 19th-century adventure novel, minus the dysentery.

The passenger cars used for tourist excursions include meticulously restored original equipment from various eras of the railroad's operation. The potbelly stoves were essential for heating during fall and winter operations when temperatures could drop below -40°F. Modern excursions maintain historical accuracy while adding safety features and panoramic windows for optimal viewing.

All Aboard: Chugging Through History

As we pulled out of the station, we passed the Klondike Gold Fields—a tourist spot where you can try gold panning and meet sled dogs. Yes, you get to keep any gold you find. No, I didn’t strike it rich.

The Klondike Gold Fields operation offers recreational gold panning in pre-salted troughs containing imported Yukon gravel. While genuine gold flakes can be found, the experience is primarily educational, demonstrating placer mining techniques used during the gold rush. The site also maintains kennels for sled dogs used in winter mushing demonstrations and summer cart rides.

Visitors practice gold panning techniques at wooden trough stations while guides demonstrate proper gravel washing methods.

The train followed the Skagway River, winding through forests so green they looked photoshopped. Every turn revealed another waterfall, another glacier, another “wow” moment.

The Skagway River watershed drains approximately 200 square miles of the Coast Mountains, with headwaters originating near the White Pass summit. The river's milky turquoise color results from glacial flour—fine rock particles produced by glacial erosion that remain suspended in the water. The riparian corridor supports dense stands of Sitka alder, willow, and cottonwood trees that appear intensely green during the brief summer growing season.

The train tracks run alongside the braided channels of the Skagway River, whose glacial meltwater carries suspended silt that creates distinctive light blue coloration.

Denver Glacier: Alaska’s Frozen Majesty

One of the highlights was Denver Glacier—a massive river of ice spilling down from the mountains. From the train, we could see its icy blue face and the glacial lake below. It’s like the glacier is taking a slow-motion dive into the water.

Denver Glacier is a valley glacier approximately 5 miles long, flowing from the Sawtooth Range of the Coast Mountains. It represents one of the most accessible glaciers from the White Pass route, visible approximately 12 miles from Skagway. The glacier's terminus currently resides at an elevation of about 1,500 feet, having retreated significantly since the Little Ice Age maximum when it extended into the Skagway River valley floor.

Denver Glacier's crevassed surface descends from snowfields above, with a small proglacial lake forming at its terminus where meltwater accumulates.

At the glacier’s trailhead, there’s a unique rental cabin: a refurbished 1960s railroad caboose. You can actually sleep in a retired train car with Denver Glacier as your backyard. Talk about a room with a view.

The Denver Glacier Caboose is a restored White Pass & Yukon Route caboose originally built in 1966. The rental offers backcountry access for hiking and glacier viewing, positioned at mile 11.5 of the railway. The caboose sleeps four and includes basic amenities while maintaining historical character, providing a unique wilderness lodging experience accessible only by train or strenuous hike.

“On To Alaska With Buchanan”: A Depression-Era Adventure

At Clifton, 8.8 miles from Skagway, we passed Buchanan Rock—a cliff with giant painted letters reading “ON TO ALASKA WITH BUCHANAN.” This quirky bit of history dates back to the Great Depression.

Detroit businessman George Buchanan organized trips for boys and girls to hike across Alaska, teaching them self-reliance and adventure skills. Kids had to raise part of the trip cost by selling stuff door-to-door. It was like a Depression-era gap year, but with more bears.

George Buchanan's "On to Alaska" program operated from 1934 to 1941, bringing approximately 200 teenagers from Michigan to Alaska for summer expeditions. Participants earned their way by selling magazine subscriptions, with the program emphasizing character building through wilderness challenges. The rock painting was completed in 1937 by Buchanan and his campers using white lead paint, and despite harsh weather, the letters remain visible over 80 years later.

The historic Depression-era message stretches approximately 30 feet across the granite outcrop, overlooking the White Pass railway tracks below.

The building above the cliff is the U.S. Customs and Border Protection office—because even in the middle of nowhere, bureaucracy finds a way.

The U.S. Customs station at Clifton monitors border crossings between Alaska and British Columbia, though the actual international boundary lies approximately 12 miles further at White Pass summit. The remote location serves as a port of entry for travelers using the White Pass route, with officers conducting inspections for trains, vehicles, and occasional hikers crossing between the two countries.

Engineering Marvels: Trestles, Tunnels, and Waterfalls

As we climbed higher, the engineering got more impressive. We crossed wooden trestle bridges that looked like giant matchstick sculptures, plunged through pitch-black tunnels, and passed waterfalls with names like Pitchfork Falls and Bridal Veil Falls.

The railway features over 20 bridges and two tunnels along its route to White Pass. The original wooden trestles were gradually replaced with steel structures beginning in the 1920s, though several historic wooden trestles remain in service. Tunnel #1, known as "Clifton Tunnel," is 225 feet long and was completed in 1900 using hand drilling and black powder excavation methods. The waterfalls visible from the train are primarily seasonal snowmelt features that diminish significantly by late summer.

The train slowly traverses a curved wooden trestle approximately 100 feet above a rocky creek bed, demonstrating the railway's daring mountain route.

The Steel Cantilever Bridge was particularly mind-boggling—a bridge that seems to defy gravity as it clings to the cliffside. It’s like the engineers looked at the mountains and said, “Challenge accepted.”

The Steel Cantilever Bridge, constructed in 1969, replaced an earlier timber trestle at mile 12.9. The 215-foot bridge represents one of only a few cantilever bridges still in regular railroad service worldwide. Its design allows the structure to extend outward from support piers without external bracing, an ideal solution for the narrow gorge where conventional bridge construction was impossible.

As we approached the Canadian border, the landscape opened up into vast, rocky valleys and snow-dusted peaks. We didn’t cross into Canada (that requires passports), but the views were reward enough.

The transition from coastal rainforest to subalpine and alpine environments occurs between 2,000-2,500 feet elevation. The tree line at this latitude is approximately 2,800 feet, above which only low-growing tundra vegetation survives. The increased exposure to wind and colder temperatures creates the stark, rocky landscapes characteristic of the White Pass summit area.

The return trip was just as stunning, but now with the golden afternoon light. We rolled back into Skagway with cameras full and spirits high. The White Pass & Yukon Route isn’t just a train ride—it’s a journey through time, nature, and human determination.

Next up: exploring Skagway’s historic downtown and maybe finding some gold-rush-era ghosts. But that’s a story for another chapter. Until then, keep your eyes on the mountains and your sense of adventure handy.

Reaching the Top of the World: White Pass & Glacier Bay

July 4-5, 2013 | Alaska Cruise Adventure

After chugging through some seriously beautiful scenery on the White Pass & Yukon Route Railway, we finally got close to the famous White Pass itself. This is the spot where Alaska says "see ya" and Canada says "hello, eh?" – the international border!

The White Pass summit at 2,888 feet (880 meters) marks the boundary between the United States (Alaska) and Canada (British Columbia) as established by the Anglo-Russian Convention of 1825 and later surveys. The border follows the 141st meridian west from the Arctic Ocean to Mount St. Elias, then follows the crest of the mountains parallel to the coast. The actual boundary is marked by a 20-foot cleared swath through the forest maintained by the International Boundary Commission.

The train ascends through scattered subalpine fir trees and rocky terrain as it nears the White Pass summit at the Alaska-Canada border.

White Pass sits at an elevation of 2,888 feet (880 meters). During the Klondike Gold Rush, this wasn't a scenic tourist route – it was a brutal, muddy, often deadly trail for tens of thousands of stampeders trying to reach the Yukon goldfields. Building a railway up here in the early 1900s was a massive engineering challenge. They called it the "Railway Built of Gold" because it was funded by gold rush money and ambition.

The nickname "Railway Built of Gold" refers not only to the gold rush financing but also to the extraordinary cost: approximately $10 million to build the 110-mile line, making it one of the most expensive railroads per mile ever constructed at that time. The project was financed by British investors, with engineering led by Michael J. Heney, who had previously worked on the Canadian Pacific Railway. Construction continued through winter conditions, with workers facing avalanches, extreme cold, and challenging terrain.

A simple wooden sign marks the international boundary where the White Pass & Yukon Route railway crosses from Alaska into British Columbia, Canada.

Concrete monuments placed at regular intervals demarcate the precise international boundary line surveyed and maintained by joint commission.

Standing at the pass, you can feel the history. The wind probably sounds the same as it did to those gold-crazed prospectors over a century ago, though they were likely too exhausted from hauling a ton of supplies to appreciate the view.

Historical accounts describe the White Pass trail during 1897-1898 as a quagmire of mud, discarded equipment, and animal carcasses. The improved trail and subsequent railway transformed this challenging crossing into a relatively comfortable journey. Today's visitors experience dramatically different conditions, with interpretive signage explaining the stark contrast between modern tourism and historical hardship.

The alpine tundra landscape at White Pass summit reveals sparse vegetation, rock outcrops, and panoramic views of surrounding peaks in the Coast Mountains.

The Historic NWMP Cabin: Canada's Gatekeepers

Right at the border, there's a cool little historic cabin. This was the outpost of the NWMP – the North West Mounted Police. Think of them as the early, Mountie version of Canadian border security.

Their job during the Gold Rush was no joke. To prevent a humanitarian disaster, they enforced the "Ton of Goods" rule. Any prospector entering Canada had to have enough supplies to survive for a whole year – about one ton of food, tools, and gear. No supplies? No entry. This simple rule saved countless lives by stopping unprepared dreamers from starving in the wilderness. The NWMP later became today's famous Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP).

The NWMP established the White Pass post in 1898 to maintain order and enforce Canadian regulations. The "ton of goods" requirement, implemented in February 1898, was based on recommendations from experienced northern travelers and likely prevented thousands of deaths from starvation and exposure. The Mounties also collected customs duties, maintained basic medical services, and provided weather information to travelers. The cabin visible today is a reconstruction based on original photographs and plans.

The reconstructed NWMP cabin features typical frontier construction with hand-hewn logs, sod roof, and stone chimney, representing early border enforcement architecture.

This is as far as the tourist train goes. After soaking in the views and the history, we turned around and headed back to Skagway, retracing our route down the steep slopes.

The White Pass summit represents the turnaround point for most summer tourist excursions, though the railway continues another 90 miles to Whitehorse, Yukon. The return journey offers different perspectives of the landscape as lighting conditions change and the train descends nearly 3,000 feet back to sea level, with engineers carefully controlling speed on the steep grades.

Back on the ship, we set sail from Skagway, leaving the Taiya Inlet and heading into the Lynn Canal. Our next destination? The mighty, icy, world-famous Glacier Bay.

Evening light creates perfect reflections in the still waters of Taiya Inlet as the cruise ship departs Skagway for Glacier Bay National Park.

Glacier Bay: Entering the Ice Kingdom

July 5, 2013

We sailed through the night under the "midnight sun." It never really got dark, just a long, beautiful twilight. By morning, we were entering Glacier Bay National Park – a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the planet's largest protected biosphere reserves.

Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve encompasses 3.3 million acres of mountains, glaciers, temperate rainforest, and fjords. The park receives approximately 500,000 visitors annually, primarily via cruise ships during the May-September season. UNESCO designated the area a World Heritage Site in 1992, recognizing its exceptional natural values and ongoing glacial research that contributes to understanding climate change impacts.

This place is on a different scale. Imagine mountains that shoot straight out of deep blue water, topped with snow and ancient ice. It's silent, vast, and humbling. It makes you feel very, very small.

The vertical relief in Glacier Bay is extraordinary, with mountains like Mount Fairweather (15,325 feet) rising directly from sea level to create some of the world's most dramatic coastal topography. The bay itself extends over 65 miles inland, with water depths exceeding 1,400 feet in the central basin. The profound silence often experienced results from both the absence of human noise and the sound-absorbing qualities of snow, ice, and dense fog.

The MS Statendam appears diminutive against the massive scale of Glacier Bay's mountains, with small icebergs drifting in the foreground waters.

Glacier Bay is a lesson in ice and time. Just 250 years ago, this entire bay was filled with a single, gigantic glacier over 4,000 feet thick. As temperatures warmed, that mega-glacier retreated, carving out this 65-mile-long fjord and leaving behind a fractured landscape of inlets and smaller glaciers. What we see today is a snapshot of rapid, ongoing change.

The Grand Pacific Glacier originally filled the entire bay to its mouth at Icy Strait around 1750. Since then, it has retreated over 65 miles, one of the fastest documented glacial retreats in the world. This rapid recession has created a natural laboratory for studying plant succession and ecosystem development, with scientists documenting how life recolonizes landscapes recently exposed by retreating ice. The bay's ongoing transformation makes it a key site for climate change research.

A sweeping panorama captures the essential character of Glacier Bay: deep blue fjord waters, steep forested slopes, and distant snow-covered peaks.

Johns Hopkins Glacier: The Active Giant

Our first major glacier encounter was the Johns Hopkins Glacier. The ship turned into Johns Hopkins Inlet, and at the end of the fjord, we met this wall of blue ice.

Johns Hopkins Inlet extends approximately 12 miles from the main bay and features some of the park's most active tidewater glaciers. The inlet's narrow, steep-walled character creates dramatic acoustics during calving events, with ice collapses producing thunderous echoes. The glacier is named for Johns Hopkins University, which conducted early scientific expeditions to the area in the 1890s.

Johns Hopkins is a "tidewater glacier" – meaning it flows all the way down to the sea. It's also one of the few glaciers in the park that is still advancing (pushing forward), though its famous speed of 8 feet per day in the 1970s has slowed. It gets its dirty, striped look from all the rock and debris it scrapes off the mountains as it moves.

Johns Hopkins Glacier advanced approximately 1.5 miles between 1929 and 1999, bucking the regional trend of glacial retreat. Its advance results from a positive mass balance in its accumulation zone high in the Fairweather Range. The dark medial moraines visible on its surface are accumulations of rock debris that fall from adjacent valley walls and get incorporated into the ice flow. These debris bands help protect underlying ice from melting and create the characteristic striped appearance.

The terminal face of Johns Hopkins Glacier displays intricate patterns of clean blue ice intersected by dark debris bands where rock material has accumulated on the glacier's surface.

About a third of this glacier is hidden underwater. That submerged ice is why you get spectacular "calving" – when chunks break off. Sometimes they crack off underwater and then shoot to the surface like icy missiles. The sound is a deep, rolling thunder that echoes off the mountains.

Tidewater glaciers like Johns Hopkins typically have submerged portions extending 100-200 feet below sea level, depending on ice density and water depth. Calving occurs through several mechanisms: thermal erosion from relatively warm seawater, buoyancy forces as the glacier tongue floats, and structural failure from crevasses penetrating the ice. Submarine calving events can produce large icebergs that surge dramatically to the surface, sometimes creating dangerous waves near the glacier face.

Gilman Glacier: The Clean Neighbor

Right next door is the Gilman Glacier. It's connected to Johns Hopkins way up in the ice field, but here at the face, they're separate.

Gilman is the "clean" glacier compared to its dirty neighbor. It flows straight down a valley without picking up many tributaries full of rock, so its ice is a more uniform, bright white and blue. The contrast between the two side-by-side is stunning.

Gilman Glacier shares the same accumulation zone with Johns Hopkins Glacier in the high icefields of the Fairweather Range but follows a different path to the sea. Its cleaner appearance results from flowing through a valley with less exposed bedrock, minimizing rock debris incorporation. The glacier's surface appears whiter due to younger snow accumulation and less internal pressure that would otherwise create dense, blue ice. Gilman has been retreating steadily, with its terminus now positioned several hundred yards from the tidal waters it once reached.

Gilman Glacier's relatively clean ice surface contrasts sharply with the heavily debris-covered Johns Hopkins Glacier, demonstrating how different flow paths create distinct glacial characteristics.

Leaving Johns Hopkins Inlet, we were left speechless. It's a raw display of planetary power that you just can't get from a photo.

The experience of witnessing tidewater glaciers in Alaska engages multiple senses simultaneously: the visual spectacle of blue ice, the auditory boom of calving, the tactile cold radiating from the ice, and even the distinctive scent of glacial air containing rock flour and cold minerals. This multisensory experience creates powerful memories that photographs alone cannot capture.

Meeting the Locals: Harbor Seals

All this ice isn't just for show – it's prime real estate for wildlife. We spotted our first Harbor Seals lounging on icebergs. For them, the floating ice is a safe resting platform and a nursery for their pups, protecting them from predators like orcas.

Glacier Bay supports one of Alaska's largest populations of harbor seals, with approximately 6,000 individuals utilizing the park's ice-rich habitats. The seals depend on floating ice for pupping (May-June) and molting (July-August). The icebergs provide protection from predators and harsh weather while offering proximity to productive feeding grounds. Park regulations require vessels to maintain significant distances from seal concentrations to minimize disturbance during critical life stages.

A harbor seal rests comfortably on a small, flat iceberg in Johns Hopkins Inlet, using the floating ice as a temporary haul-out platform.

The Grand Finale: Margerie & Grand Pacific Glaciers

Sailing into Tarr Inlet, we faced the grand finale: the Margerie and Grand Pacific Glaciers.

Tarr Inlet extends approximately 10 miles from the main bay and terminates at the combined face of Margerie and Grand Pacific Glaciers. The inlet was named for Israel C. Russell's 1890-1891 expedition geologist, Oscar Tarr. The deep waters (exceeding 900 feet) allow large cruise ships to approach relatively close to the glacier termini while maintaining safe distances from potential calving events.

The Grand Pacific Glacier is massive but looks dirty – it's actually covered in rock debris, so it seems to blend right into the mountainside. Right next to it is the star of the show: the Margerie Glacier.

Grand Pacific Glacier originates in Canada and flows 35 miles to its terminus in Tarr Inlet. Its heavily debris-covered appearance results from incorporating morainal material along its entire length, particularly where it passes through narrow valleys that scrape bedrock. The dark surface accelerates melting through increased solar absorption, creating a feedback loop that contributes to the glacier's rapid retreat of approximately 1.5 miles since the early 1990s.

Margerie is a classic, picture-perfect tidewater glacier. It's a mile wide, with a face about 200 feet high above the water (and another 100+ feet below!). It's incredibly active. We stood on deck for nearly an hour, watching and listening as house-sized blocks of ice calved off and crashed into the water with a roar. It's nature's most impressive demolition show.

Margerie Glacier maintains relative stability compared to its neighbor due to a steeper gradient and more direct connection to its accumulation zone. The glacier's face displays classic features of active calving: deep crevasses, seracs (ice pinnacles), and frequent icefalls. Calving events follow cyclical patterns, with increased activity during tidal fluctuations and warm weather. The thunderous sounds result from both the ice impact and the sudden release of compressed air bubbles trapped within the glacial ice.

A panoramic composite reveals the dramatic contrast between the clean, blue ice of Margerie Glacier and the debris-covered surface of Grand Pacific Glacier where they meet in Tarr Inlet.

Our day in Glacier Bay was overwhelming in the best way. From the history-soaked heights of White Pass to the thunderous, living ice of the glaciers, it was a powerful reminder of the scale and beauty of the natural world. It's a place that sticks with you long after you've sailed away.

The Glacier Bay experience exemplifies what environmental philosopher Holmes Rolston III calls "transformative value"—encounters with nature that change how we perceive our place in the world. Visitors often report increased environmental awareness and commitment to conservation after witnessing the park's grandeur and learning about its fragile ecosystems facing climate change impacts.

Alaska Travel Tip: If you're planning a cruise to Alaska, a day in Glacier Bay is non-negotiable. It's the crown jewel of the Inside Passage. Book a cabin with a balcony, pack a good pair of binoculars, and prepare for a day you'll never forget. Just don't forget your jacket – even in July, standing next to a wall of ice gets chilly!

Ice Giants of Glacier Bay & The Journey to Anchorage

July 5-7, 2013 | Alaska Cruise & Road Trip

The Star of Glacier Bay: Margerie Glacier

After seeing the powerful Johns Hopkins Glacier, we sailed deeper into Tarr Inlet to meet the real celebrity of Glacier Bay: Margerie Glacier. This thing is the Hollywood A-lister of ice walls.

Intense blue coloration visible in crevasses and freshly calved faces of Margerie Glacier indicates dense, ancient ice with minimal air bubbles.

Margerie Glacier is what most people picture when they think of an Alaskan glacier: a towering, mile-wide wall of blue ice that drops straight into the sea. What you're seeing is just the tip of the iceberg – literally. About 150 feet of this glacier is hidden underwater.

The submerged portion of Margerie Glacier represents approximately 30-40% of its total height, with the exact proportion varying based on ice density (approximately 0.9 g/cm³) and seawater density (approximately 1.03 g/cm³). This buoyancy relationship follows Archimedes' principle, with the glacier's freshwater ice floating in denser saltwater. The underwater face experiences different melting processes, including submarine melting from relatively warm ocean currents.

This glacier has a cool backstory. It's named after French geographer and geologist Emmanuel de Margerie, who never actually visited Alaska. But his work was so important that they gave him a glacier anyway. Talk about remote recognition!

Emmanuel de Margerie (1862-1953) was a prominent French geologist who made significant contributions to tectonic theory and geological mapping. The glacier was named in 1912 by members of the National Geographic Society expeditions who respected his work on alpine glaciation. This practice of naming geographical features after distant scientists was common during the era of exploration as a way to honor contributors to geographical knowledge.

A composite panoramic image captures the full one-mile width of Margerie Glacier's terminal face, showing intricate patterns of ice flow and fracture.

Margerie Glacier starts its life 21 miles away on the slopes of Mount Root in the Fairweather Range. That's like the glacier commuting from the suburbs to work at the bay every day, moving at a glacial pace (sorry, had to). It's one of the few glaciers in the park that's remained relatively stable – not advancing quickly, not retreating much. Just chilling.

Margerie Glacier flows at approximately 3-6 feet per day, typical for a temperate tidewater glacier. Its relative stability results from a balanced mass budget—the amount of snow accumulation in its high-elevation source area roughly equals ice loss through melting and calving. This equilibrium distinguishes it from most glaciers in the park that are experiencing negative mass balance and rapid retreat due to regional warming trends.

The "Dirty" Neighbor: Grand Pacific Glacier

Right next to the pretty, blue Margerie is the Grand Pacific Glacier. If Margerie is the clean-cut movie star, Grand Pacific is the grumpy uncle who works in construction.

The heavily debris-covered surface of Grand Pacific Glacier appears almost indistinguishable from surrounding bedrock, while Margerie Glacier's clean ice shines brightly beside it.

Grand Pacific looks dirty because it's covered in rock debris – it's basically wearing its work clothes. This glacier is the real heavy lifter of Glacier Bay. It's the one that did most of the carving to create this incredible landscape over thousands of years.

The Grand Pacific Glacier transported enormous volumes of rock material during its advance phase, acting as a colossal conveyor belt moving bedrock from mountains to sea. During its maximum extent around 1750, it deposited terminal moraines that now form islands in the lower bay. The current debris cover represents both supraglacial material (on the surface) and englacial material (within the ice) that becomes exposed as surface ice melts.

Here's a cool fact: Grand Pacific Glacier actually starts in Canada! Its source is up near Mount Hay in the Saint Elias Mountains. So this glacier is an international traveler, crossing the border from Canada into Alaska. No passport needed for ice.

The glacier's accumulation zone lies within Tatshenshini-Alsek Provincial Park in British Columbia, part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site that crosses international boundaries. The ice flows across the border approximately 15 miles upstream from its terminus. This transboundary character presents unique management challenges, with both U.S. and Canadian agencies monitoring the glacier's behavior and its contributions to downstream ecosystems.

A wide panoramic view illustrates the immense scale of Grand Pacific Glacier as it fills the entire valley, with its surface resembling a rock-covered landscape rather than ice.

For most of history, Margerie and Grand Pacific were actually connected as one super-glacier. They only separated in 1992 when Grand Pacific retreated enough to create a gap. It's like a glacial divorce – they used to be together, now they're living separate icy lives.

Historical maps and photographs show the two glaciers joined as a single ice mass until the early 20th century. Their separation represents one of the most visible signs of glacial retreat in Glacier Bay. The gap between them has widened to over half a mile, with the newly exposed land undergoing primary ecological succession. Researchers monitor this area to study how plants, insects, and birds colonize recently deglaciated terrain.

Leaving the Ice Kingdom

As we sailed out of Tarr Inlet and back through Glacier Bay, we passed more glaciers – Lamplugh, Reid, Riggs, and McBride. At this point, we were getting what I call "glacier overload." Your brain can only process so much stunning icy beauty before it starts to short-circuit.

The succession of glaciers along the western arm of Glacier Bay represents different stages in the tidewater glacier cycle. Lamplugh Glacier (actively calving), Reid Glacier (retreated onto land), Riggs Glacier (small hanging glacier), and McBride Glacier (rapidly retreating) illustrate the diversity of glacial forms and behaviors within a relatively small geographic area. This variety provides visitors with a comprehensive understanding of glacial processes across different temporal and spatial scales.

Reid Glacier spills from a high cirque into a U-shaped valley, demonstrating classic alpine glacier morphology with prominent lateral moraines along its edges.

The scale of this place is mind-boggling. Glacier Bay National Park covers 3.3 million acres – that's bigger than the entire state of Connecticut! And most of it is wilderness you can only reach by boat or plane.

The park's vast wilderness character is protected through carefully managed access. Only two cruise ships per day are permitted to enter the bay during summer months, and backcountry travel requires permits and bear-resistant food containers. This management approach balances visitor experience with ecological protection, particularly for sensitive species like humpback whales, sea otters, and nesting birds that use the area extensively.

A Day at Sea: Glacier Bay to Seward

July 6, 2013

After leaving Glacier Bay, we had a full day sailing across the Gulf of Alaska to Seward. This is where the Inside Passage cruise ends and the open ocean begins. The water gets rougher, and you remember you're on a ship in the North Pacific.

The transition from protected Inside Passage waters to the open Gulf of Alaska represents a significant navigational change. The Gulf experiences stronger winds, larger swells, and more frequent fog due to the interaction of the Alaska Current with coastal topography. Ships typically increase speed during this crossing to maintain schedules, with the 400-mile journey from Glacier Bay to Seward taking approximately 24 hours at typical cruise ship speeds of 15-20 knots.

Sea days are cruise life at its most relaxed. No ports to rush to, no excursions to catch. Just eating, lounging, and trying not to get too competitive at bingo.

Cruise lines design sea days with extensive programming to engage passengers, including naturalist lectures about Alaska's ecosystems, cooking demonstrations featuring regional cuisine, art auctions, and various games and competitions. These days also allow for necessary ship operations like crew training, safety drills, and maintenance that cannot occur during port visits with passengers ashore.

The ship's main dining room prepares for final formal night with white linens, polished silverware, and elaborate floral centerpieces.

The final dinner on a cruise is always bittersweet. There's the fancy menu, the photographers snapping pictures, and the realization that tomorrow you'll have to cook your own food again. Our son handled the excitement by falling asleep at the table. Smart kid – he knew what was coming.

Cruise traditions on final nights often include special menus featuring Alaska seafood like king crab and wild salmon, farewell performances by crew members, and the ceremonial passing of tips to service staff. Many passengers experience "post-cruise letdown" after adapting to the pampered lifestyle of having meals prepared, rooms cleaned, and entertainment provided continuously throughout the voyage.

Hello, Seward! The End of the Cruise

July 7, 2013

Early morning found us docking in Seward, Alaska. If you look at a map, Seward is where the Inside Passage meets the "real" Alaska. It's a small town (population: about 2,800) with a big job: handling all the cruise ships that come through.

Seward's deep-water port remains ice-free year-round due to the moderating influence of the Alaska Current, making it an ideal cruise terminal despite its relatively remote location. The town serves as the northern turnaround point for most Gulf of Alaska cruise itineraries, with passengers either continuing north by land or flying from Anchorage. The cruise industry generates approximately $50 million annually for Seward's economy, supporting numerous local businesses.

The Seward small boat harbor bustles with fishing vessels while cruise ships occupy the larger docks at the north end of Resurrection Bay.

Seward is named after William H. Seward, the U.S. Secretary of State who negotiated the purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867. For $7.2 million, America got 586,412 square miles – about two cents an acre. People called it "Seward's Folly" at the time. Who's laughing now?

The Alaska Purchase, signed on March 30, 1867, transferred Russian America to the United States for $7.2 million gold (approximately $125 million in 2020 dollars). Critics dubbed it "Seward's Icebox" and "Johnson's Polar Bear Garden," but the strategic value became apparent during World War II and with subsequent resource discoveries. Seward the town was established in 1903 as an ocean terminal for the Alaska Central Railway, which eventually became the Alaska Railroad.

This little town is packed with history. It's Mile 0 of the historic Iditarod Trail – the 1,000-mile route to Nome that became famous for the Iditarod dog sled race. It's also the southern terminus of the Alaska Railroad and a major commercial fishing port.

The Iditarod Trail originated as a winter mail and supply route during Alaska's gold rush era. Seward served as the southern port for goods headed to interior mining camps. Today, the Iditarod National Historic Trail commemorates this history, though the modern Iditarod sled dog race actually starts in Anchorage, with Seward hosting various ceremonial events. The Alaska Railroad terminal connects Seward to Anchorage (127 miles) and Fairbanks (over 350 miles beyond), providing critical transportation for both freight and passengers.

A panoramic view captures Seward's industrial waterfront with the Alaska Railroad tracks running parallel to cruise ship docks beneath steep mountain slopes.

Disembarking from a cruise is always a strange experience. One minute you're in your floating hotel, the next you're standing on solid ground with all your luggage, trying to remember how to walk properly (land legs take a minute to kick in).

The phenomenon of "sea legs" occurs when the vestibular system adapts to constant ship motion. After several days at sea, passengers often experience temporary imbalance or dizziness when returning to stable ground, with symptoms typically resolving within a few hours. Cruise lines facilitate efficient disembarkation through color-coded luggage tags, staggered departure times, and coordinated transportation to airports or hotels.

Our son was particularly excited to get off the ship. I think he'd had enough of being cooped up and was ready to run around on something that didn't move.

Children often experience cruise travel differently than adults, with limited patience for extended viewing of scenery or participation in sedentary activities. Many family-oriented cruise lines offer extensive children's programming, but the confined spaces can still challenge young travelers accustomed to more physical activity. The opportunity to explore shoreside provides welcome relief for energetic children.

Road Trip! Seward to Anchorage via the Wildlife Center

With the cruise portion of our trip over, we picked up a rental car and hit the road. Our route would take us from Seward to Anchorage via one of Alaska's most scenic drives: the Seward Highway.

This road is consistently ranked as one of America's most beautiful highways, and for good reason. It winds along Turnagain Arm (named by Captain Cook, who had to "turn again" when he realized it wasn't the Northwest Passage), with mountains on one side and water on the other.

The Seward Highway (Alaska Route 1) was designated a National Forest Scenic Byway in 1989 and an All-American Road in 2000, the highest recognition in America's Byways program. The 127-mile route connects Seward with Anchorage, following glacial valleys and fjords while offering numerous pullouts for wildlife viewing and photography. The highway parallels the Alaska Railroad for much of its length, creating iconic scenes of trains running alongside the scenic waterway.

The Seward Highway follows the shoreline of Turnagain Arm, with dramatic tidal flats exposed during low water and steep mountain slopes rising directly from the water's edge.

Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center

About halfway between Seward and Anchorage, we stopped at the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center. This isn't a zoo – it's a sanctuary for animals that can't survive in the wild. Think of it as a retirement home for injured wildlife, with much better scenery.

The center sits in Portage Valley, right at the foot of the massive Portage Glacier. The location alone is worth the stop, but the animals are the real stars.

The Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center (AWCC) occupies 200 acres at the head of Turnagain Arm, where animals live in large, natural habitats rather than traditional cages. The center collaborates with state and federal agencies to provide lifetime care for orphaned, injured, and imprinted animals that cannot be released. Educational programs focus on Alaska's wildlife conservation challenges, with particular emphasis on species impacted by habitat loss, climate change, and human-wildlife conflicts.

Portage Valley's dramatic landscape features steep, forested slopes rising from the valley floor where the conservation center's habitats blend into natural surroundings.

The Conservation Center does important work. They've been instrumental in reintroducing wood bison to Alaska – animals that disappeared from the state for over 100 years. They also care for orphaned bear cubs, injured moose, and other animals that need help.

The wood bison reintroduction program represents one of North America's most ambitious wildlife restoration projects. AWCC maintained a breeding herd for over 20 years before releasing animals into the wild in 2015. The center also operates a comprehensive bear rehabilitation program, working with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to raise orphaned cubs with minimal human contact before returning them to natural habitats when possible.

For visitors, it's a chance to see Alaska's iconic wildlife up close in natural-looking habitats. After a week of seeing animals from a distance (or not at all), this was our opportunity to actually get a good look at moose, bears, bison, and more.

The center's design allows ethical wildlife viewing while minimizing stress to animals. Elevated walkways and viewing platforms provide sight lines into large enclosures that mimic natural habitats. Interpretive signage explains each animal's rescue story and the ecological role of their species in Alaska's ecosystems, creating educational experiences that complement rather than replace responsible wildlife viewing in natural settings.

The Seward Highway approaches Portage Valley, where hanging glaciers and waterfalls decorate the steep slopes of the Chugach Mountains.

After our visit, we continued north to Anchorage, Alaska's biggest city. The transition from wilderness to city is surprisingly abrupt. One minute you're in pristine mountain scenery, the next you're seeing traffic lights and fast food restaurants.

The Anchorage municipality encompasses 1,960 square miles (larger than Rhode Island), but the urban core occupies only a fraction of this area along Cook Inlet. The city's location at the edge of wilderness creates unique challenges, including frequent moose encounters in residential areas and the need for comprehensive bear awareness programs. Despite its relatively small population (approximately 290,000), Anchorage functions as Alaska's economic and transportation hub, with more than half the state's residents living within the metropolitan area.

Travel Tip: The Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center is a perfect stop if you're driving between Seward and Anchorage. It breaks up the 2.5-hour drive nicely, and you get to see animals you might have missed in the wild. Plus, it supports a great cause. Win-win!

Our Alaska cruise was officially over, but our Alaskan adventure was just shifting gears. From the slow pace of ship life to the freedom of the open road, we were ready to explore the Last Frontier on our own terms.

The transition from structured cruise itinerary to independent road travel represents a shift in travel philosophy. Cruise travel offers convenience and comprehensive exposure to coastal Alaska, while road travel provides flexibility, spontaneity, and deeper engagement with interior regions. Many visitors combine both approaches to experience Alaska's diverse geography and transportation networks.

We hopped on a shuttle bus to tour the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center - basically a wildlife rehab resort where injured animals get a second chance. Pretty cool concept, right?

This place sits right along the scenic Seward Highway between Seward and Anchorage, surrounded by those picture-perfect Alaskan mountains. The AWCC started back in 1993 and has been rescuing everything from orphaned bear cubs to eagles with wing injuries. They've got this awesome mission of conservation, education, and giving animals that can't survive in the wild a forever home.

A panoramic composite shows the conservation center's extensive habitats stretching across the valley floor with mountains rising dramatically on all sides.

Fun fact: Alaska has six times as many bald eagles as the rest of the United States combined! These birds were nearly wiped out in the 20th century due to pesticides, but thanks to conservation efforts, they made an incredible comeback. The AWCC plays a big role in this success story.

The bald eagle population in Alaska is estimated at 30,000 birds, compared to approximately 5,000 nesting pairs in the lower 48 states. The species' recovery represents one of America's greatest conservation successes, with removal from the Endangered Species List in 2007. AWCC contributes through rehabilitation of injured eagles, public education about threats like lead poisoning from spent ammunition, and advocacy for habitat protection along coastal areas critical for eagle nesting and foraging.

The AWCC visitor center features educational displays, a gift shop, and viewing areas overlooking some of the larger animal habitats.

Alaska's wildlife faces all kinds of challenges - habitat loss, climate change, and sometimes, unfortunately, human conflict. The conservation center's work is more important than ever as ecosystems change. They're not just treating individual animals; they're helping preserve species for future generations.

Climate change impacts in Alaska include permafrost thaw altering habitats, changing sea ice conditions affecting marine mammals, and shifting vegetation patterns influencing herbivore distributions. AWCC's research collaborations contribute to understanding these changes, while their education programs help visitors recognize their role in conservation through responsible wildlife viewing, sustainable practices, and support for protected areas.

We spotted bald eagles perched in trees throughout the center. These birds are absolute masters of the sky with wingspans up to 7 feet! In Native Alaskan cultures, eagles are considered sacred messengers between humans and the creator.

Bald eagles exhibit remarkable adaptations for their predatory lifestyle, including exceptional eyesight (4-8 times more acute than human vision), powerful talons capable of exerting 400 psi pressure, and lightweight skeletal structures that enable efficient flight. In Alaska Native traditions, eagle feathers are used in ceremonies and regalia, with strict federal regulations governing their collection and use to ensure cultural practices don't threaten wild populations.

A mature bald eagle surveys its surroundings from a elevated perch, displaying the distinctive white head and tail feathers of an adult bird approximately 5+ years old.

One heartbreaking story: There's a bald eagle named Adonis whose left wing had to be completely amputated because someone illegally shot him. Talk about a tough break. He can't fly anymore, but the center gives him a safe home. It's a sobering reminder of how human actions affect wildlife.

Adonis represents one of approximately 20 non-releasable eagles in AWCC's care. His story illustrates the ongoing challenges of wildlife protection, despite legal safeguards under the Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act (1940) and the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (1918). Education about such cases helps visitors understand the consequences of illegal shooting, poisoning, and other human-caused injuries that account for significant eagle mortality.

Adonis the bald eagle stands on an elevated platform in his enclosure, adapting to life with a missing wing through specialized care and modified perching structures.

A close portrait reveals Adonis's healing amputation site and intense gaze, highlighting both his vulnerability and enduring wild spirit.

Next up were rescued Great Horned Owls - also called Tiger owls or Hoot owls. These nocturnal predators were sleeping peacefully during our daytime visit. Their "horns" aren't actually ears but feather tufts! They're one of the most widespread owl species in North America.

Great Horned Owls (Bubo virginianus) occupy diverse habitats across Alaska, from coastal rainforests to boreal forests. Their feather tufts function in communication and camouflage rather than hearing. The owls at AWCC typically arrive with injuries from vehicle collisions or secondary poisoning from rodenticides. Their daytime roosting behavior allows visitors to observe these normally secretive birds, with educational displays explaining their exceptional hunting adaptations including silent flight and powerful talons.

Great Horned Owls are absolute ninjas of the night sky. They can fly almost silently thanks to specialized feathers that muffle sound. In Alaska Native folklore, owls are often seen as messengers or omens, and some cultures believe they carry the spirits of the deceased.

The owl's silent flight results from three specialized feather features: comb-like serrations on leading wing edges, velvety down on upper wing surfaces, and fringed trailing edges that break up turbulence. These adaptations allow them to hear prey while flying and approach undetected. In Alaska Native cultures, owl symbolism varies among groups: some view them as protective spirits, others as harbingers of change, with specific meanings differing between coastal and interior traditions.

A Great Horned Owl rests with eyes closed during daylight hours, its cryptic brown plumage providing excellent camouflage against tree bark.

Then we saw a Northern Cat (Lynx) - the only cat native to Alaska. These elusive creatures are built for snow with their huge, snowshoe-like paws. They're so stealthy that even researchers have trouble studying them in the wild!

The Canada lynx (Lynx canadensis) is specially adapted to deep snow environments, with disproportionately large paws that distribute weight like snowshoes. Their thick fur and long legs allow them to pursue snowshoe hares, their primary prey, through winter conditions that challenge other predators. AWCC's lynx typically arrive as orphaned kittens or animals injured in traps, with their elusive nature making them particularly challenging to rehabilitate for release.

The Canadian lynx (which is what Alaskan lynx are) has a fascinating predator-prey relationship with snowshoe hares. Their populations actually cycle together - more hares means more lynx, and vice versa. It's one of nature's classic ecological dances.

The lynx-hare population cycle represents one of ecology's most famous examples of predator-prey dynamics, with peaks occurring approximately every 10 years. During high hare populations, lynx reproduction increases, leading to population growth that eventually reduces hare numbers, subsequently causing lynx declines. This relationship has been studied for nearly a century in Alaska, providing fundamental insights into population ecology and the importance of long-term research in understanding ecosystem dynamics.

A lynx displays characteristic features including black-tufted ears, facial ruff, and substantial paws adapted for moving across deep snow.

The grizzly bear viewing was incredible - we got surprisingly close! Watching mama and baby bear was particularly delightful. Each grizzly needs about 40 salmon every day in summer to fatten up for winter hibernation. That's a lot of fish!

AWCC's bear habitats are designed with natural features like pools, logs, and vegetation to encourage species-typical behaviors. Viewing occurs from elevated walkways that provide safety while minimizing disturbance. The center's grizzlies include both coastal brown bears (the same species, Ursus arctos horribilis) and interior bears, with educational materials explaining differences in diet, size, and behavior between populations. The salmon consumption statistic refers specifically to coastal bears during peak spawning periods when they may consume up to 40 fish daily to accumulate fat reserves.

Grizzlies have an amazing sense of smell - about 2,100 times better than humans. They can detect food from miles away! During hibernation, they don't eat, drink, urinate, or defecate for up to 7 months. Their heart rate drops from 40-50 beats per minute to just 8-10.

Grizzly bear olfaction is among the most acute in the animal kingdom, with a nasal mucosa surface area 100 times larger than humans' relative to brain size. During hibernation, bears enter a state of metabolic suppression but maintain body temperature within 10-12°F of normal, unlike true hibernators. They recycle urea into protein, preventing muscle atrophy, and metabolize fat stores without developing atherosclerosis—adaptations with potential medical applications for human health.

A grizzly bear sow and her cub forage together in a large naturalistic enclosure with vegetation, water features, and enrichment items.

Deer, moose, elk, bison and muskox were everywhere around the center. We even got to watch caretakers feed some of them. Moose are actually the largest members of the deer family, and Alaska is home to about 200,000 of them!

AWCC maintains populations of ungulates (hoofed mammals) that represent Alaska's diverse herbivore community. Moose (Alces alces) numbers fluctuate with habitat conditions, predation, and winter severity, with the state managing populations through regulated hunting. The center's feeding demonstrations provide opportunities to observe natural foraging behaviors while explaining dietary adaptations, seasonal challenges, and conservation issues facing each species.

The muskox is particularly interesting - they're prehistoric-looking creatures that survived the last Ice Age. Their wool (called qiviut) is eight times warmer than sheep's wool and softer than cashmere. Native Alaskans have harvested it for centuries.

Muskoxen (Ovibos moschatus) are Pleistocene relics that survived in Arctic refugia during the last glaciation. Qiviut (Inupiaq for "down") is shed naturally each spring and collected from enclosures without harming animals. This sustainable harvest supports rural economies, with cooperatives like the Oomingmak Musk Ox Producers' Cooperative creating knitted goods that provide income for Alaska Native communities while maintaining cultural traditions connected to this iconic species.

A bull moose displays impressive antlers in velvet during summer growth phase, feeding on willow branches in a spacious enclosure.

There's a boardwalk next to the main building that offers spectacular views of the conservation center nestled in glaciated mountains. The surrounding Chugach Mountains contain some of the most accessible glaciers in North America.

The Portage Valley location provides dramatic scenery with multiple glaciers visible from the boardwalk, including Portage Glacier (retreated from view but accessible by boat) and several hanging glaciers on surrounding peaks. Interpretive panels explain glacial geology, plant succession on recently deglaciated terrain, and climate change impacts on local ice masses. The boardwalk's design incorporates universal accessibility principles, allowing visitors of all mobility levels to experience the landscape.

The geology here is mind-blowing. Those mountains were carved by glaciers over millions of years. The Conservation Center sits in a valley shaped by ice, and you can still see glacial features everywhere. It's like walking through a geology textbook!

Portage Valley exhibits classic glacial landforms including U-shaped valleys, hanging valleys with waterfalls, moraine deposits, and glacial polish on bedrock outcrops. The landscape continues to evolve through ongoing glaciation, with the 1964 earthquake having dramatically altered drainage patterns. AWCC's location provides living examples of geological processes that shaped not only this valley but much of Alaska's dramatic topography.

The elevated boardwalk provides panoramic views of animal habitats against a backdrop of steep mountain slopes with visible glacier ice at higher elevations.

1:00 PM

We left the Conservation Center by mid-afternoon and headed north toward Anchorage. It's about an hour's drive to our hotel near the airport. The Seward Highway along Turnagain Arm is considered one of the most scenic drives in America - keep your eyes peeled for beluga whales!

Turnagain Arm has some of the highest tides in North America (up to 40 feet!), and the "bore tide" phenomenon creates a wave that surfers actually ride. The area is named after Captain Cook who had to "turn again" when he realized it wasn't the Northwest Passage he was searching for.

Turnagain Arm experiences a tidal range exceeding 30 feet during spring tides, with the incoming tide sometimes forming a visible bore wave up to 6 feet high that travels at 10-15 mph. Beluga whales (Delphinapterus leucas) enter the arm to feed on salmon and eulachon during summer months, with the critically endangered Cook Inlet population numbering approximately 300 individuals. Captain James Cook explored the area in 1778 during his third voyage, naming it "River Turnagain" before recognizing it as an inlet.

Anchorage

July 8, 2013

Flattop Mountain

10:00 AM

Chugach State Park is located just half an hour east of downtown Anchorage. On clear days, the trailhead at Glen Alps provides panoramic views of Anchorage, surrounding mountains, and lakes. The 3-mile Blueberry Loop Trail climbs 1,500 feet to Flattop Mountain's peak.

Chugach State Park spans 495,000 acres immediately east of Anchorage, creating one of the world's most accessible wilderness interfaces. The Glen Alps trailhead sits at approximately 2,200 feet elevation, with the Flattop Mountain trail receiving an estimated 100,000 hikers annually. The "Blueberry Loop" name references abundant wild blueberries (Vaccinium spp.) that ripen in late summer, attracting both bears and human foragers.

Flattop Mountain is the most-climbed mountain in Alaska, and for good reason - it's accessible and the views are incredible. The trail has stairs made from railroad ties and a rocky stretch toward the top where you might need to use your hands. Don't worry, it's worth it!

Flattop Mountain (elevation 3,510 feet) serves as an introductory alpine experience for many Alaskans and visitors. The trail's popularity led to extensive erosion, necessitating the installation of railroad tie stairs and rock steps to protect vegetation and soils. The final scramble section requires basic climbing skills but remains within most able-bodied individuals' capabilities, with cables installed at the most challenging point to assist hikers.

Chugach State Park is one of the four largest state parks in the United States, covering almost half a million acres. The name "Chugach" comes from the Chugach people, Alaska Native Sugpiaq (Alutiiq) people who have lived here for thousands of years.

The Chugach people traditionally occupied coastal areas from Prince William Sound to the Kenai Peninsula, with their territory encompassing the park's southern regions. The park protects archaeological sites, traditional use areas, and subsistence resources while providing recreational opportunities. Management balances wilderness preservation with heavy public use through maintained trail systems, designated campgrounds, and educational programs about both natural and cultural history.

The Glen Alps trailhead features informational signage about trail conditions, wildlife safety, and park regulations before hikers ascend into alpine terrain.

The view from Flattop includes Cook Inlet, multiple mountain ranges, and on super clear days, you can see Denali (formerly Mount McKinley), North America's tallest peak. The mountain was formed by volcanic activity and glaciation over millions of years.

Flattop's summit provides a 360-degree panorama encompassing Cook Inlet, the Alaska Range (including Denali on exceptionally clear days), the Talkeetna Mountains, the Kenai Mountains, and the Chugach Mountains. The mountain itself consists of Jurassic-age sedimentary rocks that have been uplifted and glacially sculpted. The flat summit resulted from differential erosion of resistant sandstone layers over softer shale, creating the distinctive table-like form.

Fun fact: Anchorage has more miles of trails than roads, and the Flattop trail is where many locals get their mountain climbing start. In summer, you might spot wild blueberries along the trail - hence the name Blueberry Loop!

The Anchorage municipality maintains over 250 miles of trails within the urban area, with additional trails in Chugach State Park. This extensive network supports diverse recreational activities year-round. Blueberry picking represents a cherished late-summer tradition, with families combining hiking with foraging. Bears also rely on this seasonal food source, creating potential encounters that require hikers to maintain awareness and carry bear spray.

The summit view showcases Anchorage sprawled along Cook Inlet with multiple mountain ranges forming the horizon in all directions.

Point Woronzof Park

2:00 PM

Point Woronzof Park is famous for Denali views and northern lights in winter. The Tony Knowles Coastal Trail runs through it with spectacular views of the inlet and surrounding mountains. You can spot whales and watch jets land at the airport.

Point Woronzof occupies a bluff overlooking Cook Inlet, providing unobstructed views west toward the Alaska Range. The location's elevation and lack of light pollution make it popular for aurora viewing from August through April. The Tony Knowles Coastal Trail extends 11 miles from downtown Anchorage to Kincaid Park, passing through diverse habitats including coastal wetlands, birch forests, and bluff tops favored by photographers and wildlife observers.

The park is named after Russian naval officer Nikolai Rezanov's secretary, Nikolai Woronzof. Russian influence in Alaska lasted from 1741 to 1867, and many place names reflect this history. The coastal trail itself is named after Tony Knowles, Alaska's governor in the 1990s.

Nikolai Petrovich Rezanov (1764-1807) was a Russian nobleman and colonial administrator involved in the Russian-American Company. His secretary, for whom the point is named, participated in early explorations of Cook Inlet. The name preservation reflects Anchorage's acknowledgment of pre-American history. Tony Knowles served as Alaska's governor from 1994-2002 and advocated for trail development and coastal access during his administration.

Unfortunately, we got clouds and fog, so visibility wasn't great. But even on cloudy days, this spot has a wild, windswept beauty. The mudflats you see at low tide are actually dangerous "quick mud" that can trap people - so stay on the trails!

Cook Inlet's mudflats consist of fine glacial silt deposited by rivers draining from the Alaska Range. During low tide, this sediment forms unstable surfaces that can trap unwary walkers, with several fatalities occurring over the years. The area's extreme tidal range (up to 30 feet) creates rapidly changing conditions, with incoming tides potentially surrounding stranded individuals. Posted warnings and maintained trails help visitors appreciate the dramatic landscape safely.

Cloudy conditions obscure distant mountains but highlight the texture of exposed mudflats and the interface between urban development and wild coastline.

Anchorage is unique - it's a major city surrounded by pristine wilderness. Over half of Alaska's population lives here, but you're never far from moose, bears, or incredible outdoor adventures. Whether you're into wildlife viewing, hiking, fishing, or just soaking in dramatic landscapes, this area delivers big time.

Anchorage's urban-wildland interface creates both opportunities and challenges. The municipality maintains an extensive greenbelt system, wildlife corridors, and habitat protections while educating residents about coexistence with large mammals. This proximity to wilderness defines the city's character, with many residents engaging regularly in outdoor activities while supporting conservation measures that protect the natural amenities that make Anchorage distinctive.

From rescued eagles at the Conservation Center to mountain peaks in Chugach State Park, this part of Alaska shows both the challenges wildlife faces and the incredible efforts to protect it. It's a reminder that we're all part of these ecosystems, and conservation isn't just nice - it's essential.

The interconnected experiences from wildlife rehabilitation to protected area management illustrate comprehensive conservation approaches in Alaska. These efforts involve multiple stakeholders: government agencies, non-profit organizations, indigenous communities, scientists, and engaged citizens. Visitors witnessing these initiatives often become advocates for conservation in their own communities, extending the impact of Alaska's environmental stewardship beyond its borders.

DENALI

July 9 - 10, 2013

Welcome to Denali National Park and Preserve - where "wild" takes on a whole new meaning. Six million acres of wilderness (one million of which are glaciers!), taiga forests, tundra, and North America's tallest peak. This place isn't just a park; it's an experience that rearranges your soul.

Denali National Park and Preserve encompasses 6 million acres (larger than Massachusetts) at the intersection of the Alaska and Talkeetna mountain ranges. The park's mission emphasizes preserving intact ecosystems with naturally functioning processes, including natural wildfire regimes, predator-prey dynamics, and unmanipulated wildlife populations. This wilderness philosophy distinguishes Denali from parks where more active management occurs, creating a landscape where human visitors are temporary observers rather than central actors.

Denali (formerly Mount McKinley) stands at 20,310 feet - but locals just call it "The Mountain." On a clear day, you can see it from Anchorage, 130 miles away! But here's the thing about Denali: it creates its own weather, so only about 30% of visitors actually get to see the full mountain. The rest of us get dramatic clouds and still-epic views.

Denali's extreme elevation creates its own microclimate, with weather systems often obscuring the peak even when surrounding areas are clear. The mountain's vertical relief (approximately 18,000 feet from base to summit) exceeds that of Mount Everest, creating orographic precipitation and turbulent winds. Historically, the mountain was known as Denali ("the high one" in Koyukon Athabascan) for thousands of years before being named McKinley in 1896. The official name reversion to Denali occurred in 2015 through administrative action after decades of legislative attempts.

The park entrance sign welcomes visitors to a wilderness where natural processes dominate and human infrastructure is intentionally limited.

Here's a fun history fact: The mountain was officially renamed Denali in 2015, but Alaska Natives had called it that for thousands of years. "Denali" comes from the Koyukon Athabaskan language and means "the tall one" or "the high one." Pretty accurate description for a mountain that rises 18,000 feet from base to summit (more than Everest!)

The name restoration culminated a 40-year effort by Alaska Native groups and the state of Alaska. The Koyukon people of the interior have oral traditions referencing Denali dating back generations, with the mountain holding spiritual significance in their worldview. The change recognized indigenous place names as valid geographical designations while acknowledging the mountain's importance to multiple Alaska Native cultures beyond just the Koyukon.

Expansive tundra landscapes characterize much of Denali's accessible terrain, with low-growing vegetation adapted to short growing seasons and harsh conditions.

The park is bigger than the state of Massachusetts! It's home to grizzly bears, moose, caribou, Dall sheep, and wolves roaming free. The landscape changes from boreal forest at lower elevations to alpine tundra higher up, and finally to glaciers and snowfields. You're literally watching ecosystems change before your eyes.

Denali's elevational gradient creates distinct ecological zones within relatively short distances. The taiga (boreal forest) between 1,000-2,500 feet features white and black spruce with permafrost underlying poorly drained areas. The subalpine zone (2,500-3,500 feet) transitions to shrub tundra dominated by dwarf birch and willow. Above 3,500 feet, alpine tundra prevails with mosses, lichens, and hardy flowering plants adapted to extreme conditions. These zones support different wildlife communities and exhibit varying responses to climate change.

Autumn arrives early at Denali's latitude, with tundra vegetation turning vibrant reds and golds in late August and September before winter snows arrive.

Visitors play a real-life game of "Where's Waldo?" looking for the "big five" wildlife: moose, caribou, Dall sheep, wolves, and grizzly bears. Pro tip: Bring binoculars! These animals blend perfectly into the landscape. And remember, we're in their home - respect their space and never approach wildlife.

The "Denali Big Five" concept encourages observational skills while emphasizing ethical wildlife viewing. Park regulations require maintaining at least 300 yards from bears and 25 yards from other wildlife. The park's wolf population has been intensively studied since the 1930s, providing foundational knowledge about wolf ecology and pack dynamics. Recent declines in the Denali wolf population have prompted management debates about trapping boundaries and conservation priorities beyond park borders.

Human history here goes back at least 11,000 years! Alaska Natives have lived in and around the Denali region for millennia, with archaeological sites showing evidence of hunting camps and settlements. The park protects not just wildlife, but this deep human history too.

Archaeological evidence indicates human presence dating to the Paleo-Arctic tradition, with sites along the Teklanika River containing microblades and bone tools. More recently, Athabascan groups used the area for seasonal hunting and resource gathering. The park's cultural resources program documents both prehistoric sites and historic-era structures like mining cabins and roadhouses, preserving evidence of human adaptation to this challenging environment across time.

Braided glacial rivers crisscross the park's valleys, their constantly shifting channels creating dynamic habitats and presenting challenges for both wildlife and human travel.

Here's the quirky part about Denali: you can't just drive through it. There's only one road - a narrow, mostly unpaved 92-mile ribbon called the Denali Park Road - and private vehicles can only go the first 15 miles. Beyond that, you need to take a park bus. It might sound inconvenient, but it's actually genius for preserving the wilderness experience.

The Denali Park Road represents a carefully managed access corridor through wilderness. Private vehicle restrictions beyond Savage River (mile 15) reduce traffic, wildlife disturbance, and roadside vegetation damage. The bus system (transit and narrated tours) provides transportation while minimizing the park's carbon footprint and infrastructure development. This model has been studied by other parks seeking to balance access and preservation, though it requires significant visitor planning and flexibility.

The bus system creates this amazing community vibe. You're all in it together, scanning for wildlife, gasping at views, and sharing binoculars. There are different options: narrated tours, non-narrated transit buses (cheaper!), and even hop-on, hop-off options for hikers.

Denali's bus system accommodates diverse visitor interests through multiple service types. Narrated tours (Tundra Wilderness, Natural History) provide interpretation and guaranteed wildlife stops. Non-narrated transit buses offer economical transportation for independent travelers, with hop-off privileges for backcountry access. The system's design encourages spontaneous interactions among passengers from different backgrounds, creating temporary communities united by shared wilderness experiences.

A bull moose feeds on willows near the park road, demonstrating how wildlife often ignores buses that maintain proper distances while reacting to private vehicles.

Let's talk about the wildlife you might see. Grizzly bears here have huge home ranges - up to 500 square miles! They're smaller than coastal brown bears (no salmon buffets here) but still impressive. Moose? They're everywhere. Caribou migrate through in herds of thousands. And wolves... well, you're lucky if you see them. They're the park's ghosts.

Interior grizzly bears in Denali have home ranges averaging 100-300 square miles for females and up to 500 square miles for males, reflecting the lower food density compared to coastal areas. The park's caribou herd (Denali Herd) numbers approximately 2,000-3,000 animals and migrates between calving grounds and wintering areas. Wolf sightings have declined in recent years due to population decreases, with current estimates around 50 wolves in 6-7 packs. Each species' visibility follows seasonal patterns influenced by vegetation, prey movements, and reproductive cycles.

Dall sheep are the white dots you see on mountainsides. Their hooves have rubber-like pads that grip rock better than your best hiking boots. They can climb slopes so steep they look like they're defying gravity. It's like watching a nature documentary, but you're actually there.

Dall sheep (Ovis dalli) possess specialized hooves with hard outer rims and soft, rubbery centers that conform to irregular surfaces, providing exceptional traction. Their high-elevation habitat offers protection from predators while exposing them to harsh weather and limited forage. The Polychrome Pass area is particularly renowned for sheep viewing, with animals often visible on steep slopes adjacent to the park road. Research on Denali's sheep population has contributed to understanding mountain ungulate ecology for over 50 years.

A grizzly bear moves through autumn tundra, its fur highlighted against golden vegetation during the pre-hibernation foraging period.

The park's ecosystem is delicate but resilient. Permafrost (permanently frozen ground) lies just below the surface in many areas. Climate change is causing it to thaw, which changes everything - drainage patterns, vegetation, even the stability of the ground. Visiting Denali isn't just about seeing pretty scenery; it's witnessing an ecosystem in flux.

Approximately 75% of Denali sits atop continuous permafrost, with warming temperatures causing active layer thickening and thermokarst formation. These changes alter hydrology, increase erosion, and release stored carbon. The park serves as a sentinel for climate impacts in high-latitude ecosystems, with long-term monitoring programs tracking vegetation shifts, glacial retreat, and wildlife responses. Visitors observing these changes become witnesses to planetary-scale processes with local manifestations.

A designated scenic overlook provides safe parking for buses and private vehicles to appreciate expansive views without roadside congestion.

For lunch, we stopped at Prospector's Pizzeria and Alehouse at Mile 238.5 on the Parks Highway. After days of trail mix and sandwiches, pizza tasted like heaven. The place has that perfect Alaskan vibe - rustic, friendly, and filled with people sharing wildlife stories.

Prospector's represents the commercial services that have developed around Denali to accommodate park visitors. These establishments provide essential amenities while employing seasonal workers from around the world. The "Alaska vibe" often includes recycled building materials, local artwork, and menus featuring Alaska-grown products when available. Such businesses face challenges of short operating seasons, remote supply chains, and competition for seasonal labor.

Fun fact: Alaska has more pilots per capita than any other state, and many Denali visitors fly in for glacier landings or aerial tours. The park's vastness is hard to grasp from the ground - from the air, you really see how enormous and wild this place is.

Alaska has approximately 8,600 active pilots and 10,000 registered aircraft, with aviation serving as essential transportation in roadless areas. Flightseeing tours from nearby Healy or Talkeetna provide perspectives impossible from ground level, including close views of the mountain's massive south face and Kahiltna Glacier. These operations require specialized mountain flying skills and careful coordination with park managers to minimize noise impacts on wilderness experiences.

Prospector's Pizzeria features log construction typical of Denali-area businesses, with outdoor seating popular during mild summer evenings.

Denali Highway and Fairbanks

July 10, 2013

From Denali National Park, we drove part of the Denali Highway (Alaska Highway 8), which regularly tops "world's most scenic drives" lists. This 135-mile gravel road connects the Parks Highway with the Richardson Highway, and it's pure wilderness adventure.

The Denali Highway opened in 1957 as the original access route to Denali National Park before the Parks Highway completion in 1971. Today, only the eastern 21 miles are paved, with the remaining 114 miles maintained as gravel road suitable for most vehicles in dry conditions. The road traverses terrain too rugged for railway construction, following traditional Athabascan trails through the Alaska Range foothills with minimal services and cell coverage.

The Denali Highway opened in 1957 and was the original access route to Denali National Park until the Parks Highway opened in 1971. Today, it's mostly used by adventurers, fishermen, and those seeking real Alaska wilderness. Most of it is gravel, services are sparse, and cell service is non-existent. Perfect!

The highway's character appeals to travelers seeking solitude and self-reliance. Limited services mean travelers must carry adequate fuel, food, water, and emergency supplies. This self-sufficiency requirement filters for experienced wilderness travelers, maintaining the road's reputation as an adventure route rather than a conventional tourist corridor. The scarcity of development preserves dark skies, quiet, and wildlife viewing opportunities increasingly rare along more traveled routes.

The Denali Highway offers unobstructed views across expansive valleys toward the Alaska Range, with the road itself becoming part of the scenic composition.

This drive is like being in a nature documentary with you as the narrator. The landscape changes constantly: boreal forests, tundra, river valleys, mountain passes. You'll see more wildlife than people. We spotted caribou, moose, and countless birds. And the views of the Alaska Range? Absolutely spectacular.

The transect from boreal forest to alpine tundra occurs within a 30-mile span, showcasing rapid ecological transitions. Wildlife sightings frequently include caribou from the Denali and Maclaren herds, moose, Dall sheep on distant slopes, and occasionally wolves or bears. The scarcity of traffic allows animals to use the road corridor more freely than on busier highways, though travelers should avoid disturbing wildlife and be prepared for sudden animal crossings.

The highway passes through traditional lands of the Ahtna and Dena'ina Athabascan people. For thousands of years, they've used these routes for hunting, fishing, and trading. Today, subsistence hunting and fishing continue, maintaining cultural traditions and connection to the land.

The Ahtna people's territory encompasses much of the highway's eastern portion, while Dena'ina lands include areas to the south. Traditional use continues through federally-protected subsistence rights, with families harvesting caribou, moose, fish, and berries according to seasonal cycles. This ongoing relationship contrasts with recreational use, emphasizing sustenance and cultural continuity rather than scenic appreciation alone. Respect for subsistence activities requires travelers to avoid干扰 hunting camps or fishing sites.

The Alaska Range dominates the horizon along much of the Denali Highway, with individual peaks like Mount Hayes (13,832 ft) visible on clear days.

Driving tips: Fill your gas tank, bring spare tires (gravel roads love eating tires), pack food and water, and go slow. This isn't a race - it's an experience. Stop often, take photos, breathe the clean air, and just absorb the sheer scale of Alaska.

Practical considerations for Denali Highway travel include carrying two spare tires (gravel can cause sidewall damage), using headlights at all times for visibility to other vehicles in dust clouds, and maintaining moderate speeds to avoid windshield damage from flying rocks. The road's condition varies with weather, with spring breakup (May) and fall rains creating challenging muddy conditions. Checking with the Alaska Department of Transportation for current conditions is essential before departure.

We turned around partway and headed to Fairbanks for our final night. Fairbanks is Alaska's second-largest city (but still feels like a big town) and the gateway to the Arctic. It's famous for the midnight sun in summer, northern lights in winter, and being the end of the Alaska Highway.

Fairbanks (population approximately 32,000) serves as the commercial center for interior Alaska and the hub for Arctic transportation and research. Located at 64.8°N latitude, the city experiences extreme seasonal light variation: 24-hour daylight at summer solstice and less than 4 hours of daylight at winter solstice. The University of Alaska Fairbanks hosts leading Arctic research programs, while the city's location at mile 1,523 of the Alaska Highway marks the northern terminus of this iconic road.

Numerous lakes and ponds dot the tundra landscape along the Denali Highway, providing habitat for waterfowl and reflecting spectacular mountain vistas.

Fairbanks has this wonderful contrast of frontier spirit and modern comfort. You can visit gold rush historic sites, soak in natural hot springs, see the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, and eat at surprisingly good restaurants. In summer, the sun barely sets - we're talking 24 hours of daylight. It messes with your sleep but creates magical, golden-hour light all day long.

Fairbanks preserves its gold rush history at sites like the El Dorado Gold Mine and Gold Dredge 8, while offering modern amenities including the University of Alaska Museum of the North and world-class aurora viewing. The Chena Hot Springs Resort, 60 miles northeast, provides geothermal soaking amidst northern lights displays. The Trans-Alaska Pipeline Viewpoint showcases the engineering marvel that transports oil 800 miles from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, representing both Alaska's economic foundation and ongoing environmental debates.

We stayed at a cute B&B that felt like coming home. The owner shared stories of Fairbanks winters (think -40°F and northern lights dancing overhead) and summer gardening in the midnight sun. Alaska attracts interesting people with amazing stories.

Fairbanks bed-and-breakfasts often feature personalized hospitality reflecting owners' diverse backgrounds: former park rangers, retired teachers, artists, and adventurers drawn north by Alaska's unique lifestyle. Their stories capture the reality of interior living—extreme cold, spectacular auroras, mosquito-filled summers, and the community resilience that develops in remote regions. These personal connections transform tourist accommodations into cultural exchanges.

Tundra vegetation prepares for winter, with ground cover turning crimson while distant peaks receive early season snow in late summer.

Looking back on our Alaska journey: from coastal rainforests to towering mountains, from calving glaciers to wildlife encounters, from charming towns to vast wilderness. Alaska doesn't just show you scenery; it shows you scale. It reminds you how small we are and how big the world is.

The cumulative effect of Alaska's landscapes operates on psychological as well as visual levels. Research in environmental psychology suggests that experiences of "vastness" can induce awe, which in turn promotes prosocial behavior and environmental concern. Alaska's scale—both geographical and temporal (glacial time, geological time)—challenges human-centered perspectives, potentially fostering more humble relationships with natural systems.

Final thoughts: Alaska changes you. It's not always comfortable (mosquitoes, rain, long drives), but it's always rewarding. It teaches patience (weather rules everything), respect (for nature and wildlife), and wonder (there's always something amazing around the next bend).

The "Alaska effect" reported by many visitors involves both immediate experiences and lasting changes in perspective. Challenges like weather delays, insect harassment, and physical demands become part of the narrative, distinguishing authentic travel from curated tourism. These difficulties often generate the most memorable stories and deepest appreciations, creating connections to place that transcend conventional vacation experiences.

Would we go back? In a heartbeat. There's so much more to see: the Arctic, the Aleutians, the Inside Passage... Alaska isn't a trip you check off a list. It's a place that gets in your blood and calls you back.

Alaska's regional diversity ensures that return visits offer completely new experiences: Arctic tundra ecosystems, Aleutian volcanic landscapes, Southeast Alaska's island communities, or western Alaska's Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta. Each region possesses distinct cultures, histories, and natural environments that reward dedicated exploration. This diversity, combined with seasonal variations and changing conditions, means that Alaska remains essentially inexhaustible for those willing to engage deeply with its complexities.

A parting view captures the essence of Alaska's wilderness: expansive, unpeopled, and fundamentally untamed despite human presence at its margins.

The End. (But really, just the beginning of planning your next Alaska adventure!)

As this journey concludes, the invitation to further exploration remains. Alaska rewards those who approach with curiosity, preparedness, and respect. Whether returning to familiar places or discovering new regions, each visit deepens understanding of this complex land and its place in both natural systems and human imagination. The true "end" of an Alaska journey is often the start of lifelong engagement with northern landscapes, conservation issues, and the personal transformations that wilderness can inspire.

(Note: we return to Alaska, in the winter, close to the North Pole, at the northern end of the United States. That story: Utqiaġvik (Barrow), Alaska: Spending a Week of Polar Night at Arctic Winter Wonderland Next to North Pole)