The morning dawned with clearing skies. It was the kind of morning where everything was crisp and cool and clean, with gray mist shifting over the dark mountainsides. The Kenai Lake, just downstream from Primrose Campground where I stayed the wet, rainy night before, was glassy, with nary a ripple to mar its mirror-like surface.
 |
| Near Primrose Campground: the shores of Kenai Lake |
Morning contemplations
You can just barely see it in the picture above, but the lake has a faint teal tinge. This murky but lovely color is from glacial flour. If this were the Canadian Rockies, which are primarily made up of limestone, the turquoise color would be much more intense, but here the rocks are primarily shale, sandstone and granite, so the color is fainter.Where possible, we used to do "hillside geology" by sitting across a valley and doing a rough trace of the rocks by observing vegetation changes (always field checked afterwards, of course). Here, you can get a good idea of the rock composition by noting the color of the rivers and lakes! For instance the Coal River is aptly named, being relatively dark gray. It's source is from a glacier that is grinding its way through primarily black shales, thus the water, with its high sediment load, is also gray.
 |
| What do you see in this wood? |
Ravens cawed, too, and a magpie's tuxedo feathers flashed in the distance. It started to rain, just very lightly, like the delicate mist from an aerator, while the clouds swirled overhead.
I turned around, and a rainbow was developing right above me! It got more and more intense as the minutes went on.
 |
| Unbelivably intense, bright full rainbow. |
 |
| Rainbow above Primrose Creek |
Simply glorious.
It lasted long enough for me to get another picture, this time with Primrose Creek in the foreground. Can you see the faint tinge of turquoise in the water? It's glacially derived from Mt Adair and an unnamed glacier on an unnamed mountain just to the south. I'd go out on a limb and surmise that there is some component of CaCO3 in those rocks!
I've looked for a geology paper on this area, and did find a very fine road log, but it doesn't go into great detail. Nonetheless, it's a good overview resource.
It hardly seemed possible that there were only a couple of other people in the campground, and one other motor home in the day use parking area.
I imagine that in the summer this is heavily used, but then, I thought that the campgrounds outside of Fairbanks would have been heavily used on a Saturday night in August, and they weren't so what do I know?
As it was, it was delightful to share this moment with the kingfisher and no humans, as everyone else was inside their RVs, and missed it completely.
It's one of the reasons I'm more than happy to let it rain, and keep outside as much as possible. One last look at the mountains behind the lake. It looks like a painting; maybe I'll paint it one day!
 |
| Fall colors at Kenai Lake |
Exit Glacier
With the clearing weather, it seemed like it would be good to give the area around Seward another try. That's the really good thing about my very loose schedule: if things aren't good one day, they might be good on another.
There's a life lesson there...
Exit Glacier is cool because it's one of the few glaciers you can hike to. Sort of. Because of the rapid retreat, conditions at the toe are constantly changing, with unstable ice and roaring meltwater issuing from the base of the glacier. Because the ice is unstable, you really can't go and kick it, but since I didn't want to do that, this day's excursion was just fine!
It's hard to remember when you look at this glacier that the ice is actually MOVING! We understand that the water under the glacier is moving — we can see that. The ice is flowing on a time scale that we can't quite comprehend, so we tend to be alarmed when ice falls from it. Of course, we shouldn't: geologically speaking, glaciers move much more quickly than soil creep, but we're so focused on our own viewpoint, we forget about the long view of things.
Another life lesson there!
Of course, the glaciers here used to be a lot bigger, deeper and longer, and Exit Glacier is a prime example of this. All along the approach road, there are signs showing where the toe of the glacier was during the past 150 years.
For the most part, as in the rest of the world, Alaskan glaciers are just hanging on. They are melting, like the Wicked Witch of the West when Dorothy threw the water on her. You can almost hear them wailing, "I'm melting..."
There is a small visitor center here; it seems I can always learn something. For instance, I honestly thought "ice worms" were like mythical snipes, but they actually do exist. They are related to earthworms, but are even tinier, looking like little black threads on the white ice. Snow buntings like to eat them! More cool facts about ice worms.
The trail to the toe is a good one, well maintained, and even though it had rained the night before it wasn't too muddy. Of course, this trail is trammeled by many visitors, so it has to be good!
There were all sorts of people visiting: Asian tourists stereotypically loaded with cameras, from DSLRs to tablets; retired folks in plaid flannel shirts and Goretex jackets; energetic singles, both men and women; and one group of two obese women who were hobbling along the trail, one with a cane. They were moving slowly, but I certainly applaud their attitude and fortitude!
I met a couple of rangers along the trail. One was stopping to enjoy the view, and we chatted a bit. He was wondering about the sandhills. He said, "I usually see them fly through the valley about now," but thought that, since it was "already September 15," maybe he'd missed them. I was able to report that I'd seen a large flock in Palmer, just a few days ago.
There actually was a new letterbox along this trail, and I had to wait for the "muggles" to pass by before I could retrieve it. It was my first "first find," as the box had just been planted. How cool is that?
The weather was so fine and I was feeling so great that I decided to hike up at least the first mile or so on the Harding Icefield Trail. This is a "strenuous" trail that is over eight miles round trip, and they advise allowing 6-8 hours for the jaunt. I knew I couldn't do the whole thing, as it was already early afternoon, and I hadn't really prepared for a long hike (water, food, etc.). But I was feeling great, the weather looked like it was going to hold, so I decided to hike as far as I felt good about.
I did pretty well, but... I did feel the 1,000 foot climb, and I was moving a little gingerly since I had fallen the day before, and (silly me) since I hadn't really planned on doing this, I hadn't brought my hiking poles.
Don't get me wrong, it was a fine hike, but the last hike I took with even half this elevation gain was at Angel Rocks with Fran, and this was twice that vertical gain and pretty challenging. There were even places along the trail that necessitated handholds, and I'm no spring goat.
I didn't have the poles, but upon reflection, the trail was so steep and rocky that I'm not sure they would have really been all that useful.
I went up to the point at which I could see the glacier and then decided I didn't need to go any further. I'd gotten the impressive views of the valley and the glacier, and didn't think I needed to do any more.
Besides, its always good to leave something to bring you back, and next time I'll be more prepared.
On the way down, I met a few more people coming up. (In all honesty, a number of people passed me on the way up, too. There were a couple of gals talking loudly to each other about vodka shots, and another nice gal in purple who asked me if I went all the way to the top (I replied, "No, got too late a start.") But ALL of them were 20- and 30-somethings. I don't think there was anyone over 40 (except me) on that trail. So even though I was slow, I was there!)
There were glaciers everywhere. Rushing water, no animals, other than some traces of squirrels, and some possible "sheep dots" or "mountain goat dots" on a far hillside. Unfortunately, I hadn't brought binoculars on this jaunt, either, since I thought I was going to be looking at things that were close, not far away!
Apparently nobody else that I met on the trail had brought them either, so whether they were white mountain goats or Dall sheep, or merely blocks of snow, as one girl suggested (I really don't think it was snow with legs), we'll never really know.
But there were reports of mountain goats above the visitor center, and it's totally mountain goat territory, so I'm just going to think that they were, indeed, mountain goats.
Even though I normally prefer loop trails, so that you don't see the same thing on the way back, this was a great trail to take. On the way up, I was moving slowly, so most of my attention was focussed on my feet, with occasional stops to catch my breath and enjoy the scenery as I got higher and higher.
On the way down, I still have to watch my feet, but it's much more relaxing, and since it's going another way, I can see things that are different. And light is different, and the clouds, so it's never boring or repetitive.
It would be good to do this every day — I might actually get in shape then! My knees felt it a bit the next day, but it was a good kind of tired, not painful.
Back down at the bottom, I got some lunch (pretty hungry by this time), and retrieved my NP passport from the car, because there was another passport stamp at this visitor center, too (for "Exit Glacier" — remember what I said earlier about every visitor center having a stamp?). While there, I saw the gal in purple that I'd seen and talked briefly with on the trail. She was talking with the rangers, and gesticulating rather wildly. Turned out she was making out a bear report, and had seen a bear and cub just up the trail from where we'd met! All turned out well, but the encounter had shaken her up a bit.
This renewed my resolve to sing loudly and badly when hiking alone, especially in brushy areas where you can't see far ahead, or around a bend. Perhaps because people are more used to seeing bears (and because bears aren't as used to humans), the authorities don't appear to be quite as emphatic about bear management. But on the other hand, they're putting out warnings, but aren't fear-mongering. There in very much a sense that each person should be responsible for themselves. They give the information (I've seen dated "bear sighting" signs on trailhead hiker boards); you get to decide how you want to heed the information. 'Nuf said.
There was one more letterbox to find near the parking lot, and I was pleased to find it, as it was certainly indicative of the area.
I'm very intrigued by the Tlingit / Haida style of artwork, and this was a very fine example. I'd like to try my hand at it, although it's so far from the realism that I've striven far to date, that I'm nervous about even attempting something like this.
You also have to KNOW what a fish looks like in the first place, in order to do an interpretation. I guess I need to go find some fish. Or other animals.
It had been a marvelous, awe-inspiring day. I am so lucky to be here and see everything that I can. This earth is filled with such beauty, and I appreciate it every single day.
There's a life lesson there...
 |
| Exit Glacier spills down the valley it's carved for itself |
 |
| Exit Glacier reflected in a small pool |
It's hard to remember when you look at this glacier that the ice is actually MOVING! We understand that the water under the glacier is moving — we can see that. The ice is flowing on a time scale that we can't quite comprehend, so we tend to be alarmed when ice falls from it. Of course, we shouldn't: geologically speaking, glaciers move much more quickly than soil creep, but we're so focused on our own viewpoint, we forget about the long view of things.
Another life lesson there!
Of course, the glaciers here used to be a lot bigger, deeper and longer, and Exit Glacier is a prime example of this. All along the approach road, there are signs showing where the toe of the glacier was during the past 150 years.
For the most part, as in the rest of the world, Alaskan glaciers are just hanging on. They are melting, like the Wicked Witch of the West when Dorothy threw the water on her. You can almost hear them wailing, "I'm melting..."
There is a small visitor center here; it seems I can always learn something. For instance, I honestly thought "ice worms" were like mythical snipes, but they actually do exist. They are related to earthworms, but are even tinier, looking like little black threads on the white ice. Snow buntings like to eat them! More cool facts about ice worms.
 |
| The mouth of the glacier, with silty water rushing from its base |
There were all sorts of people visiting: Asian tourists stereotypically loaded with cameras, from DSLRs to tablets; retired folks in plaid flannel shirts and Goretex jackets; energetic singles, both men and women; and one group of two obese women who were hobbling along the trail, one with a cane. They were moving slowly, but I certainly applaud their attitude and fortitude!
I met a couple of rangers along the trail. One was stopping to enjoy the view, and we chatted a bit. He was wondering about the sandhills. He said, "I usually see them fly through the valley about now," but thought that, since it was "already September 15," maybe he'd missed them. I was able to report that I'd seen a large flock in Palmer, just a few days ago.
There actually was a new letterbox along this trail, and I had to wait for the "muggles" to pass by before I could retrieve it. It was my first "first find," as the box had just been planted. How cool is that?
The weather was so fine and I was feeling so great that I decided to hike up at least the first mile or so on the Harding Icefield Trail. This is a "strenuous" trail that is over eight miles round trip, and they advise allowing 6-8 hours for the jaunt. I knew I couldn't do the whole thing, as it was already early afternoon, and I hadn't really prepared for a long hike (water, food, etc.). But I was feeling great, the weather looked like it was going to hold, so I decided to hike as far as I felt good about.
 |
| Getting high up affords an impressive view of the Exit Glacier outwash plain, the fall color in the valley, the Resurrection River and Resurrection Peaks. |
 |
| The trail (going down); the glacier is just visible in the distance. |
Don't get me wrong, it was a fine hike, but the last hike I took with even half this elevation gain was at Angel Rocks with Fran, and this was twice that vertical gain and pretty challenging. There were even places along the trail that necessitated handholds, and I'm no spring goat.
I didn't have the poles, but upon reflection, the trail was so steep and rocky that I'm not sure they would have really been all that useful.
I went up to the point at which I could see the glacier and then decided I didn't need to go any further. I'd gotten the impressive views of the valley and the glacier, and didn't think I needed to do any more.
Besides, its always good to leave something to bring you back, and next time I'll be more prepared.
On the way down, I met a few more people coming up. (In all honesty, a number of people passed me on the way up, too. There were a couple of gals talking loudly to each other about vodka shots, and another nice gal in purple who asked me if I went all the way to the top (I replied, "No, got too late a start.") But ALL of them were 20- and 30-somethings. I don't think there was anyone over 40 (except me) on that trail. So even though I was slow, I was there!)
 |
| Leaning in to get in the self-timed photo. Glaciers everywhere! |
 |
| View of the top of the glacier, spilling down from the Harding Icefield |
Apparently nobody else that I met on the trail had brought them either, so whether they were white mountain goats or Dall sheep, or merely blocks of snow, as one girl suggested (I really don't think it was snow with legs), we'll never really know.
 |
| Crossing an unnamed stream. |
Even though I normally prefer loop trails, so that you don't see the same thing on the way back, this was a great trail to take. On the way up, I was moving slowly, so most of my attention was focussed on my feet, with occasional stops to catch my breath and enjoy the scenery as I got higher and higher.
On the way down, I still have to watch my feet, but it's much more relaxing, and since it's going another way, I can see things that are different. And light is different, and the clouds, so it's never boring or repetitive.
It would be good to do this every day — I might actually get in shape then! My knees felt it a bit the next day, but it was a good kind of tired, not painful.
Back down at the bottom, I got some lunch (pretty hungry by this time), and retrieved my NP passport from the car, because there was another passport stamp at this visitor center, too (for "Exit Glacier" — remember what I said earlier about every visitor center having a stamp?). While there, I saw the gal in purple that I'd seen and talked briefly with on the trail. She was talking with the rangers, and gesticulating rather wildly. Turned out she was making out a bear report, and had seen a bear and cub just up the trail from where we'd met! All turned out well, but the encounter had shaken her up a bit.
This renewed my resolve to sing loudly and badly when hiking alone, especially in brushy areas where you can't see far ahead, or around a bend. Perhaps because people are more used to seeing bears (and because bears aren't as used to humans), the authorities don't appear to be quite as emphatic about bear management. But on the other hand, they're putting out warnings, but aren't fear-mongering. There in very much a sense that each person should be responsible for themselves. They give the information (I've seen dated "bear sighting" signs on trailhead hiker boards); you get to decide how you want to heed the information. 'Nuf said.
 |
| "Go Fish" letterbox stamp at Exit Glacier |
I'm very intrigued by the Tlingit / Haida style of artwork, and this was a very fine example. I'd like to try my hand at it, although it's so far from the realism that I've striven far to date, that I'm nervous about even attempting something like this.
You also have to KNOW what a fish looks like in the first place, in order to do an interpretation. I guess I need to go find some fish. Or other animals.
 |
| Last look, fall colors in Resurrection Valley |
No comments:
Post a Comment