Photography, Travel

A Denali Glacial Flight

Flying over the vastness of Alaska and landing on a glacier at Denali Base Camp

“Denali drifts in and out of layers of fog, dwarfing the nearby peaks. Last night, she gave us a peek at her shoulder, but not much more. It was impossible to fathom her size.” — notes from my journal, August 2020

She’s mammoth. Her sheer scale dwarfs all of the nearby peaks. She’s so lofty that you can’t often see her summit because it is lost above the clouds.

My husband and I had arrived at the Talkeetna Lodge late in the afternoon and Denali was playing peek-a-boo with the sun and the clouds. The young man at the front desk assured us that she’d been visible just an hour before. But, along with her neighbors, Mount Hunter (14,573 feet in elevation) and Mount Foraker (17,400 feet), Denali (20,310 feet) was taunting us with tiny glimpses of her presence.

We had booked a glacial landing flight for the next morning, with no guarantees that we would actually see Denali or be able to land on a glacier at Denali base camp.

We woke to dense fog, the kind that hangs low over the pines with a subtle golden sheen that forebodes sunshine to come.

And then, like magic, her outline began to take shape — her shoulders, her hip, finally her shapely neck. Then she tossed her shawl of straggling fog around her once more, teasing, teasing us.

We boarded a little red sightseeing plane. It seemed so small and inconsequential beside the vastness of Alaska. But off we went, into the swirling fog and endless blue vault of sky.

The photo below looks like a runway of ice, but it’s actually a glacial flow. From up here, it’s easy to see how glaciers have shaped so much of the planet. They do more than carry rocks along, they move mountains and carve valleys and sculpt the very earth.

In the next photo, you can see several glacial paths merging.

We climbed higher and higher until it felt like we were brushing the very heavens. And, miraculously, the sky opened up and just kept getting bluer and bluer. It’s hard to even describe that blue. It surrounds you. The ice, itself glows blue. The very air seems to breathe blue.

And the snowfield grew thicker and thicker. It seems impossible to imagine that anyone would try to cross this to summit Denali. And yet they do.

One of the guides on our trip told us an interesting fact though. The most dangerous part of trying to summit Denali is actually crossing the “braided rivers” at her feet because they are so filled with silt that your pockets and shoes fill up with those fine, but very heavy, particles and suck you down to drown.

Looking down, little pockets of blue jewels wink at you. This is where the ice has become so compressed that it just glows.

Higher and higher, we flew.

And then, there she was!

And we were going to land down there, in that flat area. That’s Denali Base Camp.

We circled, taking in the vistas, before beginning to descend.

And then, we were down and clambering out of the plane. I don’t think that I have ever been anywhere so extreme, so remote, in my life. The exhilaration just thrummed through my veins.

There she was, straight ahead of us, drifting in and out of the fog, perfectly framed against the robin’s-egg-blue sky. I wandered off for a few minutes, snapping photos, just taking in the vastness of it all.

And then, we were off again, climbing up above a ring of granite teeth.

For a while, we floated above what looked to me like a realm straight out of Lord of the Rings — a lilliputian land. I could just imagine the ents and fairies and magical creatures hiding down there.

The headphones you wear on these flights muffle all the noise out. Taking away your sense of hearing like that intensifies your other senses and creates a feeling of almost being “out of body.”

I’ve since been on several other glacial flights out of Juneau. But, nothing I’ve done or seen since has compared to that day we landed on Denali.

The vastness of this place lures my soul into the depths of the forests and the never-ending expanse of sky, ribboned with whisps of vapor and bedecked with iridescent puffs of clouds. It draws me back again and again. It’s in my breath, bones and very soul.

After leaving Talkeetna, we drove to Denali National Park, where we stayed at the very end of the road, at the Denali Back Country Lodge. Since this was during the pandemic (we had the original Covid in March of 2020 and still had antibodies, so we felt safe to travel to Alaska) we were lucky enough to experience the backcountry without a lot of other people.

The travel industry was trying to lure the locals into visiting their home state and was offering a fifty-percent discount to Alaskan residents that year, so we met and were able to talk to a lot of locals, which was really interesting.

The following photo was one of my favorites from the trip. The ninety-two-mile drive in one of the “magic school buses” winds through a landscape that dwarfs you. Elk, moose, bear, and a myriad of other creatures call this place home. This vista looks out across the valley floor towards Denali.

We were lucky enough to have clear skies for at least a part of the day for the four days we were there. These are just a few of the shots I snapped of “the Goddess” while were there.

The first is from across a “braided river,” which occurs in areas where there is a lot of sediment, like Alaska.

This shot is of the “alpenglow,” which happens at sunset.

And there is Denali in the distance.

The next photo is of Denali from “Wonder Lake.” This is where Ansel Adams took his famous photo.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little foray into views of Denali. If you ever have the chance to visit Alaska, I hope that you will have the chance to catch a glimpse of her. She is a thing of awe. Being able to see her on these clear days was so incredible. Often when I close my eyes at night, I can see her in all of her glory. She brings me peace. She brings me beauty. She brings me joy.

Thank you to the editors at Globetrotters (JoAnn Ryan, Anne Bonfert, Jillian Amatt — Artistic Voyages, Adrienne Beaumont, Michele Maize) for this month’s challenge on terrains of the world:

I have quite enjoyed reading some of the other stories from this challenge.

Anne Bonfert is always up to an adventure:

Keith Kelley wrote about Croatia, someplace I’ve always wanted to go:

Mary B also wrote a lovely piece about terrains of the world:

Gail Sawchuk also wrote a piece about the Great Sand Dunes:

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

You might also enjoy a couple other of my Alaska stories:

If you enjoyed this piece, you might consider subscribing to my stories. You’ll get an alert whenever a story gets published. While I do normally post my stories with free “friends” links on social media, if you enjoy reading on medium, you can help the many talented writers here by joining. It helps to support the arts and to keep us writing!

And, because I’ve had a few people asking lately, if you’re ever interested in purchasing a photo, just leave me a note.

Photos and story ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.