It was high tide on Knik Arm at 8:30am on Wednesday, April 30, 2025. The patches of snow and ice on the ground at sea level had all melted away in the recent rain, but a cold wind still blew from the west and drove trains of wavelets onto the rocky shoreline. As the water splashed among the rocks it produced a soft and soothing sound that could have easily induced me to sleep despite the cold breeze. But then I would have missed the full grandeur of the scene.
An extensive layer of
stratocumulus clouds overhung the water, but blue sky and sunlight were
emerging in the north and east. In the
distance to the west, Mount Susitna was visible, its snow-covered upper reaches
merging into the white-gray cloud cover.
In the north, the Talkeetna Range with its extensive snow collection stood
out more clearly beneath a brighter portion of the sky. In the northeast and much closer to me, the
boxy buildings of downtown contrasted against the backdrop of the Chugach Range. In the center of all this, a tug and barge
reposed at anchor. The pull of the line
connecting the barge with the mooring buoy indicated that the current was
setting into port and thus the tide was still rising. There was beauty all around me, and I felt like
I was present at the very center of Creation, following the scriptural
injunction to “stand in holy places” (D&C 101:22). Still immersed in the Latin I had learned
decades ago, I thought, Hic est gloria Dei. This is the glory of God, and only twenty
minutes’ walk from my son’s house!
I had come to Anchorage a
week previously, on Wednesday the 16th, for the purpose of visiting
my son Steven and my granddaughters Miss Katie and Miss Abby. It was my sixth time in Alaska in ten years,
and it felt good to be back, both with the family and in such a beautiful and
interesting place. We had a wonderful three
weeks together that included both Easter Sunday and Miss Abby’s birthday. As an extra benefit, I had the leisure to
explore Anchorage while they were busy at work and in school, and I strove to
make the most of this golden opportunity.
In order to understand
Anchorage, one must first understand its waterways. The Cook Inlet, named for Captain James Cook
of the Royal Navy, leads from the open Pacific in the southwest to a headland that
splits the inlet into two branches. The
headland is the sight of the Anchorage International Airport. Knik Arm, the larger and deeper branch, leads
northeast to downtown and the commercial seaport. Turnagain Arm leads southeast into the
woods. Its name comes from Captain Cook’s
crewmen. Taking soundings and finding the
water too shallow, they told the helmsman repeatedly to “turn again.”
These names from the
European discovery of Alaska have lingered.
Besides the inlet, Captain Cook now has two streets, a hotel, and a
housing development named after him. Turnagain
Arm has two streets, a school, a church, an office building, a dental practice,
and a neighborhood named after it. Knik
Arm, despite being the more significant of the two branches, as far as I could
tell only has one street named after it.
Starting downtown and
running along the south side of Knik Arm is the Coastal Trail, a paved
recreational pathway for walking, jogging, and bicycling. Appropriately close to the trail’s beginning stands
Resolution Park, a large wooden balcony set on the hill at the corner of 4th
Avenue and L Street that bears the name of Captain Cook’s ship and commands a panoramic
view of Knik Arm, the distant mountains, and the nearby commercial seaport. A statue of the Captain gazes seaward; a
bronze plaque on its bases describes his voyages of exploration. I present both here as I saw them on Tuesday
morning, April 22:
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When reading this account
of Captain Cook, I marveled that he had not been knighted for his
accomplishments, but then I recalled that King George had more pressing matters
on his mind in the 1770s. Perhaps the
view of the waterfront, including this container ship as it was discharging
cargo on the same day, serves as a more fitting memorial to him:
Descending from Resolution Park, I regained the Coastal Trail at Elderberry Park and then ducked through a pedestrian tunnel that passed underneath the main line of the Alaska Railroad. This brought me to a viewing spot at the water’s edge, although at low tide, it was actually at the edge of the extensive mud flats. Whatever the state of the tide, however, the view was pleasant and punctuated by an anchored tug and barge on the same overcast Tuesday:
From a little farther along the trail, the extent of the mud flats became even more apparent, and with the anchored tug and barge still there:
In brighter weather on Monday the 21st, I found a different cargo barge at anchor just beyond the mud flats:
On a still brighter day,
Wednesday the 23rd, I took in this westward view of Mount Susitna
beyond the mud flats and deep water of Knik Arm at low tide. The headland on the left is the northern end
of the Anchorage International Airport:
The commercial shipping
of any seaport always interests me. In
the overcast afternoon of Tuesday the 29th, I was able to capture several
vessels in one photograph. On the far
left the tug Glacier Wind was towing a barge seaward with Kodiak as her
destination. Next, the tug Gladys M
rested at anchor with her barge. At the
docks north of downtown were the vehicle cargo ship North Star (with the
dark hull and white superstructure), and the smaller container ship Matson
Anchorage[i]
on the far right:
About a mile and a half
from downtown, the Coastal Trail again ducks under the railroad and briefly enters
the neighborhood of Westchester Lagoon. Here
the Chester Creek drains into Knik Arm, and the surrounding marsh and lake area
form a haven for nesting birds. Seagulls
accustomed to human company unreservedly posed for me on the same sunny Monday
the 21st:
Later, on Thursday, May 1, the lagoon reposed quietly with the Chugach Range behind it to the east:
As lovely as Westchester Lagoon was, however, my favorite part of the trail remained alongside the salt water of Knik Arm. Soon after emerging from the third and final pedestrian passage under the railroad, these three scenes greeted me on Friday the 2nd, a day that truly looked less like winter and more like spring. In the first, looking northward, the Talkeetna Range loomed over the water in the background:
In the second, Mount Susitna blended into the low cloud cover in the distant west:
Finally, my favorite that day was this one with the largest expanse of water at the widest part of the arm with the mud flats completely covered at high tide:
Monday, May 5, was my last day in Anchorage. Carpe diem, I thought, and seizing this final opportunity, I walked up to the waterfront early for a last look at Knik Arm before getting ready to leave. It was a beautiful day with a beautiful view, and knowing that it would be many months before I would return to Alaska, I had great difficulty pulling myself away from the shoreline and heading back to the house. Fortunately, with my cell phone camera, I could in a sense take some of the waterfront home with me. My favorite photograph from that morning was this peaceful scene of the anchored tug and barge in the rising tide:
At four o’clock that afternoon, I left Anchorage aboard an Alaska Airlines 737 bound for Seattle. The aircraft took off into a west wind and then turned to port as it ascended. From my window seat on the starboard side I enjoyed a fleeting but magnificent view of Knik Arm, the Cook Inlet, and the surrounding mountain ranges. Then cloud cover intervened. After the airplane had settled onto a southeasterly course at cruising altitude, it left the clouds behind. Beneath me then for the next two hours lay the great blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean stretching to the far horizon. I had not seen the open Pacific in a very long time, not since the 1980s from the Comet, and it felt great to be back, even at such a height!
While the purpose of my
three weeks’ sojourn in Anchorage was to visit family, my leisure time at the
waterfront came as a wonderful side benefit.
The Coastal Trail was a place of peace and quiet and solitude that
soothed my soul, a spiritual haven where the sound of silence spoke volumes and
enabled me to achieve communion with the Divine through Nature. The confluence of seawater, tidal mud flats,
snow-covered mountains, and the overarching sky provided an opportunity for
quiet contemplation that yielded insight and inspiration. In this magnificent location the scriptural
promise manifested itself:
Draw near unto me and I will draw
near unto you;
seek me diligently and ye shall find
me (D&C 88:63).
