This was my mantra around every corner on my way to the Harding Ice Field. Lying on the edge of Alaska's Kenai Peninsula National Park, the trails around Exit glacier are some of the most highly trafficked in south-central Alaska. In a couple hours this trail would be like Grand Central Station so I was not expecting any major wildlife encounters. I figured years of louder than life Ohioan cruisers and photo-happy Japanese tourists would have run any big game away long ago. But, nonetheless I made my call, "Hey bear. Foul tasting omnivore coming through."

The hike was gorgeous. Traversing through three different types of terrain the trail gains 3,000 feet in a hair over three and a half miles. Beginning amongst the trees the shaded trail quickly gained a thousand feet through semi-natural, semi-ranger carved rock steps. My new boots dominated the steep rocky terrain. My quads, however, did not fair as well. Several well deserved 'scenery breaks' gave me just enough time to rest before plodding on. But, if anyone asks I took my time reaching the ice field due to the breathtaking views.

By 2700 feet the tree line fell away, giving way to bright, Alaska-sized flowers. With 20 plus hours of sunlight, vegetation in Alaska grows to Bunyan-esque proportions. And with size comes fragrance. The sweet, pungent blooms lightened the air enough to quell the flames in my lungs. With the trees gone the surrounding snowcapped peaks shone brilliantly in hopes of searing the puffy white clouds buzzing like flies around their heads.

Another 1000 feet of vertical later, the ice field threw down a slippery, slushy gauntlet, adding a new wrinkle to the steep climb. Using my hands as poles I continued my ascent in a three feet forward, one foot back, one foot down pattern. For reference, crab walking through snow is an excellent way to cool down. Three up, one back, one down, repeat. My new boots were having a hard time dominating the snow, but with the help a pair of gaiters they remained as dry as my now empty water bottles. Three up, one back, one down, repeat. All the way to the ice field overlooking the densely packed ice.

No bears, no other hikers and a few clouds, there could not be a better spot for some trail mix. Definitely no more stellar place to fly a kite existed. A 360-degree view of fellow snowcaps and a mellow wind blowing down the glacier. The conditions were perfect for the inaugural flight of my little stunt kite. A flight only Wilbur and Orville could have appreciated. A brief swoop and a massive thud left my kite nose down in the snow. A chilly beginning. Before long though I had gotten it down and had it majestically swooping and looping down into the glacier, exploring parts that were not reachable by my terrain busting boots.

"While I hoped his berries were as good as he intimated we silently agreed that I would pocket any rocks and he would continue munching..."

The kite experiment lasted until well after noon when the first of the hordes started making their appearance on my new sanctuary. Looking down the hill I could see a line up reminiscent of Alaska's early gold rush days. These tourists had just arrived in town aboard one of the ships in the buffet laden armada patrolling Alaska's coast. This was my unmistakable cue to pack up and begin the descent.

Back through the snow, past the flowers, past the throng of tourists - almost each without fail asking how much further. I flew down the hill with the cocky reassurance that my grippy new boots would slide perfectly and grab expertly. Flying, that is, until I reached the top of the tree line. An area of mixed bushes and trees, I heard a rustle on the approaching corner. Probably a marmot. The enormously fat prairie dog-like animals had dotted the landscape on the way up. Happily feasting on the national park service's revegetation attempt. Clap. Step. Step. Clap. Step. Clap. It couldn't possibly be a bear with all the people I've seen on the trail. "Hey bear, smelly, bland human...Holy cow!"