One of my favorite things about driving through the Southwest desert is the plethora of completely unmarked dirt roads. Where do they lead? Anywhere and everywhere, but mostly nowhere. Whenever driving my Tacoma through the desert, I often find myself turning down these unmarked roads looking for campsites, or just exploring what may or may not be out there. Some of these roads have lead to a selection of my absolute favorite places. Solitude, big views, and a wide open sky full of bright stars. It’s the stuff of dreams!
Alaska, on the other hand, typically has a lack of roads – though the scenery is rarely lacking. One day, studying at an old USGS topo map of some glaciers in the Delta Range, I spotted an unlabeled road close to the toe of the Canwell Glacier. By close, I mean within 5 miles of sort-of flat ground – looking easily walkable. My hope was that from the road, a foot path may lead closer to the glacier, giving me an easy route to access the ice. The glacier went into my spreadsheet of potentially accessible glaciers and was promptly forgotten about. Yeah, that’s a thing. It’s a big spreadsheet, too!
Months later Kawehi, a friend from MICA Guides, was looking to get up to something different and get away from basecamp for her one day off that week. I mentioned trying to hike to Gulkana Glacier in the Delta Range, some 3-4 hour drive from camp. The hike was supposed to be 3 miles and mostly flat, but the views were great, and I suggested we may be able to get some ice climbs in if we started early enough. I had attempted to hike to the glacier the previous spring but was quickly turned around by deep snow well short of the ice. I had caught a glimpse of an icefall that looked plausible for a climb or two, though, if the snow hadn’t thwarted my attempt.
The morning of the 15th, bright and early, we loaded up Moqui (oh yeah, I named my truck Moqui) and set off east on the Glenn Highway. At the time, Kawehi and I had rarely talked outside work, but she seemed excited to get out and I’m always eager to find more people to explore Alaska with. Plus she already knew how to ice climb so that was a plus.
The drive up was long, but unlike me, Kawehi has no shortage of conversation. Ever. We were there in no time, and at the end of a dirt road branching off the Richardson Highway, we loaded up full packs and began our hike across the open landscape.
We carried two set of ice tools, a rack of ice screws, quickdraws, rope, crampons, and more, opting to hike in our ice climbing boots to save weight. Classic mistake. We moved slowly on the flat but rocky ground with our large packs and boots with no flex in the sole at all. A light rain added to the fun by making everything extra slippery. Just after starting out, trail quickly crosses two swinging bridges, which provided a bit of entertainment along the way.
The massive open valley played tricks with our minds; while continuously walking toward the glacier in the distance, we seemed to be getting no closer to our goal. I’ve come to call this phenomenon “The Alaska Effect” – the sheer size of everything makes you feel like no progress is being made, and even while the landmarks seems to grow larger in front of you, it feels just as far away as it did an hour before. We began the hike thinking there was absolutely no way the glacier was a full 3 miles from the road, they must have expanded the road since the maps were made. We’ll be there in no time!
The trail faded out after the first mile. While it was still marked with cairns occasionally, it was vague and snow patches appeared before long. We weaved around several patches and post-holed through the biggest ones. Soon we were looking across a silt-laden river at the massive Gulkana Glacier in front of us. Two other hikers were already here, searching for a way to get across the river. It was mid-day and mid-summer; the glacier was melting fast, and the river was raging. The ice slope to the right was steep and covered in large, sliding boulders, blocking our way up and around. We threw, then rolled bigger and bigger rocks into the silty water to make stepping stones. The river was unfazed by the biggest boulders the four of us could dislodge and roll into the swift water. All our efforts were in vain and each time the boulder would be swept away and disappear down the river.
Lower, where the water was more calm, the river was too wide to navigate with stepping stones. It could be no more than knee deep here, but the water was about half a degree above freezing. Not ideal for only having one pair of boots and no extra socks, and none of us wanted to attempt the rocky crossing bare-foot. After nearly an hour and many different attempts, we gave up, deciding some river-crossing sandals would be mandatory next time we went hiking anywhere in Alaska.
The hike back to the truck seemed even longer than the way out. We returned exhausted and sad we didn’t get to do much after all, but it was at least a new place that was out of the norm. Almost as an afterthought I suggested we drive a few minutes further on the highway and see if any trails existed leading toward the other glaciers in the area. I vaguely remembered the dirt road from the old map, and told Kawehi I just wanted to look at where the road led to ‘really fast.’
In my classic style, I missed the road and made a U-turn, joking about having way too much practice with them. Anyone who’s been on a road-trip with me knows what I’m talking about!
Kawehi might have been more excited than me as the small gravel road headed out into the Alaskan wilderness. It quickly began feeling very remote as the road narrowed and we began to gain altitude. At a shallow river, I got out to ‘look around’ and Kawehi seemed convinced this was as far as we could go. So I think she was a bit surprised when instead of turning around I drove right through the river and out the other side. It would seem, in hind-sight, that somewhere behind us the road had become more of an ATV trail. I missed that point, too. Moqui was unfazed by the shallow water of that stream, or the next two, as we climbed a mountain. We also maybe added a few new pin-stripe scratches down both sides of the truck. I was absolutely loving the trail, though, and even more so when it opened up to incredible views of the valley behind us.
Over the next hill, we were granted an even better view as the white ice of the Canwell Glacier became visible. The views were absolutely incredible in every direction.
While I obsessed over getting awesome photos of the truck on the trail, Kawehi found blueberries on the slope next to us. We proceeded to wolf down as many as we could before heading on to see where else this trail may lead.
I began to worry about the potential to turn around, but hey, it wouldn’t be the first time I navigated nearly a mile of narrow road in reverse…
It was getting late and we discussed needing to turn back soon to return to camp at a ‘reasonable’ hour. No discussion on which hour that was, though… So when the road finally ended and we looked to be within a half mile of a small glacier above us, I suggested I’d really like to step on some glacier ice today. Kawehi is never one to turn down more adventure.
We set out with light packs this time – little more than water and layers. We scrambled over loose boulders the size of microwaves, then small fridges, as we climbed to a ridge below Rainbow Peak. There it was, a small glacier suddenly one steep drop straight below us.
We stared for some time at all the glacier ice flowing in every direction from the large peaks around us, and soon spotted a place where we could walk down to the white ice of a small glacier to our right. We prolonged our stay once again longer than we probably should have, but had to find a good spot for a photo.
Many of us at MICA have taken to trying to capture a – let’s say, unique – photo in the most creative of places. The trend comes from MICA’s sister company, Exposure Alaska, whose tagline is “Expose Yourself to Alaska.” So yeah, the idea is get to the coolest view, biggest peak, or whatever, and ‘expose yourself’ to wild Alaska… Typically done as the Exposure Alaska postcard looks: pants around ankles and jacket open but covering everything from behind. As demonstrated by Kawehi:
But it’d been taken a bit further by some guides recently, so naturally I had to show them up…
Once heading back toward the truck, we spotted something out of place as we stumbled down the loose rock. It turned out to be a snowmobile – sorry, snow machine (this is a big deal in Alaska) – likely stuck from the winter after a breakdown. Pretty far out there for winter travelers!
It wouldn’t start (of course she tried!) so we scrambled back to the truck and began a long, slow drive down the rocky trail. We would pull into camp long after most of our friends had gone to sleep, but we had a great story to share with them in the morning. And some entertaining photos!
A note on the glacier and location:
In the title of this post, I list the glacier as “Unknown” and I believe it to be a former tributary to the Canwell. As the above map from 1953 shows, the ice was once connected and these small glaciers would have been considered a part of (or tributaries to) the Canwell. It is possible the glaciers are actually still connected to the east of our red dot (then flowing north) and that ice is just buried in moraine – it was difficult to tell from our position. However, even if connected in that way, the ice flowing directly north of our position (where we accessed the white ice) terminates well before reaching the Canwell. If anyone has any thoughts on names or distinction of these small glaciers, I would love to hear about them – and also the story behind the stranded snow machine!
Gallery of images from Gulkana and Canwell: