In my eight years of professional travel I've been compiling a list of places that every American should visit. The list is full of big-name destinations: The Grand Canyon, Washington D.C. and New York City come to mind. Today, I added another must-see spot: Kenai Fjords National Park.

We arrived this morning in Seward, a small town at the southern end of the Kenai Peninsula, which is the gateway to Kenai Fjords National Park. Though there are numerous jaw-dropping national parks in Alaska, Kenai Fjords is unique in numerous aspect, including the fact that it is the only park visited almost exclusively by boat. So our group boarded the Kenai Explorer for a six-hour sightseeing cruise that would take us alongside the fjords for incomparable view of scenery and wildlife.

A fjord is a geological formation that has been carved by a glacier, and the Kenai Fjords are massive stone monoliths and islands that sit on the edge of the Gulf of Alaska. Behind the large stone formations sits the Harding Ice Field, an expansive range of snow-capped mountains where a number of active glaciers continue to move down hill toward the sea. These two elements create a dreamy duality of scenery: Cruising along the coast, I was taken aback by the way that the tree-topped rock formations in the foreground contrasted with the snow-capped mountains climbing behind them in the background. This place where the mountains meet the sea is as beautiful as any other place I've seen on earth.

And the attraction goes beyond landscape snapshots. Our boat's captain and crew helped us to spot humpback whales and Steller sea lions in the waters and rocks of the fjords, as well as puffins and other sea birds that make their home in the area. And the highlight of the cruise was a visit to Holgate Glacier, a 400-foot high colossus of snow and ice that moves at four feet per day into the sea. Standing outside on the deck to see the glacier, we could feel it cooling the air around us. Large chunks of ice that have calved off the glacier float in the water, and our boat crew fished a few pieces up on to deck for us to see and touch. It is the cleanest, coldest and most dense ice that you will likely ever see.

It's hard to described how moving this experience was. The Kenai Fjords are so grand, so pristine and so transcendent. There are many great reasons to visit Alaska; after a day soaking in their majesty, though, I am convinced that the Kenai Fjords are the only reason you really need.

Marveling at the scenery from the bow of the Kenai Explorer

The Chiswell Islands, evidence of the area's glacial past, and the distant Harding Ice Field

Approaching Holgate Glacier

Small chunks of ice that calved off the glacier are crystal-clear.

Thanks to Cruises and Tours Worldwide for hosting us on this trip. Visit their website at www.cruises-toursworldwide.com.

Though it was 75 degrees in Whistler today, on top of the mountain I found myself surrounded by snow.

The town of Whistler sits in a valley between two mountains, Whistler and Blackcomb. Both are ideal ski destinations in the winter; in the summer, they afford great opporutnities for sightseeing, hiking and gorgeous views of the British Columbia wilderness.

This afternoon I rode a chairlift up to the summit of Blackcomb Mountain, and then took the Peak 2 Peak gondola over to Whistler Mountain. There are plenty of scenic views to be seen during either ride, and visitors often spot black bears and other wildlife during their ascents. Hiking on the backside of the mountain, however, I found pristine environments, crystal glacial lakes and snowpacks that towered above my head.

A number of ski runs and access roads on Whistler Mountain are converted to hiking paths in the summer. From the gondola station, I took a lift to the very top of the mountain, then went for an hour-long hike back down along a path known as Pika's Traverse, which wraps around the backside of the mountain not visibible from the village below. The trail is wide and relatively easy to walk, gently descending in elevation back to the main mountain station. On this isolated side of the mountain, the air is quiet and the views are expansive — all I could hear was the trickle of water running off of the melting snowcaps, accompanied by an occasional windy howl.

At the top of the mountain, sevral large glaciers are still covered with snow in August, and looking across the mountain range, I saw that some of the other peaks are completely snow-capped as well. As I walked along Pika's Traverse, I would pass by large pockets of snow in the mountainside, and occassionally walk through passages in large snowbanks that were carved by snow-clearing equipment during the winter.

So although it's the middle of summer, there is still lot of snow at the top of Whistler Mountain... and yet hiking through it in short sleeves and jeans, I didn't feel cold at all. It's an amazing phenomenon, and it made for some amazing views on the backside of the mountain.

Ford's Terror  in southeast Alaska doesn't terrify many people.  Maybe a few small boaters and kayakers.  But not many others--and certainly not many cruise passengers.  Dawes Glacier and the several miles of ice-strewn depths it leaves in its wake also doesn't scare many folks up here, either.  Maybe a few scientists or geologists.  Both give Jeff Behrens the chills.  That's because he knows where they are and he goes there.  And when Behrens goes, he takes a few friends with him.

Yesterday, July 3, was a day no guest on the Island Spirit will ever forget.  It began in a perfect sunlight in Sanford Cove.  Brisk is too nice a word.  It was cold, especially once we got going up Endicott Arm toward Dawes Glacier.  We hadn't been gone too long before the ice began showing up.  Not small ice.  Large ice.  Tons of it in the form of thousands of bright white or blue fragments.  Tons above surface and who knows how many tons below the surface.  Behrens had the Island Spirit's hull completely reworked last winter just for this.  But he's still not interested in meeting any of these boat-sized chunks of ice head-on.

We swerved, tacked, criss-crossed and slithered our way past miles of ice to put ourselves directly in front of Dawes Glacier, a tidewater glacier that comes down directly into the frigid waters of Endicott Arm.  Cliffs rose for thousands of feet on either side of us and we sat directly in the gorge this glacier created as it receded over thousands of years.  The only other boats in this water were research boats.  Behrens said they've been up here this summer studying the effect that vessels and kayaks might have on harbor seals and their pups.  

From there, we motored past the ice again and down to Ford's Terror.  Entering this inlet, you'd think you were in just any other bay.  But as you reach the back, your realize there is a tiny opening there that meanders  back into the rock walls.  Maybe a canoe or a small fishing boat would try this, you think, but not a 130 foot ship.  

With a long blast of the Island Spirit's horns, Behrens announces his intention to enter this narrow sliver of water and then he does so.  He told me afterwards that his margin of error is very slim.  Losing a prop or scraping the hull here is the consequence of one wrong move at the helm.

The reward is cruising into a remote inlet that is fed by waterfalls too numerous to count, a piece of water that is guarded on all sides by towering mountains and sheer rockfaces, thousands of feet above.  This is where we'll spend the fourth of July 2009.  And trust me, we're alone.  Ford's Terror belongs to us on this independence day.  Thanks to a guy who thinks big and operates small, we've traded fireworks for kayaks, bottle rockets for tranquility.

It's morning --about 5:30-- and I'm one of a few passengers and crew who are up.  We're moored on Sanford Cove off Endicott Arm, several hours of cruise time outside Juneau, Alaska.  The sky is cloudless, the water is still.  We're surrounded by mountains.  Literally.  In every direction you look there are mountains, most of them either in snow or topped in snow.  At one far end of the lake, 7-8 miles I'd guess, you can see the entrance to this cove.

If you are a morning person you live for this.  There isn't much talking going on, what little there is is quiet.  Everyone here has there own agenda right now--to view the landscape, maybe to shoot some early morning photography, maybe to have a cup of coffee on some part of this vessel where nobody else is hanging out.  This is personal time and everyone respects that.

Yesterday, this trip took an invigorating turn when the sun forced its way onto the scene.  While you cannot come to southeast Alaska and reasonably bring expectations for bright, clear skies with you, you can always hope.  We've enjoyed an incredible trip thus far, sans sun, but the addition of sunlight on these mountains and waters draws the very best from them.  From windy gray, we've entered into dazzling blues and whites.  In that respect, we're lucky, that's all.  Alaska is bigger than anyone's best expectations.   You get what it gives you.

Late yesterday afternoon, after leaving the bustle of Juneau, we cruised into an evening beyond description.  Small chunks of blue ice began to appear, torn from some distant glacier.  An occasional seaplane broke the silence overhead.  As we came into this cove for the night, we stopped to watch a few humpbacks, but left them for a grizzly bear on the distant shore.  It was this group's first bear sighting and binoculars were passed from one to another to watch this huge animal forage in a glen just off the water.  Only later, thanks to one member's telephoto camera lens and several shots, did we realize this bear was a female with two cubs in tow.

The last thing I noticed as the sun set was a huge cruise ship motoring along several miles away, in the main channel.  This is why you take a small ship cruise like the one we're on.  The Island Spirit is putting this small group of travelers into some very exclusive space. 

Near GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, Mont. -- The Rocky Mountains come bursting out on to the planes, without warning, and almost out of nowhere.

We've been riding through the planes for most of the day -- all the way through North Dakota, and most of Montana, the landscape is flat, with only short moments of relief. But now, as we begin to approach Glacier National Park, the Rockies appear, dominant on the skyline. And they are spectacular.

Now that we're in range, though, I can tell that the landscape is changing. A few miles out, foothills start to take shape. And though it's mid-May, there are patches if snow all along the side of the
hills. In this part of the country, everything begins to change: the once-barren landscape is now abundant with cedar, birch, maple and pine. Streams run alongside the tracks. There are signs of life.

One of the great benefits of traveling the Northwest by rail is the unshakable sense of grandeur that you get along the way. The Empire Builder cuts through Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, Washington and Oregon. All together, it stretches nearly 2,000 miles.

If you really want to, you can look out the window and see every one of them go by.