This is the largest national park in the United States, and it is not close: 13.2 million acres, about six Yellowstones, holding nine of the sixteen highest peaks in the country. Its most visited destination is a copper mill town abandoned in 1938, at the end of a long gravel road, beside a glacier most people mistake for a gravel pit.
Wrangell-St. Elias is one of the 63 national parks in ParkStamp, each of which gets original stamp designs drawn in the WPA poster tradition: illustrations of specific real places, not interchangeable mountain scenery.
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Four mountain ranges collide here. The Wrangells, the St. Elias, the Chugach and the eastern tail of the Alaska Range all converge inside the park, which is how one park ends up with nine of the sixteen highest peaks in the United States. Mount St. Elias reaches 18,008 feet, second-highest in both the United States and Canada, and Mount Wrangell, over 14,000 feet, is an active volcano that still vents steam. Together with the adjoining Canadian parks and Glacier Bay, this is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the largest internationally protected wilderness on Earth.
The copper was almost unbelievable. In 1900 two prospectors spotted a green hillside above the Kennicott Glacier and reportedly took it for grass; it was malachite, the surface stain of one of the richest copper deposits ever found, with ore from the Bonanza outcrop assaying around seventy percent copper. Getting it out required building the Copper River & Northwestern Railway, 196 miles across canyons and glacial rivers that critics said could not be crossed. The company misspelled the glacier's name on its incorporation papers, which is why the town is Kennecott and the ice is Kennicott.
In 1938 the last train left, and the town just stopped. The high-grade ore was gone, the mill shut down, and Kennecott was abandoned so quickly that much of the machinery, the shops and the fourteen-story mill were simply left in place. What remained became one of the best-preserved pieces of industrial history in the country, red buildings against white ice, now maintained as a National Historic Landmark inside the park.
The park itself arrived in a political storm. President Carter protected the area under the Antiquities Act in 1978, to loud local protest, and the compromise came on December 2, 1980, when the Alaska lands act created the park and preserve. Alaska's deal is visible on the ground: hunting continues in the preserve, subsistence use continues throughout, and people still live at McCarthy, deep inside the boundary. Only two gravel roads enter the park at all: the McCarthy Road, laid on the old railbed, and the Nabesna Road. Until the late 1990s the final river crossing at McCarthy was made by hand-pulled cable tram. It is a footbridge now. Everything beyond the roads belongs to bush planes and boots.
This is North America's great ice locker. The park holds the continent's largest collection of glaciers, fed by the Bagley Icefield, the largest subpolar icefield in North America. The Malaspina, a piedmont lobe spreading out where the mountains meet the coastal plain, is bigger than Rhode Island; the Hubbard is the longest tidewater glacier on the continent and, unusually, has been advancing for as long as records exist.
Dall sheep own the high country. The park supports one of the largest concentrations of these white sheep anywhere, picking their way across crags where nothing follows them, with mountain goats holding the steeper coastal ranges. Spotting white animals on grey rock from the Nabesna Road is the park's quietest sport.
The Copper River is the artery. Its salmon runs are famous enough that the river's name sells fish in grocery stores thousands of miles away, and the runs feed everything here: brown and black bears on the tributaries, eagles in the cottonwoods, and people, who still take salmon from the silty current with fish wheels and dipnets near Chitina as they have for generations.
The land animals are spread thin but all present. Moose stand in the kettle ponds along both roads, caribou herds cross the northern flats below the volcanoes, and trumpeter swans, once nearly extinct, nest on the lowland lakes. The park is so large that seeing any of them is a matter of patience, not fences.
The fourteen-story red mill building steps down its hillside exactly as it did when the last train left in 1938. Below it stretches what looks like a valley of gravel and is actually the Kennicott Glacier under a skin of rock debris. Company and glacier spell the name differently thanks to a clerical error. Pick it if ruins move you more than summits.
A live glacier you can walk on: a trail from Kennecott leads onto white ice threaded with meltwater channels and blue pools, with the Stairway Icefall hanging thousands of feet of fractured ice above the valley head. Strap-on crampons and an hour's walk put you on it, which makes this one of the most accessible glacier surfaces in Alaska.
At 18,008 feet, the second-highest peak in both the United States and Canada, rising from tidewater at Icy Bay to its summit in roughly ten horizontal miles, one of the steepest rises on the planet. Vitus Bering's 1741 expedition raised it from the sea, at the moment Europe first sighted Alaska. The mountaineer's choice of the three.
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