When This One and That One began their adventures, they did what anyone might do, and targeted well-known places: Chicago, Seattle, San Diego, and so on. Yet, they quickly discovered it wasn’t these famous cities that truly ignited their passions. It was the in-between places on the way to these destinations that sparked curiosity and beckoned them with a call for adventure. After months on the road, big cities all started to feel the same—homogeneous in their offerings. Such was the case with Anchorage, AK.

While Heyvan was in the shop for repairs, our two heroes realized Anchorage held no appeal for them, so they devised a plan to escape. Departing from their usual method of extensive research, they chose instead to listen to the universe. They rented a car, threw a proverbial dart at the map, and landed at a travel hostel a few hours north of Anchorage.

They departed the most populated city in Alaska in their little rental car, heading north through the city’s outskirts. Their route carried them past Palmer, AK a charming hamlet that still held on to its small-town spirit. However, Palmer was only a brief stop on this leg of their journey. Not yet aware of the impact of this discovery, they bookmarked the small town for another day and carried on.

Beyond Palmer, continuing on the way to the hostel, the country road stretched into the wilderness. At a remote junction, a sign directed them to turn left toward Hatcher Pass. As they drove on, they discovered Hatcher Pass. This remarkable area quickly became one of those in-between places they loved so much. It rarely appears on a tourist’s top 10 list or an Alaska visitor’s guide. However, it is a hidden gem. The road winds along a roaring, glacier-fed creek, then climbs sharply out of the valley, revealing emerald tundra and towering, dark-grey alpine mountains in every direction. The road continued upward, past trailheads and rugged backcountry routes, eventually leading to a hairpin turn onto Hatcher Pass Road. Open only in the summer months, this unpaved steep passage climbs an additional 2,000 feet of elevation as the only road connecting to the other side of the range. In winter, the area is impassable, locked in by snow.

Just before the turn, the small triangle-frame building of Hatcher Pass Lodge stands proudly among the mountains and nestled in the tundra. It is a humble retreat offering hearty meals and cold ale by a wood-burning stove, with panoramic views of the valley below. From its vantage on a clear day, one could even make out the tiny spec of Palmer framed by distant peaks. Though tempted to stop, for the second time today, they bookmarked the lodge for another day choosing to continue to their destination. Onward they drove obeying their GPS, which led them further up the precarious dirt road that spiraled toward the pass’s summit.

“If cars were people, this would be their version of hiking,” This One quipped, earning a familiar eye-roll from That One.

“In GPS we trust” she replied with only the slightest hint of concern.

After winding around steep switchbacks, they reached the summit. The view was all-encompassing—mountains, rivers, and sky unfolding in every direction. The tundra below was crisscrossed with social trails, inviting hikers to lose themselves for a day, a week, or maybe even a month. It was a raw display of Alaskan wilderness that stirred something deep inside them. Limited by their rental car and time, they absorbed as much of the landscape as they could, bookmarking (once again) this magical place for a future visit.

They began their descent down the other side of the pass. Deftly navigating more switchbacks and steep drop-offs as they descended the 3,000-foot elevation into a pine forest. Eventually, they arrived at their hostel, where the evening light still lingered despite the late hour. Tomorrow held even more promise, and they needed to rest for the adventure ahead.

The next day, they found themselves riding in the back seat of a beat-up Chevy van that was well past its prime featuring velour seats, doors held shut with rope, and windows cracked from years of abuse. This rickety old rig belonged to their guide known only as Ford. They bounced down the backcountry road, Ford driving the Chevy to their ultimate destination. This One and That One had a conversation with their eyes that simultaneously questioned the sanity of their position but also betrayed their excitement. However, it was cut short when Ford announced they had arrived!

If the elation of surviving the ride wasn’t enough, the excitement of where they stood quickly melted away any concerns about the vehicle. Laid out before them was Matanuska Glacier, its surface pocked and grooved like an enormous, frozen ocean wave. Glaciers, they knew, were living things—slowly, imperceptibly, they shifted and sculpted the landscape over millennia. The deep-blue ice, dense and ancient, radiated a kind of quiet power in the morning sun. Ford snapped the two of them out of their stupor with a hearty “You ready!?” to which they replied with a pair of glowing smiles.

Ford led them across the mirror-like pools of meltwater toward the glacier’s toe, where they stepped onto the ice. As they strapped on crampons and hefted their ice axes, they felt the weight of the moment. The temperature dropped sharply as they ventured further onto the glacier’s surface, ice, and gravel crunching with every step. They trekked two miles over the craggy, alien landscape before reaching a pristine vertical ice wall—their playground for the day. Bottomless crevasses yawned to their left, while the mountain of ice before them shimmered in the sun. The surface of Matanuska was a labyrinth of blue and white, swirled and twisted, creating an otherworldly scene. Water dripping, trickling, and flowing off every surface. The whole world around them was slowly melting and shifting imperceptibly. The icy ground was alive!

For the second time that day, Ford snapped them out of their trance with a call from above “Rope!” as he tossed down the belay line. They traded out backpacks for climbing harnesses and ice axes. That One went first, driving her toes into the ice and swinging her axe with precision. Toe, toe, axe, axe—she methodically ascended the sheer cliffside. Fifty feet later, she reached the summit, waving down to This One below with a beaming grin. She was on cloud nine as she rappelled back to the canyon floor. This One followed, methodically working her way up the wall, the sound of metal cracking against ice reverberating off the walls.

They repeated the climb, up and down, as the glacier around them melted and shifted, transforming the landscape hour by hour. What started as solid ground was now an ankle-deep lake of frigid crystal-clear water. Tomorrow, this wall of ice would look entirely different. The canyon may not exist in a matter of months. This spot belonged to them. The ephemeral nature of this moment, this location was magical, but the time had come to take their leave.

Our heroes hiked back chasing after their guide, navigating the swirling maze within the icy walls of the glacier. Arriving at the glacier entrance, grannies and townies crowded the footbridge, snapping photos of Matanuska from afar. The stark contrast of this crowded noisy space emphasized the contrast of our hero’s intimate, tactile experience of traversing the glacier’s depths. Before hopping into the beat-up Chevy, they both stole one last glance at the glacier, knowing that in a few short years, it might not exist. They thanked Ford for his mentorship and said their goodbyes. The day felt like a rite of passage, leaving them forever changed.

Back at the hostel, tired and exhilarated, they reflected on the day. They had crossed into another world and returned transformed. They touched the glacier’s heart and felt the existential threat to these amazing landscapes. Though this was the last time they would see Matanuska Glacier, it would not be the last time they would visit Hatcher Pass. For now, they settled into the warmth and comfort of the hostel, feeling a sense of fulfillment not from the grand cities they had once sought, but from the unmarked places that few people ever see.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow would bring another adventure entirely.