Let WC Take You on a Jet Flight


The jet flight from Anchorage to Juneau, on a clear day, offers some of the most spectacular country in the world out your cabin window. The problem is, there aren’t that many clear days on the Gulf of Alaska. WC got lucky in August 2015. Here’s a flight-seeing guide to just some of the amazing scenery along the 577-mile flight path. So grab a port side window seat and enjoy the scenery.

(WC was fighting glare off the water and ice. Sometimes WC had to resort to polarizing filters to manage that glare. The polarizing filters reacted with the coatings on the windows, giving some photos an odd color cast. Sorry about that.)

Colony Glacier at bottom, Lake George in middle, Knik Glacier at upper right and Knik Arm above Cook Inlet at top left.

Knik Glacier used to dam the outlet to Lake George, triggering glacial floods each spring down to Knik Arm. Knik Glacier has retreated and no longer dams the river.

Miles Glacier in foreground, the mighty Copper River in the upper left, flowing down towards us en route to the Gulf of Alaska

In the last ice age, Miles Glacier, together with the easterly-flowing Childs Glacier, dammed the Copper River, helping create ancient glacial Lake Ahtna, that sprawled across south-central Alaska. Today Miles Glacier ends in Miles Lake, part of the Copper River.

Folding and rippling in the ice and moraines of the Martin River Glacier, an ice stream in rapid retreat. The brown moraines overlay stagnant glacial ice.

Martin River Glacier is a rapidly dying glacier. The lower third is dominated by old moraines in which the ribbons of ice and medial moraines trace compression-generated curves.

The striking and beautiful Barkley Ridge, with Bering Glacier to the left and the vast Bagley Icefield in the background

The layers of argillite (purplish), siltstone (dark brown) and sandstone (tan) are visible for miles. Geology from 28,000 feet.

Bering Glacier, the second largest glacier in Alaska and the smaller of Alaska’s two Piedmont glaciers

Bering Glacier is big, and if it were not for Malaspina Glacier, its huge neighbor, Bering would be better known than it is. Named after Vitus Bering, the leader of the Russian exploration party that brought the first Europeans to Alaska in 1742, it’s also shrinking.

Icy Bay. Guyot Glacier to the lower left, Yahtse Glacier to the center and Tyndall Glacier in the upper right. All three glaciers appear to be in rapid retreat.

There aren’t many harbors that offer protection from storms along the Gulf of Alaska shorelines. Icy Bay was too treacherous to be useful for decades, choked with ice from calving glaciers. Most of those glaciers have grounded and retreated to land now. Icy Bay is mostly ice-free today. Icy Bay isn’t icy.

Malaspina Glacier. Outside of Greenland, this is the largest glacier in the Northern Hemisphere and a glimpse at what the northern United States must have looked like during the Wisconsonian Ice Age.

The extraordinary moraines criss-crossing the lower Malaspina Glacier are medial moraines that have been buckled and twisted by the compression of the ice flow down from higher elevations. It preserves the complex dynamics of the glacial flow as the river of ice spills out onto the coastal plain.

Yakutat Bay at left. Hubbard Glacier at upper center, the largest tidewater glacier in Alaska. Russell Fjord and Nunatak Fjord to the right. The Yakutat Forelands in lower center.

All of the land in this photo south of Russell Fjord is part of the Yakutat Terrane, a continental plate fragment transported by plate tectonics to a collision with the Gulf of Alaska coastline. The collision has driven up much of the Coast Range, including Mt. St. Elias, which reaches 18,008 feet. It’s the same process that created the Himalayas, on a smaller scale.

Harlequin Lake, center, with the Dangerous River draining it to the left. Yakutat Glacier in the distance.

As recently as 2004, Yakutat Glacier extended down to the peninsula on the easterly shore of Harlequin Lake. It has retreated so far north that it has resolved into two smaller glaciers now. Harlequin Lake itself will eventually become another bay in the Gulf of Alaska as the Dangerous River erodes away the terminal moraines at the southerly end of Harlequin Lake.

Alsek River running down to Dry Bay

The Alsek River, like the Copper River, is one of the very few streams to penetrate the Coast Range mountains, draining the southerly Yukon Territory. While it is no longer periodically blocked by glaciers, the Alsek River still carries the highest sediment load of any stream WC has canoed or kayaked.

Mt. Fairweather, looking straight down.

Our flight route took us almost directly over the summit of 15,525 foot Mt. Fairweather. The summit is in the lower center of the photo. If you trace the summit ridge east and north, at the upper right of the photo is the summit of 13,235 feet all Mt. Quincy Adams. The two summits frame the 9,000 foot high north wall of Mt. Fairweather, the head of Grand Plateau Glacier.

Clouds covered most of the balance of the route, as the flight began its gradual descent into Juneau. WC’s photos don’t begin to do justice to amazing scenery and geology, but perhaps are adequate to give you a faint idea of why WC thinks the views along this flight path are unsurpassed.

3 thoughts on “Let WC Take You on a Jet Flight

  1. I first saw Mt. Fairweather from a vantage point just off Cape Fairweather after navigating a ‘wooden ship’/boat built in 1932. It was about this time of month (Feb.) in 1970. I lived on a similar boat in Kodiak Harbor (the ‘Trinity’) paying $15 a month rent + taking some care of the Trinity. I longed to go to California to visit friends but didn’t have the bucks at the time, being a lowly King Crab Cannery laborer. The 1932-built boat had tied up alongside the Trinity one day so I chatted with the one fellow on board. He informed me that the family that owned the boat he was in had asked him to take it to Seattle where they were going to retire it. He had an ad in a local periodical asking for crew. I volunteered since Seattle was closer to Seattle than Kodiak. He said come aboard so I became crew and he was captain. It soon got interesting because there were no other ‘brave souls’ who wished to take that vessel through the waters of the Gulf of Alaska in February. It really got interesting when he said I was the navigation and he was the engineer and that was it. A crew of two. Off we went after he showed me the ‘steering wheel’, the ‘autopilot’, the depth finder, and the navigation charts. I had never been a navigator before. My first lesson was composed of ‘here is how you set a course’, ‘here are the charts’, and ended with ‘I’m going to start the engines now’. It was nice to know that the engines were two Caterpillar diesels. Nothing to worry about. After getting over a seasickness, looking over the charts, and taking readings with the depth finder, it seemed that the depth finder was flawed, damaged, or otherwise malfunctioning. I inquired of the captain and was informed that the depth finder was fine but the charts suffered from not having been updated since the great earthquake of 1984. I don’t know if that was because those who made such charts hadn’t had enough time to redo the charts of the entire Gulf of Alaska, or whether the boat owners just had not purchased new ones. I think that it was the former. Anyway I noticed a mathematical pattern in the depths reported by the depth finder and the charts. It was a difference of about 20 fathoms. Notice I said ‘about’. It was enough to chart a course for a first time navigator. Sorta. But I digress. No problem, I got the hang of it on the first part of the journey, which was from the mouth of Kodiak Harbor to the lighthouse just south of the Homer spit. From there I changed course and set it for Cross Sound just south of Yakutat. A storm interrupted the journey and after hanging on to this or that for several days, while ‘navigating’, the captain came to me and informed me that the engines were overheating. I followed him to the area where he made a ‘Mayday … Mayday’ call on the radio which produced ‘crickets’ in reply. We were on our own. Nothing new. So I promptly studied the charts for a pattern in the depth finder’s native language of numbers and noticed that we were not too far south of “The Fairweather Grounds”, a vast subsurface plateau. I immediately set course for Cape Fairweather. The next pleasing event was a sharp drop in the size of the depth finder readings as we floated over the southern edge of The Fairweather Gounds. Soon enough (just this side of disaster) I went to the front most wheel out in the open on the bow area and looked up to what resembled Mt. Kilimanjaro … Mt. Fairweather. The captain was asleep, so I dropped anchor and took a break in the galley with Pig Pen, my faithful dog who had traveled up the Alaska Highway with me and the first surfboard I brought to Alaska a coupe of years before that. I lived long enough to bring another one from Hawaii a decade or so later. But I digress again. I took a nap and when I awoke I went to the galley where the captain now was, and without saying anything else asked him “Isn’t that a beautiful mountain?” He asked me with a tinge of excitement in his voice, “How did you know?” Anyway, I am getting to the glacier part. I thereafter set a course once again to Cross Sound, and since the weather was calm under the protection of the Coastal Range, I went to the bow again to observe. All of a sudden, just east of the Copper River, a huge, beautiful blue faced glacier appeared on the coastline. I was about a mile offshore as I remember. It had a face about the height of a ten or twenty story building, and was several miles in width to be best of my memory. It was enough to alarm me, because I imagined what could happen if it calved a large iceberg. So I immediately moved about 5 miles out where I could still see some of it for awhile. I looked on maps, etc. a few years ago to look it up. I was about twenty miles inland. The glaciers are receding. Anyway, I’ll close by saying that there were other adventurous events after going thru Cross Sound and navigating the inland passages of The Alexander Archipelago.

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