Day 9 -- Harding Icefield Trail

 A week and a half ago, as we were packing for our trip to Alaska, Keith was grumbling about all the items on his packing list: Long underwear? Fleece? Rain pants? Insulated jacket? And a mosquito net?! 

Well, mister, man cannot live on dri-fit triathlon t-shirts alone.  At least not in Alaska. So far on this trip, we have worn every piece of clothing that we packed. Today alone, each one of us went from shorts and a t-shirt to long johns, wool socks, hat, gloves, puffy jacket and full rain suit — and everything in between. 

We set out this morning to hike the Harding Icefield Trail, a 8.2-mile round trip starting and ending at the Exit Glacier Nature Center, a few miles outside of Seward. The trail climbs about 1,000 feet in elevation with each mile, until it reaches the edge of the Harding Icefield, a 300-square-mile expanse of snow and ice that spawns about 40 glaciers. It is one of only four ice fields in the U.S., and the largest one contained entirely within this country. 

We were completely prepared for a strenuous slog up the mountain — maybe too prepared. We started off clad in long underwear, insulating layers and rain gear. Twenty minutes into the hike, we were already overheating, and we shed almost all of that. Clare even zipped off her convertible pants. The thick forest canopy near the base of the mountain seemed to shield us from the on-and-off drizzle, but by the time we got above the tree line, at about mile 2.5, our clothes were pretty damp — from both rain and sweat. At that point, too, we were exposed to the cold wind coming off the glacier just below us, so we started putting the layers back on.

Those first two and a half miles of grueling work paid off. The rest of the hike — crowning cliffs overlooking the Exit Glacier, then cutting through mountainside meadows filled with heather and finally trudging across fields of snow until we got to the end of the trail — treated us to some of the most awesome views I have ever seen. 

The Exit Glacier (behind the kids) spills out from the Harding Icefield. 

Less than a mile before the end of the trail, there’s a small emergency hut perched on the mountaintop, and we paused there briefly for shelter from the wind and the rain — by that time it was pelting sleet. We considered it a victory to have gotten that far. But we weren’t ready to quit. We pressed on to the end of the trail — a final rocky outcropping before the landscape dissolves into one vast, mighty, barren wilderness of ice and snow as far as the eye can see. The view from the edge is absolutely staggering.

On our way back down the mountain, past the fields of snow, below the cliffs, as we approached the treeline, we came upon a black bear foraging in the bushes just off the trail ahead of us. We stopped and warily watched him, chatting and singing and clanging our metal water bottles together to make sure he knew we were there. But he was unfazed, and slowly moved in our direction as he kept on nosing about for his food. Even when Keith used his louder angry voice, the bear ignored him. We couldn’t go around the bear, because he was right next to the path. So, when he got too close for comfort — about 50 feet away from us — we left the path and bushwhacked down the mountain to the next switchback, safely out of Bear’s way.

 

Eight hours after we started, we stumbled back through the parking lot — wet, muddy, exhausted and sore. We went straight to the Resurrection Roadhouse, a nice restaurant just down the road, and the kind staff there — who are familiar with the rigors of the Harding Icefield Trail -- welcomed us in, despite our bedraggled appearance.

(Mom, our server at the restaurant is from Lino Lakes, and she went to Centennial!)

After dinner, we found our way through the outskirts of Seward to a quiet neighborhood where a young family keeps a tidy little cabin — called Annika’s Guesthouse — in their backyard. This is where we’ll be staying for the next two nights. We are completely charmed by this comfortable, adorable Swedish cottage — all blonde wood and fresh flowers and fluffy duvets. The propietor, Binget Nilsson, has even left us a fresh loaf of sweet bread. There is a toasty gas stove in the corner, where we are drying off our hats and gloves. And my shower tonight ranked toward the top of my list of Best. Shower. Ever.

Sorry. iPhoto on my computer is fried, and I have no idea how to rotate this photo in the blogger program.