This is the park where the ice age is still running. The Harding Icefield covers about 700 square miles of the Kenai Mountains and feeds nearly forty glaciers, while the coastline below is slowly being dragged under the sea by plate tectonics. The fjords are what you get where the two processes meet.
Kenai Fjords is one of the 63 national parks in ParkStamp, and every park gets original stamp designs in the WPA poster tradition, each one an illustration of a specific real place, whether you reach it by trail or by boat.
Keeping the record is free. Check in at the park, log an old trip after the fact, or let the app read dates and locations from the photos your phone already holds.
The icefield came first, in every sense. The Harding Icefield is a remnant of the Pleistocene ice sheets, roughly 700 square miles of ice burying the crest of the Kenai Mountains so completely that only scattered peaks, the nunataks or "lone peaks," break the surface. Storms off the Gulf of Alaska rebuild it with snowfall measured in tens of feet a year, and close to forty glaciers drain it in every direction. It is named for Warren Harding, who in 1923 became the first sitting president to visit Alaska and was dead within weeks, on the journey home.
The fjords are drowned valleys, and the drowning is ongoing. Offshore, the Pacific plate is diving beneath Alaska, and it drags the edge of the Kenai Mountains down with it, so glaciers carve the valleys and the subsiding coast hands them to the ocean. The 1964 earthquake, the strongest ever recorded in North America, dropped parts of this shoreline several feet in a few minutes. The park is, in the most literal sense, mountains going under.
Protection came late and fast. The area became a national monument in 1978 and, on December 2, 1980, Kenai Fjords National Park under the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act, one of the sweep of Alaska parks created that day. It is among the smaller Alaska parks and the most reachable: the town of Seward sits at its doorstep, one road leads to one glacier, and everything else is boat, floatplane or foot.
Exit Glacier is named for a way out. When a mountaineering party made the first recorded crossing of the Harding Icefield in 1968, this glacier was their descent route off the ice: their exit. It has since become the park's front door instead, the one glacier you can walk to, with markers along the way showing where the ice stood in years past. The walk in is a walk through its retreat, which the park makes no attempt to soften.
The ocean does the heavy lifting. Upwelling and glacial melt keep the fjords thick with plankton and forage fish, and the food web stacks up from there: humpback whales lunge-feeding in the bays, orcas, Dall's porpoises, sea otters rafting in the kelp, and harbor seals hauled out by the hundred on iceberg fragments in front of the tidewater glaciers, where the floating ice makes a nursery safe from most predators.
Steller sea lions are the loud ones. The largest of the sea lions (a big male runs to a ton), they pack the rocky haul-outs near the park in roaring, shoving crowds. They are named for Georg Steller, the naturalist on Bering's 1741 voyage, and their western population collapsed by roughly 80 percent in the late twentieth century for reasons scientists still argue about, which makes the crowded rocks both a spectacle and a relief.
The bird cliffs run on the same riches. Horned and tufted puffins, kittiwakes, murres and cormorants nest by the thousand on the islands and headlands along the fjords each summer, commuting between bare rock and fish-filled water. From a boat the colonies read as static; through binoculars they are rush hour.
On land, the timeline is visible. Ground abandoned by retreating ice goes from bare rock to alder and cottonwood to spruce in a walkable sequence, and mountain goats and black bears work the slopes around Exit Glacier. Ecologists call it succession; here you can see every stage at once, dated by how long the ground has been out from under the ice.
The park's one road-accessible glacier, pouring off the Harding Icefield above Seward. Markers along the approach show where the ice stood in decades past, so the short walk to the face doubles as a record of retreat. The trail beside it climbs to the icefield rim, one of the great hard day-hikes in Alaska, which is reason enough for some people to make this their stamp.
A wall of blue ice meeting the sea at the head of Aialik Bay, calving with cracks like artillery while harbor seals ride the floating fragments. Tidewater glaciers are the park's signature act, the icefield delivering ice straight to the ocean, and waiting quietly in a boat for the next collapse is the standard Kenai Fjords memory.
The largest sea lions in the world stacked on bare rock in the fjords, males the size of small cars roaring over territory while swells break below. Their western population fell by most of its numbers within living memory, so a crowded haul-out is good news you can hear from half a mile off. A stamp for people who rank wildlife over scenery.
Open ParkStamp inside the park boundary and check in. The app confirms you are actually there and logs the date.
Already been? Pick the date yourself. Trips from decades ago count the same as last weekend.
Let ParkStamp read the dates and locations off photos already on your phone. Most people find parks they had forgotten.