Canwell Glacier Ice Tunnel

 
Details and reflections in the wall of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel.

Details and reflections in the wall of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel.

A large meltwater canyon twists down the rugged moraine of Canwell Glacier and the frigid stream that rushes through it in the summer has carved an impressive tunnel beneath the surface of the glacier. I found the tunnel by chance four years ago and have visited it every winter since. The entrance has morphed considerably over time, but the interior is better insulated and has remained mostly recognizable from one winter to the next. 

On my first trip to the tunnel this winter I brought along my friends Forrest and Nigal. Orange and pink clouds were rolling over the mountains when we parked beside Miller Creek shortly after sunrise, and the cold breeze promised the approach would not be very enjoyable. My skis sank several inches into the fresh snow as I skinned up the creek while my companions sank about a foot in their snowshoes. After a couple miles of strenuous trail breaking the glacier came into view and the wind began blowing directly in our faces. The frost on my eyelashes felt like glue trying to hold my eyelids shut. 

After reaching the glacier we began climbing up and down over the hilly moraine until we stood looking at the tunnel entrance from above. It was guarded by steep walls of snow, so we were forced to circle around to it via a gentler slope. Forrest scrambled down into a new ice cave adjacent to the tunnel and took a look around, but Nigal and I were content to skip it. The three of us then shimmied up the final hill and gazed down at the aquamarine ice curving into darkness below.

Descending to the ice tunnel entrance in the moraine of Canwell Glacier.

Descending to the ice tunnel entrance in the moraine of Canwell Glacier.

I descended into the tunnel and dumped my skis next to a small hole in the rocky debris covering the tunnel floor. The hole led to a "secondary" tunnel which joined with the "primary" tunnel a short distance downstream. We walked down the primary tunnel to the "confluence", then switched on our headlamps and ducked along the dark secondary tunnel until our progress was stopped by a wall of ice glowing a dim translucent blue in front of us. We saw daylight shining through the hole where I left my skis, and I imagine that daylight will be replaced by a waterfall in the summer.

The Canwell Glacier ice tunnel entrance. The hole leading to the "secondary" tunnel is obvious at the bottom of the snow slope.

The Canwell Glacier ice tunnel entrance. The hole leading to the "secondary" tunnel is obvious at the bottom of the snow slope.

We waltzed along the ice floor back to the confluence where the tunnel opens into a ballroom-sized "cavern". A tiny bit of daylight reflects indirectly off the ice into the cavern, but it isn't enough to see without a headlamp. Even with a headlamp, though, walking on the uneven floor looking for the continuation of the tunnel is quite disorienting and conjures to mind every monster movie I've ever seen.  

In the "cavern" portion of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel. The bluish light is daylight.

In the "cavern" portion of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel. The bluish light is daylight.

We found the path ahead and continued following the tunnel as it curved back and forth into total darkness. The hiss of running water echoed downstream and it grew louder the farther we walked as though we were approaching a roaring waterfall. The source turned out to be a small stream escaping from under the ice floor and cascading over rocks, which we carefully hopped across to avoid getting our feet wet. The floor of the tunnel switched to rocks and we rounded one more curve before the ceiling lowered and we were reduced to walking "Gollum-style". The ceiling quickly lowered even further and we decided crawling over the rocks on the floor wasn't worth the effort to find out how much farther the tunnel extended.     

Near the end of the tunnel it felt quite warm, perhaps slightly above freezing. I photographed some of the interesting features using our headlamps for lighting but had to fight condensation on the lens. Perhaps the most interesting thing we found was a patch of icicles oriented horizontally on the floor, like frozen fingers reaching out of the ground at our feet. 

Strange icicle formations on the floor of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel.

Strange icicle formations on the floor of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel.

We paused in the cavern for lunch on the way back to the entrance. That is, I paused to take some pictures while my starving companions decided it was as good a place as any to eat. Forrest munched on Pringles, Nigal ate cold Spaghettios out of the can, and I ate a mostly frozen Snickers. Having adjusted to the darkness, my eyes recoiled in pain when I glanced at the bright daylight shining through the gaping tunnel entrance, like stepping out of a movie theater after catching a matinee. A couple hours had gone by and the day had warmed up, but it still felt cold in the shade near the front of the tunnel. My friends were a bit antsy to get moving but I probably spent another half-hour messing around with the camera before we left.  

Peering out the entrance of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel.

Peering out the entrance of the Canwell Glacier ice tunnel.

On our return to the highway the wind had died down and the sun was shining. By the time we left the glacier moraine I had become uncomfortably warm, so I unzipped my jacket and took my gloves off. The trail we set earlier pointed directly toward towering Mt. Shand as we retraced it in the opposite direction, and our tired legs were thankful they didn't have to break trail again. With the mountains burning a hypnotizing orange and the shadows quickly overtaking Miller Creek, a cow moose crossed the creek about a hundred yards behind me and the snow reached the moose's chest as it struggled to reach the other side. We arrived at the highway before sunset without having seen a sign of another person all day. 

Nigal retraces the snowshoe track across a steep section of Canwell Glacier on the way back to the Richardson Highway.

Nigal retraces the snowshoe track across a steep section of Canwell Glacier on the way back to the Richardson Highway.

I've seen several other ice caves and tunnels come and go on Canwell Glacier, but I suspect this ice tunnel will continue to survive for a while longer. I'll be back next winter to find out.

For tips on photographing ice caves, read my post How to Photograph An Ice Cave.
Interested in visiting or photographing an ice cave? I offer guided winter tours. More information.

 

Early Winter

 
Aurora borealis over Granite Mountain.

Aurora borealis over Granite Mountain.

My photographic output tends to shrink during early winter in Interior Alaska. After the fall colors disappear, it's a waiting game until enough snow falls to cover up the brown landscape and provide a good enough base for me to start using my snowshoes and splitboard again. The rivers and creeks are still flowing, but the colder air temperatures make crossings more uncomfortable and dangerous. Snow conditions at higher elevations can be unpredictable. The aurora borealis returns but the nights tend to be cloudy until the really cold temperatures start showing up. Still, it's possible to get out this time of year and take some good shots.

Fall colors on an unmarked trail above Bear Creek in the Alaska Range, near Black Rapids.

Fall colors on an unmarked trail above Bear Creek in the Alaska Range, near Black Rapids.

One of the latest salmon runs in Alaska occurs in Delta Junction where I live. Salmon travel over 1,000 miles up the Yukon River and Tanana River and spawn in the Delta River and Clearwater River in town. It's an odd sight to see salmon swimming upstream with snow on the banks, and some of them even accumulate ice on their body before they die. 

Dead chum salmon near the confluence of the Delta River and Tanana River.

Dead chum salmon near the confluence of the Delta River and Tanana River.

Caribou and moose shed the velvet off their antlers by early September, and they're one of the best subjects to photograph until November. I just passed a large group of bull caribou a couple days ago (mid-November) and I only counted one antler among them. The females keep their antlers much later into winter but they aren't as impressive as male caribou antlers. The bull moose may keep their antlers into December but I haven't had much luck this year bumping into any big bulls at close range.

Bull caribou foraging after the first significant snowfall in the Donnelly Flats.

Bull caribou foraging after the first significant snowfall in the Donnelly Flats.

I saw the aurora on several occasions in August, September, and October, but never at the right time to snap any pictures. I finally caught a good show on November 7 after a heavy snowfall. It was my first time photographing in subzero temperatures this winter and the Richardson Highway was completely frosted over. The moon was nearly full but the aurora still shined brightly in the night sky, dancing over Donnelly Dome and the Alaska Range to the south. (Check out my guide for tips on shooting the aurora.)

Aurora borealis over Donnelly Dome.

Aurora borealis over Donnelly Dome.

Frequent high winds tend to blow the snow away in Delta Junction, so after it snowed heavily a week ago I made a point to photograph around town before the winds arrived. I caught a nice sunrise at the Tanana River bridge in Big Delta, where ice was flowing in the river and bald eagles were flying back and forth over the pipeline. 

Sunrise at the Tanana River bridge in Big Delta.

Sunrise at the Tanana River bridge in Big Delta.

In June, I passed by a new ice cave entrance at the terminus of Castner Glacier. The bulk of Castner Creek used to bubble up from underneath the glacier at this point, but the water has since carved a large tunnel beneath the ice. I visited the tunnel in October but there was too much water flowing through it to get very far inside. I returned to it a few days ago and the floor has now frozen solid. Oddly enough, it has snowed more in Delta Junction than in the mountains, so my friends and I were able to hike to the glacier without snowshoes.  

Hiking through snow to Castner Glacier.

Hiking through snow to Castner Glacier.

Walking on the ice floor was a little unnerving since we could see silty water flowing beneath the ice. My friends opted to climb onto an "ice bench" and followed it until it ended, while I continued along the floor in crampons. The tunnel darkened as it curved around a corner, and the ice started becoming too thin for me to continue. We heard rushing water echoing somewhere ahead, but couldn't tell how much farther the tunnel extended. I'll be back later this winter after the ice on the floor thickens. (If you're planning to photograph this or another ice cave, check out my blog post How To Photograph An Ice Cave.)

Exploring a tunnel beneath the ice of Castner Glacier.

Exploring a tunnel beneath the ice of Castner Glacier.

I'm looking forward to exploring many more ice caves this winter and hopefully many sleepless nights shooting the aurora as well. 

Interested in photographing the aurora or an ice cave? I offer guided tours