Cruisin' the Fjords

Alaska has twice as much shoreline as the rest of the US combined, which isn't hard to imagine once you realize that the whole state is a giant peninsula, touching three seas, made up of countless smaller peninsulas, riddled with islands, inlets, and coves.  I took a wildlife boat tour out of Seward and into the Kenai Fjords National Park, which in the grand scheme is a very small portion of the state, but the water we trolled all day (8am-4pm) was lined with mile upon mile of jagged coastline.  A kayaker's dream. Most of it looked like this:

 That water color is real-- almost unearthly turquoise caused by a) high levels of plankton or b) glacial sediment, depending on where you are... We saw several eagles perched atop the trees on points like this, but unfortunately I don't have a zoom lens...  More camera-friendly were the thousands of gulls and murres nesting on the cliffs; our captain nosed our boat right up to them.

I had chosen the small-group tour over the larger 100+ person deal, so there were only 11 other visitors on the boat, plus the captain and the first mate, both of whom pointed out the wildlife and bestowed local and marine knowledge on us. There was a couple from Wisconsin, one from Georgia, an older couple from Paris that reminded me of my old French friends (we talked about Toulouse for a little)... There was a cabin with booths that comfortably sat about eight of us.. and ample room to sit outside, around the edges, and in the bow.. Of course, when there were sites to see we were all out against the railing, but, it being a long day, we spent time in the cabin talking to each other, drinking tea and coffee, and eating the snacks served up by the first mate.

As we got closer to a glacier/icefield area, waterfalls started appearing on the mountainsides:

 And then chunks of ice started floating by, which indicated we were nearing the glacier:

 We stopped to eat lunch in this glacier's cool shadow.. Chunks of it calved off as we watched and made a surprisingly thunderous boom.  In this picture, we are still actually 1/4 mile away so it's bigger than it looks. 

The sky and water got dramatic on us as we headed for home:

We saw sea otters, sea lions, puffins, all the birds, and two humpback whales.  But my FAVORITE animal on the trip were these playful Dall Porpoises!!

The Hiiillllss are Aliiive..

If all of the landscape pictures are starting to look the same to you, I'm sorry.  There are nameless snowy peaks and innumerable glassy lakes, it's true, but it's really not a case of the European cathedral syndrome (where if you've seen one, you've seen them all).  For one thing, while cathedrals garner fame by being unique (biggest, most gothic, so-and-so's tomb), I think the mountains and lakes gain strength in numbers.  The fact that there are hundreds of square miles of them is one of the most beautiful and impressive parts.  Another thing you may be missing is the human or wildlife moments that make each place memorable for me.  For example, the lake in the picture above: I camped beside it with five 20-somethings from Anchorage.  They shared their fire and s'mores with me and we laughed long into the night; in the morning, the lakeshore couldn't have been more peaceful... Or there was the hike up Bear Mountain upon which I saw a black bear... Or this hike:

 Nice waterfall, panoramic view at the top, but the climb kicked my ass.  I was glad to be hiking alone so I didn't have to impress anybody and could stop every 20 steps.  Then these two below were taken on the summer solstice!  After downing that cold one by Kenai Lake I hitched into town for a festival, met up with a group of fellow outdoor enthusiasts, and danced to a bluegrass jazz band. 

 

But some places stand out just for what they are and that's the case for my most recent hike near Seward: it'll forever be memorable to me just because it was so... well, let the pictures speak for themselves.  The forecast called for rain, so it was doubtful whether I would make the hike at all-- too high and dangerous in wet conditions.  But the weather defeated all odds and was fantastic. Maybe that fueled my joy-- I felt blessed to be hiking under sunshine, seeing the views; I started early enough to have the trail and summit to myself. The Harding Icefield Trail, voila:

 

Exit Glacier

Marmot Meadows: fields of wildflowers and true to their name--marmots!  I saw two up close as they munched away on the grass.  They are a cousin to the prairie dog, but much fluffier. Very cute--see below--no zoom!

 

 

The greenery didn't last forever, though, and the trail entered the alpine zone, where there's nothing but snow and loose rock and you'd think you were on the final ascent to Mordor.. Below: the emergency shelter.

  Can you spot the row of hikers in the picture below??

Even on the rocky summit: life!

And finally the view that gives the trail its name: the Harding Icefield, an expanse of ice and snow the size of Rhode Island, including 40 glaciers that reach from it like tentacles.

Notice the two hikers on the bottom right.. They say you need to get this view in order to appreciate its size, but I'd argue that it's still impossible to grasp.  From what I've experienced of Alaska's tricks with distances and perceptions, I'd say there would have to be a person (or a bus or a building) out on the ice in order to really say "whoa." Think of it in another dimension as well-- look at the mountains and valley in this picture:

Then imagine the valley filled with ice until only the peak tops were showing and you get this:

Ice 4000 feet thick.

Seward for the 4th

It was a glorious day as I drove to Seward to celebrate the 4th of July; the sun and clear skies made the mountains greener and water bluer than ever.  Mountains, rivers, and lakes are ubiquitous along the scenic byway-- for every picture I post, there are 10 more, and for every picture I take, there are hundreds more than I didn't take, only because to stop for every postcard-worthy shot would turn the two-hour drive into four.  So I drove the whole way without stopping, watching the panoramas roll by.  But just outside of Seward I made an exception and stopped because this one was too lovely to pass up:

I was one of thousands of Alaskans and tourists flocking to Seward for the festivities. Usually a quiet harbor with 2,500 people, over 30,000 fill the place for the weekend-- every campsite, every parking spot was full (only with expert cunning was I able to stake a square plot of gravel for my tent). The weather couldn't have been better-- hot at 75 (which in Alaska feels like 90) and relentless sun-- so people trolled the downtown streets, shopping from vendors, eating reindeer hotdogs, kettlecorn, and chocolate-dipped bacon.

The big event is the Mt. Marathon Race-- a footrace up a mountain, 3 miles, straight up, straight down.  Not for your average runner.  People have been seriously injured (from falling rocks or from falling off the cliff themselves) and someone actually disappeared in the middle of the race, no trace.  I sometimes consider myself fairly hardcore, but I'm intimidated to even hike this trail, nevermind race it.  You could pick the racers out of the crowd: they all had legs of gods (or tree trunks) and those who had already raced were limping on taped ankles with mud from their butts of their heels. 

 
I arrived in time to see the men's race.  I found a spot at the base of the mountain, where the men would start ascending the cliff, and 40 minutes later (the fast ones) would start careening down. Here they are:

(the easiest gradient, just the beginning)

 

From afar, looking to the top of Mt Marathon, you could see the dust rising from the trail as runners made their way to the top and back (right half of the mountain, barely visible):

Fanfare aside, Seward is a beautiful spot surrounded by mountains and Resurrection Bay, so when all else fails, it's good to just sit on the rocks by the bay, watching the tide roll away:

That horizontal "log" between the two old piers is actually a sea otter.

My dinner: salmon and homemade sushi on the rocks: 

No leftovers for the seagulls.

My 4th of July thought of the day: I'm so glad this state belongs to America!

Everyday Life

Morning mist among the trees on my way to work.

Believe it or not, the kind people of Soldotna aren't paying me to hike or camp or go on excursions; I work sometimes, too!  Teaching people how to row, driving a launch around a peaceful lake, watching the birds-- some "work."  Here are a few pictures from my daily routine:

Our view from our boatsite: Mackey Lake

My launch.

We share the lake with half a dozen float planes, which is typical of these small lakes throughout Alaska.  It usually doesn't pose much of a problem, but we stick to the traffic pattern, which gives them priority in the middle of the lake for take-off and landing.  One of our neighbors is a chartered air service that flies groups of hunters and fishermen to far-off destinations.  It's exciting everyday to see them loading up for their adventure and taking to the air.

 A group of rowers wet-launching an eight.

My favorite bird on the lake: the loons.  We see four regularly, plus two babies.  I prefer to see them when I'm not in a roaring motorboat: this picture was taken from a single (which I occasionally row myself after practice).  As you can see, this one came within a few feet of me and seemed interested but undaunted by my presence. 

All of the mountainous lake views I've posted, I had to hike to see.  But a landscape like this is the norm in the flat expanses of Soldotna.  Moose country. Mosquito country.  Too wet to be easily passable. And spruce upon spruce upon spruce:

 

This moose looked at me as I stepped out my front door one morming.  They are such a common sight I barely turn my head anymore when I see them roadside.

This is the range I see on my way home from work everyday. 
The mountains are calling and I must go! 

Camping on Cloud Nine (and Seldovia)

I spent a full day on a wildlife cruise departing in and out of Homer.  Seldovia, a village across the bay reachable only by boat, was our mid-day destination.  En route, the captain took us to Gull Island, which is appropriately named as it is nesting ground to over 16,000 birds!  The air around the island was full of commotion and cackling.  The two main birds of which there were thousands were Kittiwake (gull-like) and common murres (like penguins, murres take turns standing on their eggs to incubate them and the eggs have pointed tops so that they roll around themselves instead of off the cliffs).  We also saw a couple tufted puffins, harlequin ducks, pigeon guillemots, and cormorants.

Approaching Gull Island, hundreds of murres in the water in front of the boat.

 Not long after chugging away from Gull Island, we came across a large group of sea otters.  They were resting on exposed rocks (only possible at very low tide and rare to see since sea otters spend 99% of their lives in water!) and swimming on their backs (their most photogenic pose).

Seldovia was once a hopping Russian fishing village, but today it is very quiet and quaint and perfect for R&R at a B&B. The village only has a couple of roads, one of which is a historic boardwalk lined with old houses on stilts:

 There are lots of charming details, flower gardens, and intricate wood carvings:

I also had time for a short hike through an old growth forest and onto a sheltered stony beach:

I ate lunch overlooking the river, where a man was fishing:

 

That was my very peaceful and picturesque day in Seldovia!  And believe it or not, it got even better!  After the ninety-minute boat ride back to Homer, I was driving to a city campground when I picked up a friendly-looking hitch-hiker.  She was a solo traveler like myself and was wwoofing at a farm/hostel overlooking the bay.  Led there by this person, I spent a stunning evening at Seaside Farm with my tent in this soft "camping meadow," a great alternative to the gravel and roaring RVs of the city campground!

This loo did indeed have a view, as one whole panel of the door was happily missing.

 I spent the evening and the next morning walking, writing, and reading on the beach:

Juvenile bald eagle on the beach.  Eagles are everywhere, but I rarely get a good picture.

 To top off my glorious weekend, I checked Sandhill Cranes off of my bird list as I watched this pair peck their way across the farm: