Epic proportions: the tip of the icefield

The big black bear snorted and pounded his paws on the ground, warning my brother-in-law, Matthew, and I to get back — a request that we were more than willing to comply with.

High on the Harding Ice Field in Southern Alaska in the arctic glow of midnight, we backtracked up a few switchbacks and gave our hearts time to begin beating again before we continued on. I had just finished off a bottle of Gatorade and quickly filled the container with small rocks, creating a make-shift rattle that I shook continually as we began back down.

Alaska is one of those places that can still be referred to — and seen — as larger than life. Both the landscapes and the adventures that it holds are of epic proportion. And Exit Glacier, just north of Seward on the Kenai Peninsula, is a perfect example of what one can find when exploring this colossal place.

My trip to Alaska was to have been a brief one, since I was only there to ensure that my wife and five small children made it safely to Anchorage, where I would commit them to the care of my mother-in-law and my three oldest brother-in-laws. Not being one to waste an opportunity, I asked my oldest brother-in-law if there was a memorable hike that we could do before I got on the plane for my return flight.

We had less than 24 hours, and it was already after noon when we left Anchorage. Matthew assured me that Exit Glacier would be an ideal place for just such a hike. Although it meant more than three hours of driving just to get there, I knew we would have plenty of daylight to hike by, even if our descent came sometime around midnight.

After a stop in Seward to grab a bite to eat, we headed on out to the glacier, hitting the trail at around 8 p.m. Exit Glacier is part of Kenai Fjords National Park and the only part of the park people can actually drive into.

It also happens to be part of the 700 square mile Harding Icefield — 1,100 square miles, if you count the glaciers that branch off from it — which is enough ice to completely bury the state of Rhode Island and still have plenty left over. The ice shelf extends more than 30 miles across and 50 miles in length on the tops of the Southern Kenai Mountains, spawning 30 named glaciers.

A number of trails actually begin at the Exit Glacier Ranger Station, ranging in difficulty from a handicapped-accessible nature walk to easy and moderate hikes, as well as the more strenuous Harding Icefield Trail. The latter, which is the route that my brother-in-law and I chose, ascends more than 3,000' from the valley floor, gaining about 780' of elevation for every mile hiked.

Those ambitious enough to attempt the ascent will not be disappointed, and the trail itself is only 3.85 miles each way, providing spectacular views that reward the labor expended in reaching the top.

Having hiked extensively in Glacier National Park, I can honestly say there is nothing in the Park that is even remotely comparable in size.

Exit Glacier remains an active glacier, and while completely accessible to those experienced in glacial hiking or ice climbing, novices like myself are best advised to stay on or close to the trail. One wrong step could be fatal.

In some places, blue ice and moving water can be seen in the massive crevasses, fractures and sink holes.

In other places, a strange, red coloration appears where algae, as well as ice worms, have taken up residence in the glacial snow.

We reached the top at about 11 p.m. and admired the changing colors of the sky as the sun set behind the mountain peaks. After documenting the accomplishment with both pictures and video, we began our decent, hoping to reach the parking lot by 1 a.m. However, that was not to happen.

What we failed to take into account was that wildlife frequent the Harding Ice Field Trail and are not accustomed to sharing the trail after a certain time of night. So, when our path converged with a black bear, it was none to happy to see us.

Luckily the rattle seemed to work and the bear took the hint and stayed a fair distance ahead of us along the trail. It stayed on our route until the last half mile, where he broke off and followed a stream away from his unwanted guests. However, he marked up the ground and trees and even urinated on the trail to mark his territory before finally abandoning the path.

We didn't reach the parking lot until 3 a.m., and we still had a three-hour drive back to Anchorage.

I caught a quick nap before catching my plane, from which I was treated to a bird's eye view of more glaciers — many of them far more colossal in their size and scope than the one I had taken in only hours before. The landscape beneath me revealed a land still untamed by the human presence and altogether staggering to behold.

It was a domain from which I brought back the definitive memory of but the briefest encounter. Yet, the memory of it cannot be contained upon the canvas of my imagination or even captured with a wide-angle lens. It defies the limitations of the volumes of adjectives that fill my vocabulary, making it both unforgettable and beyond the scope of all my previous experience.

It is epic. It is Alaska.