Tides in Glacier Bay can swing twenty-five feet in six hours, the huge volumes of water ebbing and flowing through channels carved by ice that is still, in geological terms, freshly departed. The Fairweather Range rises above fifteen thousand feet, capturing moisture from the Gulf of Alaska and spawning glaciers that continue to calve into the bay. Johns Hopkins Glacier still flows actively enough that thousands of harbor seals breed on its floating ice. Yet everywhere the story is retreat - valleys that held ice in living memory now support alder thickets, then spruce forest, the succession visible from boat decks as passengers cruise from the mouth of the bay to its glaciated head. This is landscape in fast-forward, three hundred years of ecological recovery compressed into a single day's journey.

Humpback whales arrive each summer from Hawaii, feeding on sand lance and juvenile pollock in waters too cold for humans but perfect for the plankton that supports the entire food web. Orca and minke whales hunt alongside harbor and Dall's porpoises. Steller sea lions congregate on rocky islands to mate; sea otters have rapidly recolonized waters where they were once hunted to near extinction. On land, mountain goats and brown bears were quick to follow the glaciers' retreat, while moose, wolves, and coyotes arrived more recently. Black bears prowl the forested lower bay; the rare glacier bear - a blue-gray color phase - is occasionally spotted. Even marmots and mountain goats descend to the water's edge to lick salt spray from beach rocks.

Glacier Bay became part of an international World Heritage Site in 1992, recognized alongside neighboring Wrangell-St. Elias and Canada's Kluane National Park as one of the planet's great wilderness complexes. John Muir's advocacy led to its protection as a national monument in 1925; the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act elevated it to national park status in 1980. Nearly two hundred species of fish swim these waters, including all five species of Pacific salmon. Bald eagles nest along much of the shoreline; arctic terns and jaegers breed on barren glacial outwash near the ice. The vegetation is a mosaic - pioneer species on newly exposed ground, intricate climax communities in coastal and alpine regions - all of it returned to the land in the past three centuries.

There are no roads to Glacier Bay. The tiny community of Gustavus, ten miles from park headquarters at Bartlett Cove, offers the only land access - reachable by Alaska Airlines jet from Seattle via Juneau in summer, by small plane or ferry year-round. Most visitors see the park from cruise ships that carry thousands of passengers; National Park Service naturalists board to share knowledge during day-long cruises. Smaller tour vessels depart from Bartlett Cove. Kayakers can launch from the cove or arrange drop-off service to reach the major inlets. However you arrive, there is no entry fee - just endless ice, water, wildlife, and the rare privilege of watching a landscape recover from an age of glaciers.

The maritime climate brings mild temperatures but near-constant possibility of rain; hypothermia is a real danger even in summer when nights approach freezing. Bears - both black and brown - require food storage in bear-proof containers at least one hundred feet from camping areas. Tides run six to eight knots in places; small vessels caught in strong currents can be swept miles to sea. Glaciers calve without warning, generating waves that can swamp boats at a quarter mile. Icebergs flip unpredictably. Cruise ships create massive wakes. The mosquitoes, gnats, and black flies can, in still conditions, test human sanity. All backcountry travelers must attend a mandatory orientation. This is not a park that coddles visitors - it simply exists, magnificent and indifferent, and welcomes those prepared to meet it on its own terms.