And finally, here’s the epic conclusion! Thank you for following along on this journey. When I planned this trip all those months ago, I envisioned it becoming the foundation for my 2nd novel. Things changed, as you can see. And although the setup for this book is still there in Parts 1-4, I have some work ahead of me to bring Montana back into focus. That said, this short story has been fun to write, and I hope you enjoy this finale of our Alaska trek.
John Denver has a song called American Child. As soon as Dad heard it, he declared it the theme song to our trip. Theme songs were always present for his Glacier Park trips of the past: Montana Moon in the Pines, Meet Me in Montana, Wild Montana Skies… you get the idea. So, do me a favor and click here to play it in the background. This final Part 6 just reads better with the theme song playing along.
Going up to Alaska. Up to the land of the midnight sun.
Chapter 6 – That’s Not a Glacier. THIS is a Glacier
For those who have not been, Alaska is a geographic anomaly. With more than 76 million acres tied to national parks or forests, roughly a fifth of the state sits on wilderness protected lands.
The largest national park in America is Wrangell-St. Elias at 13.2 million acres, but this is also one of the least visited, given how difficult it is to reach. Years ago, I had intended to backpack here, but after learning the trek would require drop by sea-plane and a firearm-wielding guide to aid us… I opted to backpack Denali National Park instead. I saw what happened to Chris McCandless during Into The Wild. No thanks.
And Denali is no cakewalk for hikers either. Even though more than 500,000 people visit each year, fewer than 1% of them will go backcountry. It’s definitely not for novice hikers. Which isn’t helped by the strict quota reservation system, lack of any groomed trails, and constant wildfire closures that restrict access.
When my buddies and I visited in 2015, it was my first taste of Alaska. It was rugged, raw and unforgettable. And, after scaling a 1,000-foot scree field to get a glimpse of Denali’s 20,310-foot summit towering over the landscape… I understood why people found a way to get out there.
So, over the next five days, the seven of us packed in a tight schedule traversing America’s last frontier. Our itinerary took us to places each day that could have all been otherworldly destinations. We hiked mountain ridgelines that dwarfed Montana one day, then strolled through rainforests ripe with salmonberries and blueberries in the valleys below the next.
To give Dad’s feet a rest, we took one day to travel by boat, riding from the small town of Whittier (where, I learned, 90% of inhabitants live in a single apartment building) through Prince William Sound.
As the boat pulled up to the 7-mile stretch of Blackstone Glacier, where it dipped into the water, the captain cut the engine’s and I heard Dad’s voice call out from next to me. “Wouldn’t it be neat if we saw the ice break off into the…” And as if waiting for its queue, a shotgun blast bellowed across the sound as a chunk of glacier calved from the base and crashed into the water below.
We all cheered at Dad’s perfectly timed comment, and laughed as he told it over and over again to all the other passengers as we continued our sea tour of glaciers and waterfalls. And smiles didn’t fade for him or any of us later that day, as we sat relaxing in the Alyeska Nordic Spa—a cozy collection of hot tubs, cold tubs, and various saunas nestled in the woods. The tranquil steam calmed us for hours until the sun finally dipped below the horizon at 9 p.m.
“Oh yeah, I could get used to this,” Dad remarked, laying spread eagle in a warm whirlpool.
And as the week came to a close, we finally made our way down to Kenai Fjords National Park. I didn’t know what to expect, except that those who thought Glacier National Park was special supposedly changed their tune the second they saw it.
It didn’t disappoint. The park is nestled around Harding Icefield, a 700-square-mile expanse feeding nearly 40 glaciers, and providing views that rival anything else in America.
The pinnacle moment came at the end of a 4.5-mile hike up from the base of Exit Glacier, when we stepped over the trail’s final crest. Mountaintops speckled the horizon in every direction, and it felt like we were on top of the world. It took a few minutes to finally realize the sea of white spreading between the peaks was a sheet of ice, and not the bed of clouds I’d first taken it for.
Oh yeah, I thought as I recalled all those earlier Instagram reels. I get it now.
Sitting on the plane, waiting to touch down back in Minneapolis, I couldn’t help but appreciate the majesty of Alaska and all that we got to see. It was a special trip, unique and spontaneous, and full of new stories we’d never forget. I looked over at Dad sitting next to me, fiddling with his earbuds to watch another video on YouTube on his phone.
“I know this wasn’t what we expected this week,” I said, disturbing him from the task that should have been less complex than he made it look. “But I’m really glad we didn’t cancel. I’m happy we did this.”
Dad looked up slowly with a sly smile before responding, “No, son, I’m Happy. You’re Sharkbait.”
It may not have been the Appalachian Trail or Glacier National Park, and it wasn’t the last backpacking hurrah with Dad I thought it would be, but nothing could change the lighthearted spirit that made his trail name and persona so perfect.
“Ha, you’re right, my mistake,” I replied, as I started fiddling with my own earbuds. “And next year, the adventures of Sharkbait and Happy will continue.”
Thank you for following along. If you’re enjoyed this or my other stories and want to learn more, contact me to schedule an author event or book signing near you. And as a reminder, you can read all parts of this series here.
Hello neiman!
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