In this modern era, slow travel¹ doesn’t get the credit it deserves. We crave immediate satisfaction, we want our rewards to come easy often, at the expense of a deeper connection with the world around us. Most people hop on a plane to relocate themselves halfway across the world before dinner. Why wouldn’t they? Flying is like time traveling; Settle in, close your eyes, and boom(!) it’s a different place, a different time, and maybe even a different culture. The dramatic change can be stunning and in some cases necessary. However, our heroes prefer a different pace.

They traveled hundreds of miles across the continental US, allowing the world to unfold before them. They watched as the Rocky Mountains ironed out into the great salt flats of Utah, then rolled back up into the evergreen mountains of Washington, only to abruptly end at the frigid waters of the Pacific Ocean. It was a process. It required patience, diligence, and most of all time. All their roads lead to here. The long-drawn-out journey starting in January, meandering from West Virginia to Washington, brought them to the city of Bellingham. From here, they would depart from the familiarity of the lower 48 states. This marked the end of their journey and the beginning of their adventure. Bellingham was their gateway to Alaska!

As previously mentioned, while the sensible might fly to such a distant destination, and the daring might even drive, our heroes had yet an even slower, more immersive mode of transportation in mind: a boat!

“But have you ever camped on a boat!?” This One exclaimed.

“Say what now?” That One asked, taken a little off guard by the question.

“Hear me out,” This One continued. “Anyone can drive to Alaska. But I discovered this thing called the Alaska Marine Highway². It’s a network of ferries you can drive your car onto, and you camp on the upper decks; then they take you all over Alaska. And there is that one departs from Washington!”

That One didn’t need to hear more. “Let’s do it!” she agreed.

Next thing they knew, Heyvan was stored safely away in the hull of the Kennicott Ferry as it pulled out of the port into the inner passage, on its way to Alaska. Meanwhile, This One and That One were duct-taping their tent to the starboard deck of the ship. You see, while aboard this ship, the boldest passengers are permitted to camp on the upper deck. While a cabin might sound more appealing, the closet-sized rooms offer little in the way of comfort and fresh air. Plus, nothing is quite as exhilarating as unzipping your tent door to look out onto the icy waters as whales catch their breath against the backdrop of untamed islands, thick with enormous pine trees.

As the ship slowly chugged northward, our heroes watched the world unfold before them. The temperatures grew colder while the mountains stretched higher. The sharp, snow-covered peaks were like cardboard cutouts against the horizon, deceptive in their distance and size. They surged up as if waves in an ocean made of rock and wood crashing together to form a rugged and vast landscape. The gentle rocking of the boat only added to the illusion that the land was alive. Their enormous scale was impossible to comprehend. The lack of perspective made them appear close enough to touch yet they were still incredibly far away. “Soon,” That One thought, “we will be out there in the mountains and among the trees!”

They spent their days soaking in the camaraderie of fellow travelers, all equally excited about the adventures that awaited them. They marveled at the endless sunsets, as it never truly became night anymore; they had ventured too far north for that. The sky remained painted in hues of orange and pink, a perpetual twilight that felt both enchanting and surreal. Finally, the day arrived for them to disembark.

They arrived at Juneau terminal around 9 pm, although the casual observer might have guessed it to be around 5 pm based on the light. Juneau is akin to an island; there are no roads leading in or out. The only access is by sea and air. Despite being on the mainland, the area surrounding Juneau is walled in by enormous mountains on one side and calm, salty waters on the other. It is a microcosm of land and sea that squashes the greatness of the Alaskan experience into a spot of land just out of reach, which justifies its state capital status. This would be their home for the next fortnight.

When they arrived at their first campsite, one particular mountain caught This One’s attention. It stood as the western sentry to the Mendenhall Glacier Lake. Imposing and sharp. Fiercely green yet still spotted with snow patches on the southern face. So pointed was this ridge she imagined that to stand on its summit one would need balance on a single foot for there simply wasn’t enough space for both. It was gorgeous and it was beckoning to her. This One had no choice but to attempt a summit.

She set out late one morning with her pack and a two-day supply to begin the arduous and challenging climb of 4,500 feet in less than six miles. The trail started suspiciously easy. Cruising along at a brisk pace, she followed the lake shore that lay just out of sight through the dense forest. With the bear bell jangling in her wake, she scrambled over small obstacles and came to the only intersection along this path. The right would continue along the coastline, and the left would begin the ascent. She noted that she had already covered a third of the total distance yet surprisingly only about 200 feet of the total elevation. Her experienced mind read this as a warning for what was to come. Unfazed, she banked left and started the uphill climb.

The vegetation was dense. The trail, although well-worn, was hidden beneath the overgrowth. She tallied forth, marking each water source as she progressed slowly upward and further into the forest. Normally, she would have marked viable campsites as well; however, the corridor was steep and offered no respite thus far. At the four-mile mark, the trail took a tight hairpin turn, but This One paused, partly to catch her breath but mostly because she was stunned by the view ahead. At this elbow joint in the trail, the trees disappeared and the ground dropped off, opening up to a grand view of the Mendenhall Glacier.

The vast expanse of ice before her left her breathless. This was the first time This One had laid eyes on a glacier, and it was unlike anything she anticipated. Made all the more exotic since she was sweating in the warm temps of the day while just below, the ice was in a constant battle between flow and melt. She drank in the view for a few moments longer, then made the turn only to be faced with a wall… no, not a wall, but a very, very vertical trail. It was less of a path and more of a boulder field. Her instincts from earlier were correct and for a second time, she reconsidered her goal. The math of risk vs reward was tabulated in her brain and her body charged forward. This was the beginning of the real climb, and she was stoked at the challenge.

She paced herself up the mountain, checking often for her bearing and blazes. Alaskan trails were not for the faint of heart. The preceding miles were nothing compared to the miles that lay ahead. Hand over hand, she scrambled over boulders. Thick mud clung to her boots like paste. The experience was just short of bushwhacking until finally – there was the snow! Yes, SNOW! It was mid-July, yet the ground was quickly being replaced by icy, slushy snow drifts, eventually replacing the trail altogether. Unlike the southern face, this trail climbed the northern face which was hidden from sight while facing up from the base. This One was out of her element. She plopped down on a dry rock after one of the most strenuously steep sections, feeling the weight of her pack and the fatigue in her legs. She still had 1000 feet of elevation of pure snowpack in less than one mile. For the third time, she contemplated her fate and course of action. In this moment she turned around to assess the way she had come. It was then that all thought and sense melted away, for it was then that she finally stopped long enough to see what was behind her.

The steepness of Mount McGinnis left no obstruction between herself and the vast, raw mountainscape all around. She could see the glacier as well as the ice field that was its source, crammed between frosty jagged peaks with echoes of avalanches from earlier seasonal shifts. She could see Mendenhall Lake and Nugget Falls, a ceaseless torrent of water that fed into the lake. She could see beyond the lake to where That One and Heyvan awaited her return. Further still, was the city of Juneau followed by the calm salty waters of Fritz Cove and Douglas Island. Even beyond there, she could make out unknown mountains in the distance scraping the ceiling of clouds that framed it all. The enormity of it all brought tears to her eyes.

She did not continue up to the summit of Mount McGinnis. Her body was unwilling despite all the bravado and pride that crowded her mind. Her legs were shaky, her arms tired, and the snow made every step a challenge. She was out of her element and ill-equipped to continue, so she made the hard call to remain where she was for the night and the following morning made her way back along the slippery slope, back through the muddy trail, and back onto flatter ground.

She did not feel defeated by this decision; rather, the opposite. She was less than a week into their Alaskan adventure and already she had been given so much. That One greeted her upon coming back to sea level, and they opted to spend their remaining time exploring the coastline, playing peek-a-boo with sea lions from their kayaks, biking and hiking the various trails, and otherwise having a joyous time in Juneau. Welcome to Alaska!

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