
This is Part 2 of my Late Summer series. Since I spent so much time on the ice this season, I’ve broken this section into several posts, each focused on a different glacier. This first one covers two trips to the Gulkana Glacier.
I didn’t spend any time on the glaciers in the early summer as usual. Except for a quick weekend climbing trip with the team, I didn’t even make it into the Alaska Range until August. My first outing was a last-minute, late-afternoon hike up the Gulkana Glacier to the Gabriel Icefall and a waterfall on the glacier’s western margin above the icefall.

A couple of weeks later, I went back up to the ice with my friend CJ, who had come to visit from New Hampshire. It was only our second adventure of her trip, but the first of several glacier outings we’d end up doing together.
CJ has been one of my closest friends for almost my entire adult life. We met while working at Eastern Mountain Sports in Concord, NH. She’s one of the few people I’ve managed to stay in close touch with over the years, and since I moved to Alaska 15 years ago, she’s by far spent more time adventuring here with me than anyone else. I really value getting to share these places with her and piling up so many good stories, laughs, and adventures along the way.
That day on the Gulkana set the tone for the rest of her trip. Glacier ice, long hikes, and a mix of gray skies with the threat of torrential rain that just never seemed to materialize, and countless brilliant moments that we’ll both be talking about for years.
A couple of weeks earlier, though, I’d already pushed myself on the same glacier in much better weather. I’d wrapped up work at home a little early, stopped by the gym for something (I honestly can’t remember what), chatted with a couple of employees, and could feel myself getting restless. By noon, I’d made up my mind. I was driving south to the Alaska Range.
Three and a half hours later, I was out on the ice in my trail running shoes. The weather was perfect, bright sun pouring over the glacier. I hiked well over 15 miles in about six hours, stopping often to take photos but still moving fast in between stops to squeeze it all into the evening.
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Starting late in the afternoon and needing to be at work at 8 a.m. the following morning, I was definitely on a time crunch. Luckily, the ice had a great texture in the warmer weather, and I was able to move quickly, sometimes even running in between stops. My first notable stop was at a waterfall spilling over the rocks above the Gabriel Icefall, catching the last of the day’s light.



A couple of weeks later, CJ and I returned in very different conditions. Visibility was poor, with rain showers coming and going, and the entire glacier felt grayer and colder. The ice texture was slick, so we needed to wear microspikes for most of the time on the ice. Instead of pushing super far up the ice, we explored near the terminus, where meltwater carved through the moraine in twisting channels. We followed the largest outflow stream as it wound between ice and rock, dipping in and out of small caves and tunnels, remnants of the larger subglacial system that flows unseen beneath the glacier.




The water from this channel flowed down from the glacier surface via a couple of waterfalls, which disappeared between talus-covered snow and ice. It was truly impressive to see such a high volume of water disappear into the rocks before us.

I stopped on the cliffs overlooking the Gabriel Icefall on both visits. I’ve been watching this icefall shrink over the years I’ve been visiting. Due to its visibility on the cliffside, it’s easy to see how much it has thinned over the years. I’ve also been watching the terminus position move steadily up the valley. It’s about 0.3 miles further up the glacier than it was in 2018.




The Gabriel Icefall is one of my favorite places to visit, where the power of the glacier shows in its deep crevasses and towering seracs as the ice spills over the cliffside. In the past decade, it has thinned so much that it’s barely visible from the Richardson Highway. Up close, the scale is still striking and well worth experiencing before it disappears for good.
Walking beneath the ice, the air is filled with the constant sounds of cracking, tumbling rock and ice, water rushing under the glacier, and steady drips from the surface. It’s not a safe place to linger, but it’s hard to resist standing there, surrounded by so much massive, fast-changing ice.











Anyone who has ever hiked with me on a glacier can attest that I spend a lot of time looking at and photographing ice up close. Have you ever found yourself staring at a campfire blankly for minutes on end? I’m the same way with ice. Something about the textures and colors entrances me.
Anytime I hear water, I’ll go looking for the moulin. The way the ice melts, whether from water or increased air exposure in crevasses and seracs in the icefall, creates some fascinating patterns.
I have a project devoted to this: Water and Ice. I’ll be updating the corresponding gallery this fall, once I have more time to edit and curate some of these summer and early fall photos.








I could spend weeks here and never run out of details in the ice. But as this summer showed me, each glacier has its own character and surprises. The Gulkana set the tone for my late-summer outings, leaving me eager for the next adventures with my best friend.

For more photos from these two days
Gulkana Glacier – August 3, 2025 – Sun and Waterfalls
Gulkana Glacier – August 24, 2025 – Clouds and Good Company



