I’ve visited the Hayes Range on the west side of the Delta River every summer since 2016. Last August I opted to fly in so I could spend more time photographing and less time struggling to cross the Delta and navigating through soggy tundra. Golden Eagle Outfitters dropped me off at a remote airstrip near Trident Glacier around sunset and I took my very first professional-quality aerial shots of the big peaks of the Hayes Range during the flight.

Mount Deborah at sunset. The famous E ridge rises from the col left of center.

After the plane took off I started hiking quickly to knock out a few miles before dark. As I walked along a muddy creek adjacent to Trident Glacier I passed countless fresh tracks belonging to bear, wolf, moose, caribou, fox, and other animals. Mount Moffit loomed directly ahead, growing larger with every step. As the twilight faded I pitched my tent near some rocky outcroppings. I awoke shortly before sunrise and climbed atop a big rock for a signature selfie with my camera operating on a timer.

Mount Moffit at sunrise with Trident Glacier below. I had great cell service from this location.

Something that drove me crazy about my old Canon 5D Mark IV was its inability to shoot with either live view or mirror lockup enabled while using the built-in interval timer. This made it difficult to avoid blur caused by mirror slap when shooting similar images with a telephoto lens using the interval timer. I shot the above image using the Canon R5, which still has the same interval timer as the 5D Mark IV except it’s now possible to use the interval timer in conjunction with the electronic shutter which avoids vibration from mirror slap or shutter shock. Sony cameras have a built-in interval timer that puts Canon’s to shame in terms of user-friendliness and functionality, and I really wish Canon would refine theirs.

After sunrise, I leisurely strolled farther up the creek parallel to Trident Glacier. After a couple miles, the creek bent away from the glacier into a vast valley, and cliffs above the glacier’s edge blocked the path forward. I descended onto the glacier there and slowly navigated across its nearly two-mile width. I lost one of my Microspikes on the way, so I had a terrible time scrambling up and down over the dozens of steep hills on the glacier.

One of countless interesting sights on Trident Glacier.

On the far side of the glacier I scrambled up a steep slope onto a bench where I had hiked previously on my traverse from Black Rapids to Healy in 2018. The last time I was there, rain was falling hard and I could only see the bottom portion of Mount Moffit. This time, the majesty of the mountains was on full display. I bushwhacked for a short stretch following a rough game trail until the brush thinned. After that, I strolled through some of the easiest hiking terrain the Alaska Range has to offer while winding around a wide bend in the glacier. I surprised a porcupine hanging out in the open and it waddled away from me at a glacial pace until it found a bush to hide in.

Trident Glacier with Mount Moffit (right) and McGinnis Peak (left, above icefall).

I found an area of soft, flat tundra to place my tent with a ridiculous view of Mount Moffit and an eyepopping icefall just around the corner. The wind never seemed to blow there, and the white noise from a nearby creek was soothing. The only drawback to this perfect campsite was one pesky arctic ground squirrel who enjoyed nibbling on my tent. Nearly all of the squirrels I see while hiking in remote areas keep their distance from me or dive into a hole under the ground when I approach, but this one would hop close to me to investigate my pack and tent, and it wouldn’t scurry away unless I stood up or moved toward it quickly, just like the Denali National Park squirrels. I did appreciate it posing nicely for photographs, though.

After the first night at camp, enough smoke from distant wildfires had drifted into the area to cause a slight haze—not enough to totally ruin all my landscape photos, but enough to be annoying. I climbed a ridge with nonstop views of the mountains and Trident Glacier until I could see Donnelly dome to the northeast. A herd of roughly 100 caribou appeared over a neighboring ridge but they remained too distant for a good photo. Below, I spotted a few people hiking on Trident Glacier resembling ants crawling on a runway. They must have been the group my pilot told me he was picking up the next day.

I hung out on the ridge photographing and enjoying the warm weather until the clouds turned threatening. The rain held off long enough on my hike back to camp for me to collect water, photograph some wildflowers and watch a few caribou roaming nearby, but as soon as I reached my campsite steady rain began falling. I crawled inside my tent and the rain quickly intensified, falling heavier than any rain I’d previously experienced in the Alaska Range. Lightning began flashing every minute and thunder crackled a second or two after each flash. I nervously huddled in my tent waiting for the thunderstorm to subside, hoping my tent would withstand the driving rain.

Mount Hayes obscured by clouds at the head of Trident Glacier.

After 10 or 15 minutes the lightning grew less frequent and the rain slowed to a gentle patter on the tent. After another few minutes the rain stopped completely. The small creek nearby sounded like a raging river after the storm passed. I fell asleep and awoke the next morning to the sound of that squirrel nibbling on my tent.

Clouds over Trident Glacier were still clearing when I exited the tent, slowly revealing the summit of Mount Moffit. After an hour, all the clouds had disappeared, and I began climbing higher than I did the previous day along the same ridge. I passed a couple caribou on my way above 6000 feet elevation, where the ridge turned to rock. I surveyed several potential locations for a selfie sunset shot and settled on a wide shot with some large rocks in the foreground, though there were so many other options and I regretted only being able to choose one. While the shot I picked came out nicely (see below), I took a better one on the fly soon after just before the last flash of sun faded a single rock pedestal sticking out high above Trident Glacier. I took another favorite shot of the icefall glowing softly under the twilight on the hike back down the ridge some time after sunset. (First image in this post.)

The next day I packed up all my gear and crossed back over Trident Glacier, which was still a pain due to my lost ice cleat but much easier than the initial crossing since I knew where to avoid the worst obstacles. While waiting for my pilot, a lone bull caribou wandered aimlessly around the landing strip, and for a moment I thought I might have to chase it off when the plane came in for a landing. After flying home, I laughed when I realized I had only hiked 15 miles total. Flying in and out freed up so much time for me to focus on photography, and I didn’t have to fight exhaustion to stay up late for sunset or wake up early for sunrise at all this trip. Feels a bit lazy, but I could get used to it.

Somewhere around 6000 feet elevation on a ridge above Trident Glacier opposite Mount Moffit.

Mount Moffit viewed from near our second campsite, about four miles away from Trident Glacier and five miles from the base of the mountain.

At the end of an exceptionally rainy July, a stretch of clear weather appeared in the forecast and I decided to make the most of it by setting out for Trident Glacier near the base of Mount Moffit with my friend Ryan. Reaching this remote area in the summer requires floating across the wide and braided Delta River unless you have the means to fly in. On the morning our adventure started, I was caught off guard by a reddish haze in the sky on my drive into Delta Junction, and I couldn’t see nearby Granite Mountain even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Wildfire smoke from Siberia had drifted over Alaska, and I hoped it would dissipate by the next day so the haze wouldn’t destroy my opportunity for close-range big mountain shots.

Recent heavy rain made crossing the Delta River more difficult than usual. Typically, I’m able to wade across many of the smaller braids of the river until I reach the largest one (which is always too deep to wade) and I float across to the mouth of McGinnis Creek with ease in my packraft. But Ryan and I had to hike farther upstream than usual to cross one overflowing braid before we rafted across all the rest, hopping out onto gravel bars a few times to drag our rafts into an adjacent braid. Ryan had packrafted several Alaska rivers before but was still struck by the size of the Delta and its strong currents. While the river is mostly devoid of rapids and large wave trains in this area, there are strange whirlpools and clashing currents where the braids intersect that can quickly spin a raft. Several people have flipped or sunk amphibious vehicles, ATVs, and various watercraft trying to cross the river here, so don’t take the crossing lightly.

Crossing McGinnis Creek. The Delta River is in the background with the mountains obscured by wildfire smoke.

After we reached the far side, we stowed our rafts and waded McGinnis Creek in a braided spot. From there, we hiked up the gravel bar and hopped onto an ATV trail that starts along the north edge of the creek and conveniently leads above tree line. Along the trail, I spotted several wood frogs, including one large frog that sat still while I crept very close for a macro shot. I’ve only seen a few wood frogs in Alaska, though I have heard many more while photographing sunsets at small ponds in the spring when males are busy serenading females. After taking my first ever picture of a wood frog, I felt my photography expedition couldn’t be a total failure even if the wildfire smoke failed to clear.

We followed the trail across wide open terrain to a private cabin with an airstrip. A network of ATV trails originates from the cabin, crisscrossing miles of otherwise remote wilderness. It’s hard to believe people go through such effort and expense to get motorized toys across the Delta River to make their hunting trips easier and feel no shame about leaving ruts everywhere in a place so wild. It’s not like the Denali Highway or other motorized hunting areas with easier access where people enjoy the trails throughout the whole summer for fishing, camping, and other recreation besides hunting. That being said, the ATV trails sure make hiking easier, muddy as they are.

After crossing another mile or two of open terrain full of berries and wading through a rushing creek, we began ascending a grassy ridge shortly before sunset. I still couldn’t see the mountains through the haze, so I stopped worrying about finding a scenic spot to camp. We arrived at a flat spot on the ridge and pitched our tents. The wind picked up overnight and by 6 a.m. it was rattling my tent so hard I couldn’t sleep. One of the pole’s on Ryan’s tent snapped. I broke my tent down and crawled over to a low spot out of the wind and dozed for a while in the warm morning sun.

Caribou antler shed with Mount Moffit in the background. We found several sheds and bones on the trip and passed signs of bear, moose, caribou, wolf, and sheep.

With the wind howling and the mountains beginning to emerge through the haze, we continued up the ridge. We passed a large granite tor that provided a short respite from the wind, then continued until the ridge joined with a steep tundra slope leading to a higher alpine ridge. A lone caribou climbed up the slope ahead of us, effortlessly gaining elevation and seemingly uninterested in posing for pictures. About half-way up the slope teeming with wildflowers we stopped at an idyllic stream and ate lunch. It was so warm I briefly thought about sunbathing there the rest of the day instead of hiking.

Relaxing near camp with views of McGinnis Peak and Mount Moffit.

On top of the alpine ridge we found a caribou trail and plenty of recent tracks. We continued about a mile along the ridge until it descended several hundred feet to a pass below. With over four miles left to Trident Glacier and quite a bit of uphill and downhill left if we continued forward, I stopped to evaluate our options. While the haze on the mountains had improved significantly, a layer of wildfire smoke still lingered low on the horizon, and I knew it would probably kill the best sunset and sunrise light. Ryan, who brought 10 or 20 pounds too much gear (including a drone, a DSLR with a tripod, a camp chair, a gun and bear spray, a full wardrobe, etc., etc.), couldn’t hike very fast on the uphill sections, and, while he still would have pushed on, I didn’t think we would have been able to hike 16 miles back to the Delta River the next day to avoid rain in the forecast and the need to stretch our food supply. So, we pitched camp with some impressive views of McGinnis Peak, Mount Moffit, Moby Dick, and Mount Hayes, and I did my best to catch a few cool shots of the mountains despite the lingering haze. The wind died down after sunset and I slept great on a cushy bed of spongy tundra.

The unnamed 12,000+ foot mountain between Mount Moffit and Mount Hayes, unofficially named “Moby Dick”.

The next morning, I caught a few detailed shots of the big mountains draped in dramatic shadows before the clouds blocked the sun for the rest of the day. After we packed up, I started hiking back along the ridge by myself to capture some shots of Ryan from a distance in front of Mount Moffit and Moby Dick. As he approached me, two caribou appeared out of nowhere between us. They walked right past me, disappeared over a hill, then reappeared a few minutes later as they crossed the drainage down below.

The route on our return hike led entirely downhill so we kept a comfortably fast pace. We encountered two moose on the way and Ryan stopped to gather blueberries and salmonberries for his wife. I noticed some fresh bear scat on the trail just before we hit the tree line but luckily we avoided a bear encounter. Once we reached the river and retrieved our rafts, we waterproofed our gear and carried our rafts upstream far enough to ensure we could cross the main braids with plenty of room to maneuver. Ryan brought a drysuit so he stayed comfortably warm, but I wore shorts and tennis shoes, so my lower half froze every time I waded one of the braids as we plodded across. We reached the final braid just before sunset and casually floated along it for five minutes back to the truck we left parked beside the river.

I wanted to make this trip in 2019 after being thwarted by rain during my 2018 traverse from Black Rapids to Healy, but I declined to because of the persistent wildfire smoke that covered Interior Alaska most of the summer. It’s a bit ironic that I was thwarted by wildfire smoke this summer when Alaska has had a particularly quiet wildfire season and record-setting rain. I guess I’ll just have to try again in 2021.

Taking in the sunset after packrafting across the Delta River at the end of the trip.

Read about my Alaska photography adventures

Trident Glacier August 2021

Across The Delta River