Seward & Exit Glacier

Day 11: Seward & Exit Glacier, Kenai Fjords Nat'l Park

...Another day, (one last day) without flying...

My wife had finally arrived in Anchorage the night before, and I was glad to see her. In the early discussions of whether to take this trip we'd planned on traveling together for the duration, but I asked her if she really wanted to spend 2+ weeks traveling in the airplane. Between that and a $200 one-way ticket to Anchorage it was an easy choice: Airline it up, travel around for a bit, and fly south in the Mooney together. This plan would prove to work out satisfactorily, though in the end we both wanted more Alaska than time would permit.

We had another day of rental car and weather was forecast to move in that would preclude any flying, so once again I tore down the Seward highway out of Anchorage, this time it was my wife's turn to marvel at the sights as a first-timer. We made our way to Seward, a pleasant town of only 2,600 or so that felt larger, no doubt due to the rail connection, port, and large commercial fishing presence. The small downtown area has some fun touristy diversions, local art, etc.

After Seward we left to get up and close to a glacier -- Exit Glacier, a drive-up affair in Kenai Fjords National Park. Along the drive in, road signs are posted with dates (years). The years grow successively larger (more recent) over the last mile or two as you approach the end of the road, and current-day terminus of the glacier... an interesting chronology of its retreat. This was our first experience exploring the terminus of a glacier and doing a bit of up close hiking near the end. One regret was not getting there early enough to take a half-day or so and hike up adjacent Exit Glacier to take a look at the Harding Ice Field above, a climb of a few thousand feet.

One general travel principle I prefer, though not without its stress, is making as few plans in advance as possible. When traveling via single-engine airplane this is usually the case anyway -- one of the more hazardous things a pilot can say is "I will be there tomorrow at 6pm, no matter what". From what I'd read prior to the trip this can be a problem in the North in the higher part of the tourist season - June & July... but approaching late August with school back in session things like rental cars and hotels were generally available the day-of (well, except for Whitehorse a few days ago).

With this in mind, we started thinking about accommodations while visiting the glacier. As I had a few days break from camping and my wife was still fresh we looked for a nearby place to camp, and were not disappointed: Kenai Fjords park has a (free) walk-in campground a couple miles from the terminus of the glacier just off the access road. Normally, I eschew established campgrounds for the proximity they place people in different groups. I'm not anti-social, but prefer a quiet place to sleep, free of hearing tent zippers, people who stay up late, and smoke from campfires. Give me a hundred-yard buffer, at least. This campground, however, was exceptional... elbow room with vegetation between campsites, a great shelter to cook and eat in, and a walk-in food storage area to keep smelly items and food from tempting the local bears.

As we weren't paying for a hotel we enjoyed a great feast at the Exit Glacier Salmon Bake, most of the way down the road to Seward. Any restaurant that deprecates itself with t-shirts that say "Lousy food and cheap beer" is probably going to be really, really good -- and our feast of salmon, halibut, wine, and beer certainly was.

Chugach hikes

Day 10: Crow Creek Pass

Crow Pass

The airplane stayed parked at Merrill for a couple more days as I had ground transport. My wife was arriving this afternoon, and I had been looking for a good day hike to pass the time out of town. This presented a dilemma not unlike going to a good restaurant with a lengthy menu -- too many choices, all that looked good. I settled on a day hike to Crow Creek Pass in Chugach State Park, and I was not dissapointed! This was a relatively straight-forward 8-mile out and back day hike about an hour drive outside Anchorage.

The trail head along Crow Creek lies about 10 miles off the Seward highway, just outside the community of Girdwood. It was my first drive down the Seward highway along the Turnagain Arm of the Cook Inlet, full of gorgeous vistas in itself. Beluga point lived up to its name with countless Beluga wales coming up for a breath of air.

What struck me most about this hike, and seeing the mountains in this region of Alaska up and close was the condensed stratification of climactic zones. The flora just below trailhead elevation was made up of lush temperate rainforest, that quickly gave way to shrubby hillsides. The treeline seemed to be only around 2,000', and the upper bounds of the shrubby vegetation maybe 2,500'...with an alpine mountain pass at 3,200', similar in nature to what I'm used to seeing at 10,000'+ in California. It was as if everything I was used to was compressed. I suppose this continues the further north you go, with timberline eventually approaching sea level as one approaches the arctic tundra.

Approaching timberline

I didn't encounter much in the way of wildlife along the way, but there was a plethora of signs of bear activity in the first mile or so where the trail was lined with dense vegetation. Part of the reason I picked this hike, as I was still alone, was that it was a well-travelled trail and I thought this would reduce my chances of surprising a grizzly should one be in the area.

After reaching timberline the vegetation quickly thinned out, and eventually the ground was carpeted in places with tiny wildflowers and low-lying shrubs with vivid red leaves.

The reward for the hike upon reaching the pass was an up close view of the Raven glacier. I scrambled off trail to one of its morraines to enjoy lunch next to it, occasionally hearing the ice groan as it moved and melted.

Raven Glacier

I've done a fair bit of hiking, and perhaps I'm easily spoiled by the riches of a new environment, but I have to say this was one of the best day hikes I've done, period. The scenery, variations in climate, and rugged beauty just a short drive outside of civilization are amazing. Go take a look, if you're in the area and have the inclination. You won't be disappointed.

On the ground in Anchorage

Day 9: Anchorage.

I took a few days off of flying to explore Anchorage and its surroundings until my wife flew up on an airline from California. Executive summary for someone considering visiting Anchorage: The city offers surprisingly decent deals on food, fuel, and equipment considering its location. For the pilot or aviation enthusiast, taking some time to explore the local flying scene, Lake Hood, and the aviation museum are worthwhile diversions. Other than these, I offer one simple recommendation: Get out of town. A friend of mine in California remarked before I left that Anchorage reminded him a lot of a larger version Klamath Falls, Oregon where we went to college: a functional if somewhat depressed ex-logging town surrounded by good outdoor opportunities. I think his assessment was spot on.

My choice for lodging was a hostel. This started out good and turned out bad, but then they are often a crap-shoot. The place was clean though, and surprisingly was frequented by an older set of travelers, something I wasn't used to. My prior hosteling experiences have been in Europe where it was mainly the college and early-20s set. Here the owner enforced no drinking & smoking rules, and reasonable quiet hours. The nice thing is that you usually meet one or more interesting people, and this was no exception.

My sole roomate was Ira, a 76-year old semi-retired nightclub owner from Missouri. He had travelled to Alaska on a ferry, up on the Alaska marine highway, camping out along with the younger folks to save money and enjoy the view. His businesses had done well and were now mostly managed by his children, but he still preferred to use budget accomodations travelling for the same reasons I did: to meet people and be able to afford longer trips.

"If I'm not going for 5-6 weeks, I may as well stay home" he remarked. I want to have that attitude to travel when I'm 76, and beyond.

Ira had some interesting tales to tell about the Blues club business. From being backstage with Elvis before he was big, to big-name blues musicians [the name alludes me and my notes] who showed up at his club unannounced, after bailing out of a big-dollar gig at a large auditorium after playing just an hour-long set, to then play at his place until the sun rose. He'd led an interesting life, now spending his summers at a cabin in the high mountains of New Mexico where he had some interesting tales on the ramifications of befriending a black bear.

I did a walking tour of downtown Anchorage, but didn't feel compelled to check much out. Perhaps if I were in the market for something made of fur, or a bearskin rug? Later I caught a bus over to the main airport (Ted Stevens) where I'd secured a cheap rental car (the standard rate was well over $130 a day -- get a corporate discount code if you can), and to check out neighboring Lake Hood.

Lake Hood is a must-do for folks with any interest in aviation, and will probably be interesting even for those who aren't into airplanes. A large lake, adjacent Ted Stevens international airport is home to a towered seaplane base with several runways (water lanes), a gravel strip, and like Merrill Field, hundreds of aircraft jammed into every nook and cranny. The difference here was that many were floatplanes with a "slip" rented as you would a tie down. On the far side of the field a float dealer had row upon row of aircraft floats stacked on racks. Every parking spot was occupied. Specially modified trucks were set up to take non-amphibious airplanes out of the water. Roads doubled as taxiways with signs warning motorists to yield to airplanes, and pilot-operated gates allowed aircraft to cross from the gravel runway at Lake Hood Strip, over a series of road/taxiways, and into the international airport. The whole place was abuzz with activity.

B737 gravel deflector

The Alaska Aviation Heritage Museum, also at Lake Hood, chronicles the progression of aviation in the state from bush pilots to the progression of Alaska Airlines. The museum I'd rank as interesting but "OK"... something you can skip if budgeting time (but don't skip a trip around Lake Hood!). The most interesting thing, to me, was a retired Alaska B737-200 with a gravel kit installed, out in the open for visitors to poke around. The aircraft had something like 67,000 flight hours on it before being retired, and had many areas of damage that were repaired (i.e. dings near boarding doors that were fixed with fat doublers and massive quantities of rivets). This made me feel better about my airplane with 4,300+ hours since new.

Into the Matrix?

B737 skin doublers

B737 engine modification to deflect air at the ground to prevent injestion of rocks and debris

Besides Lake Hood, I poked around the area and found the nearby Earthquake Park and was surprised by how lush the coastal forest was; there were a plethora of colorful mushrooms.

Beyond that, the road wrapped around the back side of the international airport offering a nice place, surprisingly close to the runway, to watch airliners and B747 freighters land. It was refreshing to see someone taking their kid down to watch airplanes land, rather than an environment of paranoia that might cause such an act to be treated suspiciously in a place like, say, New York.

Mooney fun in Talkeetna, introduction to Anchorage

Day 8: Palmer to Anchorage (Merrill field), Alaska

I was put in contact with a local Mooney owner by one of the Mooney parts suppliers I use in California. The owner, an A&P mechanic who had done an outstanding job restoring his M20C, and his lovely family made arrangements to meet me in Wasilla for fuel before flying our respective airplanes up to Talkeetna for lunch. As usual, the weather was interesting. The wind at Palmer and Talkeetna, dead calm. Wasilla, barely a 5-minute flight to the west of Palmer in similar geography, had wind gusting to well over 20 knots. Between Wasilla and Talkeetna, low fog (which we'd fly over), all underneath an altostratus deck that kept the Alaska range hidden from view.

Wasilla to Talkeetna, flight of two

The 5-minute hop over to Wasilla was uneventful aside from spotting numorous airstrips. Everyone and their uncle flies here, and being a well-populated area the land was littered with grass runways galore. One could take a quick look around from 1,500' AGL and probably count 20 unpaved runways within a few mile radius. The family I was meeting based their airplanes off of such a (shared) private strip. At Wasilla, we did a quick briefing to fly formation to Talkeetna; I'd be wing-man of course. The wind was gone within a few minutes of departing Wasilla and it was a surprisingly smooth flight. My host flew a good, solid, stable lead and it required very little effort to hold formation along the way.

Along the way my hosts were kind enough to get some nice air-to-air photos of me, and I managed to get a quick camera phone video in while at a safe distance.

Turbine DeHavilland Otter

Talkeetna is worth a stop on any Alaskan trip. Several air taxi services operate tour and other charter flights to circle around nearby Denali, the highest peak in North America. Many of the flights include glacier landings, a technique pioneered by bush pilot legend Don Sheldon. Some go to see the sights, others to start climbs. A couple friends of ours made attempts on Denali (one with a successful summit) several years ago, and launched each expedition to the mountain with a flight out of Talkeetna  All manner of bushplanes from Cessna 180s to Beavers and turbine-powered DeHavilland Otters were fitted with retractable skis for this purpose. The air tour activity, even on a cloudy day, runs nearly non-stop. Seeing a turbine Otter (think small school-bus on wings with a thousand-horsepower turbine on the front end) nearly levitate off the end of the runway was impressive every time.

DeHavilland Beaver

The town itself is all of a few square blocks, pretty all over, and while a tourist trap, was my kind of tourist trap: Few  kitchy wares for sale, but plenty of good food and, for those done wit their flying for the day, great beer that I'd get to try on my next visit (I decided right then and there to bring my wife back later).

My hosts treated me to a great Reindeer sausage sandwich for lunch before we walked back to the airport to go our separate ways.

On my own once again I looked over the Anchorage terminal chart and Alaska Flight Supplement to brief a flight into Merrill Field, one of Anchorage's airports. My wife was still 48 hours from arriving so I'd reserved a rental car and cheap place to stay for a couple of nights. I'd previously read that flying into the Anchorage area is akin to a bee returning to the swarm around a nest. Anchorage itself is a medium-sized city, but has a collection of airports smashed up against each other, from an air force base to a large international airport and worldwide cargo hub. Because of all this the airspace to get in and out of various airports is stratified.

One example of this is going into Merrill from the northwest as I was planning to do. I'd cross into town from the west over the Knik arm of the Cook Inlet. The special flight rules in the area specify that a pilot going into Merrill cross the arm, and then downtown, at either under 600', or above 2,000' -- fighter and heavy transport traffic to and from the air force base flies between.. and that was one little slice of airspace, among many in the area. En route, I was in an area with actual radar coverage for the first time since leaving Seattle, and got traffic advisories. No longer was the reply light on the transponder dark, as it had been for the last week of flying.

Once handed over to Merrill tower crossing the Knik arm, I finally saw why things were divvied up this way - the air force base was right next door. I was instructed to fly north of the field on downwind to land to the west, and made a pretty tight traffic pattern (even by my own standards) to do so. One thing I noticed flying almost every day for the past week was that my skills had ratcheted up considerably. I fly the Mooney, on average, once a week but this much time between man and machine tends to step things up a bit, and make the airplane an extension of the pilot. Being on one's "A" game to maneuver the airplane to a precise location, speed, and altitude were that much easier.

I landed in the rain, and even so it didn't take long for my appreciation of Merrill to develop. Here was an area, several city blocks' in size, completely littered with airplanes and related businesses over every square foot. General aviation is on a slow decline in the lower 48, here it is thriving, if out of nothing else than necessity. The airport was abuzz with Super Cubs launching for remote locales, Cessna 207s hauling cargo, and even King Airs with cargo pods on their bellies. One thing absent was a big fancy FBO (fixed base operator) ready to roll out the red carpet for a customer. Here it was all function over form. For a pilot, it was an exciting place to be.

Marshes, morraines, mountains, and rain

Day 7, part 3: Northway to Palmer, Alaska

It was hard to top the Wrangell-St. Elias overflight. I can see this in hindsight because I simply stopped taking photos immediately afterward. The scenery wasn't any less interesting, nor was I less thrilled to see what was beyond the next mountain pass, but those mountains and ice spoiled me.

I departed Northway, the first stop of my journey where it was comfortable, warm t-shirt weather since the day I arrived in Portland a week before. A mountain pass visible from the ground to the south, through which the Nabesna river flowed, was obscured in a heavy rain shower with towering cloud overhead; while I didn't see lightning it tipped the scale of "convection I won't fly near" and had me wondering about the next mountain pass I couldn't yet see, the Mentasa, that I intended to fly through to gain the Copper River near the start of its nearly-cyclonic path from Mt. Wrangell to Valdez. Without any weather radar in the area, it was a matter of pilot reports (none) and eyeballs to figure out whether the convection would block my path, so off it was to go take a look.

The pass was open, with the stronger convection localized to where I'd seen it earlier, and occasional rain going through Mentasta. I gave a pilot report to the friendly flight service specialist I spoke with in Northway, and was able to easily fly through at 6,500' with broken to overcast skies not far above. Once in the Copper River Basin, it was easy flying. I spotted the Alaska pipeline and HAARP site, which I had previously read about but forgot the location of. I hope they turned it off as they promise to, as airplanes fly by.

One disappointment about this area was that I'd lost the relatively clear skies that blessed my glacier overflight just an hour prior; an isosceles triangle of large volcanoes that mark the western extent of the Wrangell-St. Elias range (Mt Sanford, Wrangell, and Drum) was hidden in cloud.

Rain on the western side of Sheep Mountain, Tahneta Pass

One final geographic barrier, Tahneta pass, remained separating the Copper River basin from my destination at the far reach of the Cook Inlet. It was clear from 20-30 miles away there was some weather in there, and I wanted to know my odds of getting through as I was again thinking about fuel reserves should I have to backtrack to Gulkana for gas. Flight service gave me a favorable verbal description of what the passes three weather camera sites were showing. A few miles before the pass some desolate foothills with a lake at the top invited a close inspection. The pass was no problem, but into the lowlands beyond was more frequent rain with visibilities dipping down to 5 miles or so. Marginal, but at that point I had Palmer made and landed.

Why Palmer? I had made contact with a fellow Mooney pilot who lived nearby before the trip who suggested we might be able to rendezvous if our schedules aligned. Palmer is a pleasant little town at the northeastern end of the Knik arm of the Cook Inlet -- the body of water Anchorage, just a short flight now to the south, resides on. Once in this weather 'zone', I could make little hops without any significant barriers to cross, and I wanted to stay in the area until meeting my wife. Other than that, I knew nothing about the place prior to showing up.

The field did have a flight service station who closed my flight plan, and directed me to a (free) pilot car provided by a local private school. The big brown beast epitomizes a pilot car: Something you'd expect to see at a demolition derby, with three doors that don't lock, the keys under the floor-mat, and exhaust leaking in. Still, it started right up and ran... just put some gas in it when you being it back.

After three days of camping in the Yukon, a hotel and good burger hit the spot. Oh and hey, I just flew to Alaska!

Weather services for pilots in the North

Day 7, part 2: Northway, Alaska

After the cursory customs inspection I walked a hundred yards to the flight service station (FSS) on the Northway airport to take a look at conditions going onward. Besides these vestiges of the federal government, there wasn't much going on at Northway other than a greasy-spoon type restaurant, with the whole airport surrounded by miles of flat land taken up by a land divided into marshes and areas of forest.

What resources are at your disposal for a trip to Alaska? Here's what I used:

• Alaska
•  FAA Alaska Aviation Weather Unit
• Alaska WX cams
• Visit in person or call one of the Alaska Flight Service Stations (Calling 800-WX-BRIEF as you would in the lower 48 goes to our friends at Lockheed; take down the phone numbers of the Alaska station closest to you if you can't visit one in person) 
• Canada
• Canada's Aviation Weather Website (the graphical area forecast images will soon become your friend)
• Canada WX cams
• Flight Information Centres (FIC) in Canada, in person if you're in Whitehorse, or via telephone
• Many of the more sizable airports have an awkward-to-use kiosk that must have been designed by an out-of-work 1980s arcade game mechanical engineer, that basically provides access to the above website and a phone that direct-dials the nearest FIC, locations listed in the Canada Flight Supplement

This walk-in to the FSS thing was new to me. In the lower 48 states, and Canada (except Whitehorse, where I'd just come from), pilots check weather over the internet, where available, or telephone to an FSS whose multiple locations in the lower 48 had been repeatedly consolidated, and eventually spun-off to a contractor (Lockheed Martin). When I was learning to fly in the mid 1990s, the consolidation was already underway and the local expertise on the intricacies of the local micro-climates that a weather observer in the field would develop over time had been lost.

At the time I was a bit of a flying and computer geek and put together a website of links, web-forms, and even some programs (tcl scripts) to pull weather information from various academic and government sources for the pacific northwest where I resided at the time. The site got a lot of traffic, but I eventually let it fall to the wayside as the government got its online presence together and put together what is now this site, which most lower-48 pilots use. While the folks at Lockheed are nice people, it just ain't the same, and often you'll get a briefer on the phone who can do little more than read you the same data available online, i.e. someone far away from a meteorologist.

In Alaska, its different. The weather is more challenging along with the terrain, and general aviation is much more of a life-line, as most of the state cannot be reached by road. Flight service stations exist at many of the key small airports, and -- for the time being -- they're still run by the FAA, where you can simply walk right in and talk to someone about the weather along your route. Most of the time, these are staffed by one person whose working 2-3 jobs (make that 4, when you walk in) simultaneously, and they do it well. Say what you will about what government should or should not do, but these guys know their stuff, and the one-on-one availability is a big asset to safety.

The specialist working at a station typically gives traffic advisories to aircraft operating near the airport the station is located at, opens and closes flight plans, takes flight plans (in a very abbreviated and efficient format compared to the lower 48), provides a verbal interpretation of weather camera images to pilots in flight, negotiates IFR clearances, and handles one one or more remote communications outlet frequenies for aircraft some distance away.

I was particularly impressed with the quick and dirty flight plan concept. In the lower 48 one typically had to file a half hour before departure for reasons I can't comprehend, and give a litany of information not directly pertinent to the flight plan's purpose (where to send search and rescue looking for an overdue aircraft, and how many people to look for). Moreover, a route of flight defined by visual landmarks or routes is rejected or omitted. Here, it was common to state which highway / river / mountain pass / glacier you'd be following, or what lake you'd be landing on. This might consist of the following that I later overheard in Talkeetna, from one of the glacier tour operators as he taxied out:

"Talkeetna radio, Beaver 12345, departing for the circle mountain tour, 2 hours en route, 9 aboard, pilot Jones"
"Beaver 12345, Talkeetna radio, flight plan activated"

In Northway, the briefer was on temporary assignment from his home to the far north in Barrow. My initial impression was of an extrovert who might be a bit lonely, but that was quickly replaced by one of a fellow who had genuine interest and concern in the safety for a newcomer to the area.

"How much mountain flying have you done?" he asked

"Some, I fly across the Sierras in California regularly and learned to fly around the Cascades" (though the mountain flying in Alaska was, to be fair, substantially different, something I'll get into later)

"Good, a lot of folks come up here to see Alaska having only flown around the midwest. If you get into trouble, don't forget that you can land on a road. Any highway in Alaska can be used legally by aircraft if there is a need to. I was driving to Valdez once in low weather and a Jet Ranger came up behind me and landed. The pilot apologized in case he scared me, it was pretty amusing."

Awesome, so if that bathroom break became urgent and the road was clear....

I found his parting comments on a last line of defense against an animal that charges you equally amusing:

"Oh, and I don't care what those damned guidebooks say, most people up here are packing."

I informed him of my shotgun/slug combination, bear spray for hiking, and lamented that I could not (legally) bring my pistol through Canada.

Wrangell St. Elias wonder, and Alaska, at last

Day 7, part 1: Whitehorse, Yukon to Northway, Alaska

The weather was finally better today. The sky was still full of multiple layers of broken cloud, but the instability and moisture had worked itself out. The passes to get to the southeast coast were still solid IFR, but flying over the top was now a possibility. Regardless, I stuck with the decision to bail on the southeast coast and move into the Anchorage area to meet my wife who would arrive in a few days. The local weather briefer gave me some suggestions the day prior for glaciers to tour as a side-trip from the Alcan, and I planned to do an abbreviated tour - perhaps a 20-minute detour or so - before stopping in Northway, Alaska to clear customs and then proceed from there.

After departing Whitehorse the first "cool!" moment was sighting Lake Laberge, of Sam McGee fame. I'm not someone with an extensive knowledge or even appreciation of poetry, but that one always stuck with me. I could only imagine traveling through here, in the dead of winter with a dog-sled. Being someone raised in a tropical environment who has lived through one solid winter in eastern Idaho (though its no Yukon, I got to experience snow covering the ground for 4 months straight, and catching the school bus at -20F), I could identify with Sam.

Lake Laberge

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who toil for gold; 
  The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
  The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
  Was that night on the marge of Lake Laberge
I cremated Sam McGee.

 - Robert Service

The scenery quickly took a more rugged character as the mountains west of the highway grew in stature and ferocity as they formed the 'foothills' of the approaching Wrangell and St. Elias ranges protected in the Kluane national park (on the Canadian side, Wrangell St. Elias park on the Alaska side). Atop this range, a vast icefield feeds vast glaciers down in every direction.

My plan was to planned to depart the highway near Haines Junction, and fly up the Kuskawulsh Glacier as far as I could, and weather permitting hop over to and fly down the Donjek Glacier and river to rejoin the Alcan norhwest of Burwash. The weather cooperated with this plan, and in short, it was one of the most spectacular flights I've experienced. The photos tell the story better than I ever could.

"Foothills" of the St. Elias range, near Haines Junction

Enroute up the Kulkawulsh River, I divere from the Alcan. This smaller range separates the high country from the Alcan highway

My first look at the present-day terminus of the Kuskawulsh Glacier

Each valley coming down from the icefield above had glaciers spilling out, with cloud spilling down over them

Kuskawulsh after its last main tributary (the south arm) joined it

Turning one's head from the main show, scenes like this would distract you right and left

Tributaries converging

Closeup of convergence

Eventually things were obscured by deck of stratus clouds. Mt. Logan, Canada's highest peak only about 500' shorter than Denali dominated the background though it was still many miles distant.

Taking a glance back at where I'd come from

Spillage from the ice field above into the Kuskawulsh

Glacial recession

Donjek Glacier terminus

More Donjek

Donjek calving into the river below

Donjek

One need not look far to see signs of how quickly these glaciers are receding. My aeronautical chart showed this one extending down to where the large area of grey debris now lies

Following this breathtaking diversion I rejoined the Alcan highway over still beautiful, but much more mundane terrain to cross the American border and land at Northway to clear customs; the inspection lasted all of a minute as I showed the agent my passport and he went around the airplane with what looked like a Geiger counter, because you know, there must be a huge threat of sneaking fissile material in from Canada.