The first thing you notice standing on the black sand beach is the incredible silence. As the boat that brought you across Kachemak Bay disappears into the distance and its engines’ whine dies, there is an incredible silence. The sound of your shoe shifting against the sand is the loudest noise around, and you realize that now you know what silence is, what peace really means, on a level that you couldn’t imagine prior to being in the middle of it. Near your feet are bear tracks from the black bears that went running at first sound of the boat’s engine.

The black sand beaches stretch languidly for nearly a mile in either direction. There are no signs on the beach itself, but you can look around the chest high yellow weeds that resemble prairie grass and see where a trail knocks down a path. The one you’re looking for is the one that leads to Grewingk Glacier. Although there are six choices along the two miles to choose from, the most efficient trail is the closest (you silently thank the water taxi service for their choice spot of beach where they landed). The dead tree, standing alone among the weeds and as white as a snow covered glacier, fifty yards from you and another fifty from the woods themselves, is your beacon.

There is a small clearing by the dead tree, with a small fire ring and several benches pulled together from driftwood, dead branches, and large stones. This is the work of local boys who love their nature, but also want there fires and places to sit, as well. Those go hand in hand up here, and it should be encouraging . . . the kids want to be out here enough to have their own place.

You may look back and admire the black sand beaches one more time, but the woods are only fifty yards away and the lure of Alaskan wilderness is too much to resist. The weeds wave good-bye as the trail switches to woods. Large fern like plants intersperse with grass and multi colored weeds on the forest floor. Pines and birch mix, and stand tall on both sides of the trail, eternal sentinels. If you arrived in the morning, the wind will be cool, even in late July, and dew will give the forest floor an extra glaze of beauty. You will notice some of the largest trees have huge chunks of bark that almost look petrified. Between those strange trees and the ferns, it’s not hard to believe for a few moments that you’ve traveled back in time and a lazy lumbering dinosaur waits around the next corner.

There might be a large moose or black bear close by, but no dinosaurs. The guide on the boat, and it doesn’t matter which one you had, told you to talk, sing, make noise. This is the great advice. As long as the moose or bear isn’t surprised, they’ll avoid you and there’s nothing to worry about. As the trail leads into a small grove of pines, there may be a lot of noise on the forest floor to your left or right. Partridges walk around both sides, with little fear of you. They shuffle back ten feet when you approach, then turn and look at you. Many times you can see a mama with her chicks, and even get good pictures of the pretty birds as they stare at you. Great pictures, but also a thought of understanding on how the dodos died so easily—good for them this is a park.

Coming up in the trail is the first actual signs, made from wood with directions and the distance cut into them (oddly enough, in kilometers). If you want a picture to freak out the relatives back home, this is it: the sign has a large corner chewed off of it from the local bears. All the signs you will run into have this distinctive feature, in fact. A great location for a snack break is only a mile away, as the forest opens up to a large area full of rocky ground. While there are trees, they are sparse, and the trail is marked from the rest by piles of larger stones that seem to appear every fifty feet or so to keep you on a trail that is otherwise often difficult to discern. The trail brings you to the edge of a steep embankment, and at the bottom is the glacial river. The river is small, with several off shoots down in the valley, but even from above it looks strong and nearly impossible to ford. The water looks like a capital “N” with a connected circle looping around it. White rocks intersperse the smooth black and gray stones that appear as miniature islands between the streams.

On a particularly windy day you might get the first hint of glacial breezes following the river through the crack between large hills, and after resting for a snack, the trail leads out of the rocks and back into a second patch of healthy woods, complete with another sign that provided an afternoon snack for an unseen black bear. Beyond this sign is one spot where the trail is carved into the side of a large stone outcropping, covered in moss, ferns, and other plants. Two dead trees hang over, with vines intertwined, turning this part of the trail into a beautiful canopy, and an active imagination could imagine this as an entrance way to an Elvin city. Even an inactive imagination recognizes a great picture opportunity, and not too far beyond this point is where the adventurous groups keep on going, and the casual hikers stay behind and take a gentler trail.

To get all the way to Grewingk Glacier, you have to cross the glacial river, and there’s only one place that’s possible: at the tram. The tram is a metal basket with enough space for two people and some gear, as long as the total weight is less than 500 lbs. It is attached to a rope and pulley system that needs a minimum of two people to work, though a group of four is ideal. The passengers can help pull from the inside, but most of the force comes from the people pulling on the platform. The basket goes from one platform to another, and in the middle, about fifty feet straight above some of the glacial river’s fiercest currents, is an amazing view in both directions, following the river’s currents to places where human feet simply can not reach. Using the tram is a heck of an upper body workout, but there is no time for rest.

After everyone is across, the most arduous part of the hike begins, as this part of the trail climbs steeply up the side of a small mountain. The trail zig zags up the side, through ferns and plants, and though an exhausting section, the view you are rewarded with at the top makes the effort worth it. Your view goes on for over five miles, and is only blocked by the mountains on the other side of the valley. Even in July there is snow on the other mountains. You can look down on the forests below, and the glacial lake is three miles away, little chunks of remnant ice still holding in the water far away. This is the first view that hints at the giant Grewingk Glacier, and the trail down the other side of the mountain zig-zags, often overgrown by the giant green ferns that many people would equate more with a jungle than an Alaskan forest. In the morning with dew, clothes become completely soaked, making changes of clothes (especially socks) necessary even on the nicest of days. This trail often hugs the edge, and sometimes a five hundred foot fall is only three arms’ lengths away, an adrenaline rush while searching for an overgrown part of the trail when there are tall weeds and a sharp drop and not much else at all.

Down on the valley floor you continue in thick forest that eventually thins out. As you draw closer to the lagoon, occasionally a glacial breeze cools off the body and tickles the skin. A glacial breeze is distinct, different, from a regular breeze. It brings a refreshing coldness that doesn’t come with any other type of wind in the world. Every time it hits your face, there is a pause, a smile, a burst of energy urging you on. The trail leads you to the glacial lagoon, where sea gulls make their way in to search for food, and you can feel the breeze. A large outcropping prevents you from seeing the glacier, but it’s just around that corner.

This is a good spot for a meal, especially after four hours of hiking. The bugs are a little annoying, but after the meal you continue to follow the trail, which plunges into some of the thickest woods yet. If “off the beaten path” is your idea of the perfect trail, then you will be absolutely delighted at what happens when the trail disappears into a trickling creek. The trickle of a creek is the smallest, weakest form of a waterfall, and your trail is to follow the flowing water up the side of the hill. The creek/waterfall is your trail for nearly half a mile, until the trickle disappears into the ground, but large rock outcroppings to your left offer a great view, the way to the rest of the trail, and a great place to stop for a snack.

This place also lifts you above the forest, and you can see the glacier clearly. Any camera with even basic zoom will give amazing photos. The glacial breezes flow over the rock outcropping frequently, and the clear white is a stark contrast to the heavy greens that summer provides the forests. Even from a distance it is easy to make out broken chunks of ice all over the border of where the glacier clashes with the mountains. A strong urge grips you to finish the last three miles of trail, ride back be damned . . . but if you aren’t back by the beach by seven, the boats don’t show until the next day, and without winter clothes, a tent, and a lot of water, it just is not something you chance. Trail or not, this is Alaska, and this trail goes much further into the wild than any trail in the lower forty-eight. Take a few pictures that will stun your friends at home, then turn and make for the trail home. It will take a good clip to get back in time, but it is possible.

After a sight like that your mind is set, and you know next time you come back it will be with three friends and a lot of supplies. The glacier will call you back, that forgotten breeze, the brilliant white beauty, the trail that requires you to climb a waterfall. Next time it will be three days, to give you time to get there, to enjoy it, to find your way back and explore those dozen side trails you didn’t even set foot on.

Though rushed, you make it back to shore, and collapse on the beach, reveling in the sore muscles, but enjoying the dropping temperature from Kachemak Bay, mind floating over all the images of the day. While watching the water a fish jumps and snags lunch, and not shortly after a seal’s head pops up, stares at you, then disappears under water again. The boat arrives, and a ladder is set down for you to climb on. As the boat speeds away, the only sound breaking the silence, the black sands of the beach slowly fade away, the yellow weeds still waving good-bye, or maybe hello, in hopes of your inevitable return.

By: Shane M. Dayton