As we traveled the Top of the World Highway, crossing from Canada to Alaska, it was the first time in our trip that I actually felt the enormity of the landscape we’d been driving through. By the time we forded the Yukon River, on the George Black ferry at Dawson City, we’d already pushed through Alberta, British Columba and the Northwest and Yukon Territories … about 3,000 miles … all of which was a panorama of stunning terrains. Snow capped peaks, boreal forests, deep glacier-cut verdant valleys, turquoise-green rivers and lakes, alpine meadows awash with wildflowers. Yes, it was all phenomenal.

But driving along the crest of the mountains and hills over which the Highway traverses unlocked a view that created the illusion that we were, indeed, at the top of the world. Even though, literally, we weren’t.

We were, however, above the tree line at about 5,000 feet. From that vantage point, the massive peaks of the Alaskan range dominated the distant horizon, carving a jagged gash across the skyline. The enormous grandeur of the Yukon River, the largest in the Territory, echoed the size of a rivulet as it snaked along the valley floor, at the base of steep vertical drops originating at the ridge line. A crush of crazy, Dr. Seuss-like black spruce trees, bent and withered by the brutality of their environment covered the hillsides below us.

Above us … blue sky for miles, broken only by the occasional cloud.

Even though I wasn’t, actually, standing at the top of the world, the enormity of feeling incredibly small was humbling. I marveled at the extraordinary scenery as I contemplated the panorama stretched out below me.

What a place, this Earth we all call home. So deserving of our stewardship.

Let’s just be good stewards.