Hike to Harding Icefield

After our luxurious stay in Homer and an overload of festivals it was time to get back to the basics. We set up camp by a lake and planned an all day hike to the Harding Icefields. Fish again for dinner and we snuggled up in our tent for the first night in far too long. The next morning, after a hearty bowl of oatmeal (perhaps the best one yet by chef Rachel) we retraced our steps to the bottom of the Exit Glacier.
Though the trail was not as uninhabited as we would have liked, there is something particularly alluring about hikes in which you gain this kind of elevation. We began in the shade of the trees, entirely enveloped in a world of branches and brush, unable to see what lay beyond or behind. It seemed as if it could go on forever, then gradually the trees seemed to get smaller, then disappear, and an entirely new world was revealed. The glacier became visible and we could see how far we had ascended. At this point the ground was carpeted in green, with pink, yellow and purple accents.
Perched on a boulder we ate lunch (peanut butter of course), getting lost in the mysteries of the bright blue crevasses and the endless sea of white that peeked over the glacier. Soon we were a part of the white sea that crunched beneath our feet and created a field of reflection that baked our skin. The sun glaring above forced us down to our bras and to reapply sunscreen. The view of the forests and the path over which we had come disappeared behind a ridge and we were left alone with nothing but the icefield. It expanded in all directions, the peaks of mountains emerging from the snow every now and again. The way down was a journey through the layers in reverse, returning towards normalcy one step at a time. The burn in our lungs and legs felt good after our period of respite.
When we returned to our campsite, the sun had still not relented and the idea of climbing into our sleeping bags still dripping with sweat and caked in dirt was particularly unappealing. There was no running water around. In fact we had not encountered any running water since Homer (you reach a point where anti-bacterial gel just doesn’t cut it anymore). There was only one option – to jump in the glacial lake.
Knowing that it was near freezing we took a deep breath, counted down and took off at a full sprint into the water, wading up to our ankles, then knees, then dunking in our heads. By the time the entire body was submerged our feet were nearly numb and we were forced to sprint out at the same rate. Refreshed but not quite clean, we braved a few more dips, sometimes just wading out far enough to scrub our feet. Exhausted and as clean as possible we retired to our tent while the sun was still high in the sky despite the late hour.