I knelt into rich dark soil which held the fragrance of decades of composted memories and territorial markings. As I reached down to tighten the laces to my mudded Gore-Tex hiking boots, my gaze was fixed toward a disappearing crest. The steep incline was well beyond the max setting allowed on any treadmill known to man. With a quick upward nod, I dug in and moved forward like an elk in rut.
Shadows reached toward me from thin, towering pines, beckoning me to attempt to grasp their gnarly bark. Gusting winds swept in cool air through a thinning forest and across an icy stream, where moments prior, my hands cupped in the lifegiving water which quenched a thirst that had been drying my throat and lightening my head for nearly two hours. I was preparing to reach the unknown — and potentially not return.
Two weeks prior, I loaded my used Plymouth Laser to the gills with everything I could afford from an army surplus store in Michigan: Tent — check. Backpack — check. Water purification tablets (never used) — check. KA-BAR combat knife — check. Experience — none. Curiosity — overflowing.
With fuel topped off, a giant bag of animal crackers on the front seat, and a few bottles of Mountain Dew within reach, I headed as far north-west as a compact hatchback would allow. Time became a duplicity of hopeful anticipation and daring reactions. I slipped past dotted caves that periodically peaked through curtains of murky fog which paid little authority to road markings or safety signs. The majesty of bright moonlight lit the edges of sharp rock faces, then disappeared into the darkness of night; the full form of which periodically flashed into vision courtesy of menacing lightning strikes that crackled along this dark, desolate highway.
Momentary reprieves were welcome. Like when I sat daydreaming into an azure lake in Montana. They proudly displayed the clear reflection of the heavens above and offered a well-received lulling whisper in the ancient tongue of lapping waves. The moment was like a hug from an old friend who shares Chaucer-like tales of years past, and muses of trails taken and untaken. Without uttering a single word, I engaged in deep conversation.
Pressing on along the northern most state-side reaches of Native American lands, past the land of tubers and into the home of 90’s grunge. It was time to don a flannel hoodie, catch a quick refuel, and reflect on the past several days on the road. A few oyster-shooters and a cup of the original burned-beaned coffee later, it was time to traverse the long road north. This was a good thing; it would take some time for the stinging mixture of oysters washed down with burntbucks coffee to dissipate from the taste buds. I found the cure to this quite curious condition was in fact, more coffee.
The seaside wind [wine-d] was at times, covered by rock formations that made me wonder if some giant snake carved and tunneled its way along the shore eons ago. Inland was inhabited by Mountie’s and Mayonnaise-covered french-fries, but here, on this path, it was all mettle — and the gas pedal was pushed. Concrete and blacktop gave way to mud, pebbles, rocks, and the occasional sheep or goat that didn’t favor or care about human roads. They assumed the right of way across their migration route. Note to self: there is no screeching sound when hitting the brakes over pebbles while dodging random road-crossing sheep; this sounds more like the car is actually breaking and leaving a few nuts and bolts, and countless flakes of paint behind.
Eventually, days later, it was time to make a hard left and skip over the Yukon, because that’s what one does – skip the Yukon. Unless you like prospecting for gold or are willing to do something odd for a Klondike bar. All kidding aside, the Yukon is a beautiful place, but Matanuska’s domain was calling me. Majestic mountains splayed out in every direction; I was almost there. I made it in a clown car, take that Jeep! And now, after two-weeks-travel, and a two-hour hike, it was time to tempt fate. After that cool drink of water, I approached the crest.
Passing those towering pines and territorial markings, it became clear what I was dealing with — a frozen ocean nestled between mountain peaks and crystallized dreams. The sun’s heat melted nothing but its own attempt, leaving just light in its disregarded wake — it seemed to flicker a warning while illuminating its overwhelming foe. This was a landlocked glacier with an unwavering foothold and an attitude. It walked on its back for a distance.
Funny thing about desolation and refraction, it’s hard to gauge angles, everything seems endless and serene. It is. It’s also mirage-like and tends to hide smirking secrets. Walking forward toward what began to appear as an edge. The snow-packed-top covered and ice-glazed slide, and sliding I went. A little faster, then a little faster still. The rush from coffee seemed like a relaxing sip of Chamomile tea before bed, in comparison to the adrenaline that flooded my veins at that moment. I slid my way toward the abyss.
Instinct guided my hand as I gripped the handle of my KA-BAR unsheathing it, and forcefully plunging it through the frozen glaze. The combat knife found its target. It thrust with menacing intent – this may have been how Excalibur was seated into stone. Now, I needed to seat myself quickly, before it became an ejector seat. The scrapping and banging slowed my pace until I eventually stopped my slide. Phew!
The trek back was slow and calculated, until the beautifully familiar sight of rocks and soil meant the open arms of Mother Earth. I pulled up a comfortable boulder to rest.
As the sun began to color the sky on the way to its hiding place beyond the peaks, I think it winked at me, as if to say, “I warned you”. With a chuckle and deep breath, I made my way back to the car, the remaining cold carbonized coffee, and the last of the animal crackers. A gourmet meal fit for a lucky man who dared Matanuska and lived to tell about it.
These were just a few occurrences on my nearly 4,000-mile trek to Matanuska’s domain. While going it alone is still certainly possible, there are guided glacier tours that will help make your exploration safe, fun, and exciting. See the link below for exciting tours of Matanuska!
Visit Glacier Tours on the Matanuska to find out more.