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We stopped on the northern side of the river for
a picnic. Arlene has fashioned a cover from the
sun with a napkin on her head.
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It wasn’t far from there that we passed this sign.
Coldfoot, 120 miles, one of three towns along the
highway. We won’t get that far as our destination
is the Arctic Circle 60 miles further north.
We are really deep in the outback. Before 1974,
the only way to get around was to fly. It’s still
the most prevalent mode of transportation.
Were moving on, and for now it’s just us, the
great pipeline, and the ‘where’s the snow’. It’s a
green arctic.
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HERE WE ARE.
THE ARCTIC CIRCLE!!
Look carefully and you’ll see the whitish circle
drawn around the sideways tilted globe. The
United States Bureau of Land Management
erected it just for our photo.
It’s hard to believe that this is the 66 latitude.
That it’s the top of the world and it’s green, not
white, and we are not snow bound. It’s 98
degrees today, and both of us are wearing short
sleeve shirts. Amazing! The tundra is low, the
trees only a foot high. When I walk out onto it I
feel like I’m on a mattress of grass. Every step I
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take I sink down and then bounce back like on a
trampoline..
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Arlene has laid down on it and it’s dry, it’s warm,
and it’s comfortable. How can that possibly be,
this is the land of the permafrost, the coldest
place in North America, and she is laying out like
she was taking a little sun on the beach in Florida.
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Soon many of us were laying on the spongy
tundra, and marveling at it’s comfort and
warmth. Our tour guide enjoyed the beautiful
summer afternoon, but he was forever aware of
this grand land. He went to the bus and
withdrew a pick and hammer. He returned to the
tundra around us and began digging a hole. No
more than a foot below the plants and some soil;
he hit solid ice.
Look here; my hand is resting on the foundation
of this land, the permafrost, and the ice of
thousands of years. Right below the surface it’s
hard as a rock.
The tundra earth which is only a few inches deep
is so rich. Like peat moss.
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We stayed for over an hour, watched several
trucks, their dust flying into the sky, announcing
them even before we could see them. They sped
past us and off over the horizon leaving only
their dust cloud behind. Boy were we lucky not
to have encountered them on the road.
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Driving back that afternoon was anti-climatic.
We had been to the Arctic Circle and were
amazed at how pristine and green the world was
so high up on our earth. We had seen a new lake
being formed, and where a new river would flow
from it. We had seen a family choose to live and
grow in this splendid wilderness. We had driven
along the longest pipeline in the world. And we
had even seen a couple of cyclists that had ridden
their thin tired bikes to the Arctic Circle from the
tip of South America. They only had a couple of
hundred miles to go before reaching the Arctic
Ocean.
This had been some day.
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CHAPTER 5
FAIRBANKS WITH A THUD
It was time for us to take a quiet day back at
camp, to recover from our great expedition to the
Arctic Circle, and to prepare for our Fourth-of-
July celebration.
Yet by the afternoon we were getting a little
antsy. We’d been in camp, and awake for 9
hours, since early 4:00 am. It was time to do a
little something, and we still hadn’t gotten over to
the ‘Sea Grant’ University. We battened down
the camp, climbed into the Mercury and drove
off.
The University of Alaska has a museum, and
after driving around the campus we stopped
there. It was okay, mostly native history and lore,
which I lose interest in quickly. On the other
hand there was a 6’ 4” Scandinavian women that
gave a lecture on the Aurora Borealis. We hoped
to see it in the evening sky, but hadn’t.
There’s a reason for it, and that’s because of the
sun light that pervades everything. The Aurora
Borealis is usually visible in the winter, not during
the summer. The theory is the sun produces
particles, magnetic fields and sun spots that
produce the lights. They look like swirling ever
changing masses of colored lights mixing in the
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darkened sky. Like strawberry jam mixed into a
bowl of yogurt. It’s beautiful.
We left feeling so-so about our visit, but decided
to drive down the road a bit where the university
has a small animal farm. It keeps a small herd of
reindeer, and musk ox.
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These reindeer were surprisingly small. But, if
you recall Clement Moore’s eight tiny
reindeer…..
‘Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and
Vixen!
On Comet! On, Cupid, on, Donner and Blitzden!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!’
The deer were four feet tall at the shoulder with
large felt covered antlers. They were still losing
their winter fur, and looked a bit scraggly, and
preparing for the fall.
In a nearby pasture were also 8 musk ox. These
animals have been around since the beginning
of time, like alligators and sharks, they are the
winners of the survival contest. These animals all
seem to have at least one thing in common.
They are dumb. Dumber than dirt! Dumber than
anything you can dream up, and right in front of
us as we watched they displayed their dumbness.
Here’s how it happened. They were in a large
field, with a single feeding station right in the
middle. They could get to the hay on two sides
of the station, and several of them could feed on
each side. And that was the way it was, two on
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each side, while the others were scattered around
the field. If they weren’t eating they were just
standing somewhere alone in the field.
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We watched for over an hour. One would eat
enough and back off from the station. It would
then wander, in no particular direction until it
came upon one of the other musk ox just
standing around. They would face off, a couple
of feet from each other. Stand there for a while
then smash each other in the head; THUD.
These dopes would bash each other, once then
twice. Then walk away.
Another musk ox would take their place in the
feeding station. After a while one would back off
and head out into the field, wandering around
until it came upon another. Again a face off and
THUD.
We watched until our head hurt, THUD, all’s
quiet, THUD, quiet, THUD.
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As we turned away and drove back to camp we
had to admit that we’re much happier with the
idea that these animals living in the far north, and
forever, have been able to survive in the harshest
environment. And that among its wonders is
their beautiful soft brown fur, Quvit.
Back in camp it’s still really hot and the heat 20
hours a day, day in and day out, is getting to us.
Even the lean-to and the cold water bucket for
our feet aren’t keeping us from our distress. You
don’t need to look around for long before finding
good examples of our stress from the heat.
I have my problems as does Arlene. I’ve noticed
the squirrels are around and it’s only a matter of
time before they start harassing her, and that
means they, or she will be harassing me. These
are red squirrels, but they have the same
annoying habits of all the rodents. I need to fill
our gun and chase them away.
I’m back to filling the water gun with vinegar.
That’s because we were at the grocery and chose
a spray bottle out of all the sprays, hoping that it
could be made into a stream. It couldn’t, it’s the
pits. It was a light mist. I’d have to catch the
squirrel, and hold it down to shoot it.
The vinegar was gratis from McDonalds. They
have those little pouches which we each grabbed
a handful. Sitting on the picnic table, under the
lean to tarp I ripped open one of the packages
and holding the gun tried to drip the vinegar into
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the little hole. It didn’t go in; instead I poured it
all over my leg. The second one did the same
thing.
I’m pissed, and a little hotter than before I
started. But, still under control. I know the
vinegar packages aren’t like the mustard or
ketchup, they have some consistency, but the
vinegar is like water. The gun hole on the other
hand is impossible. These gun holes are cut too
small and have a fine edge. Further they have a
plug, and wire that runs into the gun. The edge
and the plug combine make it difficult to load
without a funnel. When you try pouring the
liquid stream it’s too broad and it covers the
entire hole. If you haven’t done it before it
creates a bubble and repels the liquid. In my case
it goes all over me instead of into the gun. So to
make my point about the heat and our
disposition I poured a couple more pouches all
over me before throwing the gun across the
picnic table and giving up.
I know you all expect me to be a little more
volatile than Arlene and that she is mild
mannered and would never lose it. But, you
haven’t heard the Bee story.
Bee’s come and go, whether you’re here or in
Florida. The biggest difference is what you’re
wearing. If its perfume you are likely to attract
them, just like men. Arlene has a thing for
anything that moves. She can get pretty upset
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about the smallest insect, much less something
that might sting her, and although she knows the
difference she doesn’t act like it.
So into camp flew this innocent bee, looking
around for another fireweed blossom and a little
nectar. Arlene is quietly reading one of her
books, and if she would only keep reading the
bee would have flown right past her, because she
didn’t even bring any perfume on the trip. But,
no she has to react to this little bee.
Her first strike was with her book, whap! The
little bee is down on the table. Whap! Whap! It’s
rolled over on to the dusty ground, but still
wiggling. Whap! She’s trying to send it to China,
but it resists. She picks up a couple of creek
rocks and throws one missing it by a mile. She
winds up again. And that’s when I started yelling
at her to put it down. ‘For god’s sake Stop!
You’ll hit your foot!!!’ Too late she unloaded the
last rock and buried the poor little bee in the
dust. She quit after that, leaving the bee in agony,
and still alive.
Now that could be the end of the story, but if
she’s anything like me, which she isn’t she’d still
have her rage up and be ready for more. So it’s
enough for me to tell about the poor bee, but you
must know, that I wasn’t safer in camp than
anything else that moved. I needed to find
something to do and fast. I left her in this
enraged state and took a walk around the
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campground and down to the beach. When I
returned, she said it wasn’t that small.
Right, right I replied, it was so big it could have
flown off with you like an eagle with a salmon.
It’s a good thing in the midst of all this misery
that someone retains their sense of humor.
It’s the Fourth of July, 1997 and we’re going to
celebrate it here in Alaska. Back about a week ago
we were in Dawson City, Yukon and Canada was
about to celebrate it’s Constitution Day. This
took some time for them as they were and are
part of the British Commonwealth. In 1867 the
British North American Act created Canada from
4 provinces, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and
the Province of Canada or Ontario and Quebec.
It was not until 1982 that Canada was patriated
by the Canadian Constitution. There celebration
isn’t as clearly defined as ours yet they are just as
enthusiastic.
We hurried across the Top of the World to get to
Fairbanks in time for our Fourth. We made it
and we’ve had a great time here. But the other
day when we were visiting with the Rangers in
Fairbanks they told us that the celebration would
be in the afternoon, with marching bands, John
Phillips Sousa music, and picnics. That the
fireworks we had been expecting had gone the
way of the Aurora Borealis. It was so light all day
and night that there would be no fireworks.
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Fortunately we had had several days to adjust to
the idea. No fireworks, as we had been
anticipating them ever since we left Florida.
Independence Day has always meant family
picnics, double header baseball games, parades,
and of course fireworks. However, let us party,
st
it’s the 221 year of our independence from the
very same Empire that ruled the Canadians.
We headed down to the Fort in Fairbanks, the
parade and fair grounds. There were several
bands, all playing Sousa marchs, and the Star
Spangled Banner. It was a carnival atmosphere,
with booths, barbecue, ice cream and drinks.
There were balloons everywhere and local craft
goods and art work for sale. It was swell and we
spent most of the afternoon there.
We went out to dinner again, and it started with a
bang. A Margarita for me and a glass of white
wine for Arlene. While we waited we ate most of
a bowl of sautéed mushrooms, what a delight and
a strange appetizer. Arlene’s grilled salmon
melted in her mouth, and my florentine halibut
was so flaky. It was really fresh and really good.
What a way to celebrate.
Back at the tent we dusted ourselves off and
climbed into the vestibule, zip, zip, then into the
main chamber, zip, and zip. Arlene fluffed the
sleeping bags and we slid away into a well-
deserved sleep, safe from the mosquitoes.
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As we wind down our visit here in Fairbanks it is
a good time to mention how these people live
and get along in this severe climate. We might
also mention how we have managed with all the
sun, the heat, and the insects.
We’ve talked to many people here. What
emerged is a life style that is both simple and
hard. I’d said once that the summer was a time
for hard work, while the winter was more
relaxing. These young people have an enormous
amount of energy, and often work two or more
jobs. One fellow we talked to, and representative
of many, was a carpenter who would trade his
work for mechanical help on his auto, and
snowmobiles. Several evenings a week he would
drive out to fish salmon, which he froze for the
winter. His wife would plant their garden,
sometimes in homemade greenhouses to get an
early start on the growing season. Tomatoes,
corn, and green beans were out of the question as
the season is so short. They would grow mostly
cabbages, fast growing greens and root
vegetables. Their carrots would grow to 4 inches
if they were lucky.
So much of the summer was devoted to working
and getting ready, like squirrels storing nuts, for
the winter.
For us it’s clear, after talking with these people
we were living in a fantasyland, where in a short
time, like all tourists, we would return to another
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kind of life. That was okay with us and in some
manner we could thank our forefathers for
surviving this type of life. Preparing and creating
something seems easier for us.
For ourselves we’re not growing or freezing
anything. But, going to the grocery store. From
the time we left home, we had expected that we
would have to take advantage of every store
along the way, as they would be far and few
between, and generally not have fresh vegetables
for us. This had not been the case, every 40 of
50 miles we’ve come across gas stations, general
stores and grocery stores. There has been no loss
of fresh vegetables, or gas. That’s been a
pleasant surprise, and we look forward to going
shopping. It’s become a social event.
Once we realized that we could get fresh produce
we found that the best part of shopping was the
jelly and jam section. Every store had large
displays of them. They came in glass jars, and tin
cans. It didn’t make any difference which, as
long as they were made in Canada. We bought
and ate every kind, Peach, Strawberry, Red or
Black Raspberry, Apricot, and my favorite sour
Red Cherry. Yum, Yum I loved them all, but I
loved the Cherry more.
Most mornings while we’re making coffee and
breakfast we would heat up more water in a pail
so we could wash ourselves. This was a
reasonable and healthy habit. Sometimes it
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became quite an undertaking. That’s when we
called it a sponge bath. Occasionally, these
morning exercises would be altered by a dip in a
hot spring, like Laird, but not often. Here at
Chena Lake we had taken a swim at the beach
several times. The water, which is warmed by the
sun is still cold, but not anything like we’d
experienced from the snow melt. There is
nothing, even ice that’s as cold as that.
We had also spent some time, around camp
barefoot. It’s been at least 50 years or longer
since we have actually touched the earth. Here at
Chena Lake it was okay, as long as our feet were
dry, as the lust, the dusty ground was soft and
cool. Even the rocks around the lake were
rounded and easy on us. When the dust gets wet
it globs onto and cakes on your feet inches deep.
We had seen so many adults without shoes, that
we had to try it. The children never wore them.
Our feet are pretty sensitive, and if it weren’t for
the soft earth around the camp we probably
wouldn’t have gotten very far. As it was, we got
into a ritual of shoes off, pull the wine, and
orange juice out of the cold water bucket and
stick our feet in to soak. It reduces your whole
body’s temperature. Like sleeping with your feet
outside of the covers.
I’ve seldom described our campsite, as something
besides flat, separated from others by trees, and
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reasonably close, but not to close, to the
outhouse.
Here at Chena Lake we had a semi circle like
camp with trees protecting us from the road.
Inside was an open area where we could place
our equipment, following the semi circle. From
one end to another we placed our tent, closer to
the woods or trees, our picnic table and lean-to,
the fire ring, and our van. We moved the van
several times a day to escape the suns unbearable
heat. Behind us were the trees, not a real forest,
but enough to give some relief. The sun’s path
during the 20 plus hours bore down on us then
came up, near the tent and ended on the far side
of the site. In the tent we were further from the
sun when it finally became dusk. It was the
coolest part of the camp.
Chena Lake Campground is rated as a 3, because
of the amount of space.
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CHAPTER 6
THE GREAT ONE: DENALI
I rolled over, it’s a little darker than usual, and
there’s a light rain hitting against the tent fly. It
sounds good. My retirement gift, an alarm clock
must be under here. ‘Ah, it’s 5 minutes after 4.’
This is too good to pass up I’m going back to
sleep.
It’s still raining, 6:30 am. It’s time to get up and
start packing. I hate the idea of packing all this
stuff in the rain when it’s wet. I’m not going to
roll up the sleeping bags nor deflate the air
mattresses. I’ll just slide them into the back of
the van, after I get dressed.
Arlene’s still sound asleep, maybe I can slip out
and make some coffee and cereal before she
wakes. Where are my sandals? Boy, this is going
to be a mess, the mud will cake all over
everything. I’m glad we didn’t take down the tarp
last night. At least the picnic table is dry.
We’ll need to get a couple propane gas bottles for
the stove before we get to Denali. They’ll be
cheaper in Fairbanks. Well, good morning,
would you like some coffee? It looks like it’s
going to be a dreary day.
Packing is never fun when everything is wet. We
took the fly off the tent and wrapped it up on the
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picnic table. The tent was more of a problem.
The dust had caked around the bottom and the
wisk broom didn’t really clean it as we rolled it
up. Even so we’d packed the hard and wet stuff
into the car top carrier, and only had the picnic
tarp and our aluminum extension poles left.
Everything else was dry and fit into the back of
the van.
By 9:30 am we had eaten, packed our wet things,
and arranged the back of the van for sleeping. It
had been good to sleep in the tent. Maybe we’d
do it again. For some reason the mosquitoes
didn’t attack us there, but attacked us in the van.
Our first stop was at the North Pole store for
water. Then in Fairbanks we picked up some
groceries and bottled gas. We stopped at
McDonalds for pancakes and more coffee.
There are only a few roads in Alaska, and they
make a large circle. It begins in Tok running
north through Delta and on to Fairbanks; south
past Denali to Anchorage and east, north-east
back to Tok and Delta. That covers a lot of
ground and each leg is several hundred miles.
Route 3 heading south is about 100 miles down
to Denali.
Heading south into the mountains makes a big
difference in the environment and climate. We
have been on the inner plains since Whitehorse.
Following the Yukon River, to Dawson City and
across the ‘Top of the world’ to Fairbanks and up
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the Dalton Highway to the Arctic Circle. All were
at altitudes of 3,000 feet or less. South of us the
continental plates have collided along the coast.
The Pacific plate pushed under the North
American plate and raised the Alaskan coastline
into the highest mountains on the continent,
ranging from 10,000 up to 20,000 feet, and
Mount McKinley.
Another change we anticipate is a whole lot of
people. This corridor is the backbone of
population in Alaska, and worst, it’s what brings
tourists here. We’re leaving the Tanana River
Valley, where the rivers are braided and the
rolling hills separate them. The Tanana River
picture shows how deep the lust is. Imagine it
getting wet, and how it cakes on everything. We’ll
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find more rivers, but they will be sharply defined
by steeper hills and mountains.
At the Denali Headquarters we found a place to
park and went in to pick up our camp
assignment. There were three lines of people
waiting. We got into one and began talking to
others. These lines were for everything. If you
wanted a campsite, a tour, a whitewater
adventure you waited in these lines. We
fortunately had made reservations a couple of
weeks ago while in Fairbanks, lots of people were
being turned away because they didn’t have
reservations. First for campsites, and secondly
for tours into the National Park.
Denali has hundreds of visitors each year, and
unlike many national parks its pretty well
controlled. Visitors are allowed to go anywhere
in the park, but they must follow the rules. There
are two large campgrounds, drive-in’s that are
easily accessible. Others are by permit, where
park busses; the only transportation deep into
the park along a bush road with scheduled, drop-
off of backpackers, and campers. The bus also
takes tourists on their tours. The bush road is a
winding dirt road that is far from easy driving. In
fact the bus drivers take a special training course
in the early season before they are allowed to
drive it. This is the furthest anyone can go into
the park by road; it’s about 90 miles and is only a
third of the overall distance of the park. The
public is allowed to drive on a hard top road
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about 10 miles into the park. After that vehicles
are banned.
Our campsite is #44 in Riley Campground. We
also got our tour passes. It took us about two
hours or so, but what we learned would help us
out for the entire stay. Outside of headquarters,
along the public road, were several motels, and a
number of outfitters, that provided guide
services, plane trips around the park, flights up to
Mt. McKinley’s glaciers, and whitewater rafting.
I suppose the motels did business with the folks
that were waiting for their reservations.
We found our campsite easily, and because we’d
stay here for a couple of weeks we pitched our
tent right away. It was a nice site, reasonably flat,
above the road, and several sites away from the
bathhouse and toilet. The trees weren’t large, but
they were dense. That makes it easier to arrange
our tarp and tie it up. We kept our aluminum
poles handy, but didn’t need them.
You can see how easy it is to get to the overhead
storage. The plastic container opens with hinges
from the back. When we climb up on the back
bumper all either of us needs is the other to push
against the van to hold them. I probably
appreciate holding Arlene against the car more
than she does me. She thinks it’s a means to an
end.
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.
Despite the number of campers, we realized that
we were back in a wild environment, unlike the
North Pole where we felt more comfortable.
Here the density of the forest, the heavy
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undergrowth, and the lack of visibility, brought
us to attention immediately. We thought of Laird
Hot Springs and the bear incident.
Just a short distance from our site, down a tight
curving path was a valley creek. It was beautiful,
but also an attraction for wildlife near our camp.
We had a couple of days before our first
expedition into the backcountry. That left us
time to hike around the camp, and over to the
hotel and commissary. The hotel had a large
auditorium where lectures were held every night.
The first lecture we listened to was delightful and
informative. The ranger outlined steps to take in
the face of a bear. Of course we were interested,
even with our bear book, we couldn’t get enough
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of these insights. He described how important it
was to make a lot of noise while walking on the
trail, that bells were a good idea, and that if you
happen to see a bear, make yourself a big as
possible, holding your arms above your head and
getting them closer together.
Bears often will back off, but if they charge, they
may be bluffing. In that case you may still be
okay. But, if it looks more like the real thing,
raise
your hands as high as possible and start
SCREAMING……..
I WANT MY MOMMY!
…..HELP!
Now that’s some insight. What a way to begin
our visit to Denali National Park. He never
mentioned the huge canister of pepper spray he
had on his belt.
On our way back to camp we were following the
path along the road, when a couple coming the
other way alerted us to a moose a up ahead. We
stopped, thought a while and decided to leave the
path, and go out around on the roadway.
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Unlike the path which was cut though the heavy
underbrush and trees, the roadway had plenty of
space. We could see 30 yards or more on each
side. We chose the far side and moved briskly
toward camp.
After several hundred yards we saw a couple of
Asian girls walking up the path. We went over to
them and mentioned that they should be careful
and probably take to the road, as there was a
moose up ahead. No sooner did I mention
moose than they started running up the path
yelling to each other.
‘There’s a moose up here!’
I’ve mentioned this enthusiasm for large
mammals that we’ve seen from Asians, they are
particularly mesmerized by them. What we
haven’t seen is what happens when they catch up
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with a moose or big horn sheep. We never heard
any screams so maybe they got there too late and
the moose had moved on. Maybe the moose
knows and understands that people only want to
look and see them. That they wish them no
harm. Maybe that’s the case, huh.
Here’s a picture of Richard walking along the
hotel campground path. Despite being close to
the road, you are really unprotected, and visibility
is really low.
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Today is raining, yet we will go on a hike with a
Ranger. It’s near camp and she will tell us all
about the plants, flora in the Tiaga, and Tundra.
Both of these areas are near by. The Tundra is
usually considered the area from the North Pole
south. It’s the coldest and least grown over land
on earth. Below it is the Tiaga. It’s characterized
by lots of singular type of plants, like the Black
Spruce forests that we’ve seen and been in since
Idaho.
Here in Denali the campgrounds are in a Tiaga
forest, and further west where we hope to go in
another day or so is more Tundra, with lower
growing bushes, shrubs and trees. There are of
course pockets of these growing areas like we saw
at the Arctic Circle.
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Here she is telling us about the aspen, which are
rizones and grow root structures under the
ground. That’s good news as it helps them to
multiply in a harsh climate. Black Spruce, spread
out their roots, not going very deep. They are
the most pathetic looking trees growing about 30
to 40 spindly feet high often with few branches
and fewer needles, and bushy at the top. It looks
like a black top knot.
There’s about 50 or 60 days that these plants will
grow. Starting in middle or late May and ending
in late August. By September there’s usually only
about 10 hours of sunlight. We’ve noticed that
flowers and grasses as well as the bushes take
advantage of this window and grow rapidly.
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Along the path there were lots of little flowers,
miniature orchids, some strawberries so small
they would fit on the end of a pencil, and
Fireweed. Lots of Fireweed. She pointed out
more flowers, more kinds of roses than we ever
knew existed. Some with pointed pedals, unlike
either the long stemmed, full-bodied ones we get
from the florist, or the spindly rounded pedal
wild ones that had taken over Connecticut,
before colonization, and still fill every nook and
cranny.
It was a good hike and lecture, but we would be
amiss if not mentioning again the heavy
underbrush and thick forest trees. We were alert,
even though there was a large group of us
traipsing through the bush.
Some days are filled with activities, with 20 hours
of sunlight, and many of them wear us out.
Today is one of those days,. After our hike we
could hear the train whistle. One of the Cruise-
train-auto tours was coming into the station, and
we had to go greet all the cruise crazy tourists
that have arrived from Anchorage. Prior to 1972
there were no roads to Denali. Today the
500,000 to 600,000 citizens open their doors to
60,000 tourist each summer. At least 50,000
come here to Denali from Anchorage.
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Hundreds were disembarking, carrying their
several pieces of luggage. They were met with as
many as 15 Greyhound travel busses and as many
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bellhops and tour directors. There’s lots of signs,
even though everyone is going to the same
national park hotel, only they don’t know where
it is. We suspect they’re here for 4 days and then
back to Anchorage, and their ship. If they are
lucky they’ve made prior arrangements for some
extra tours, in addition to their regular tour
agenda. Maybe they’ll take the jet boat tour up
the Nenamna River, just outside of the park, or
go to the dog sled exhibit.
They look happy to be here, talking among
themselves, and following the signs toward their
busses. That could only mean one thing; they are
not worn out, yet and are enjoying their vacation.
There are a few, youngsters, young men and
women, with backpacks 4 feet high, 2 feet wide
and deep, upon their shoulders and towering
over their heads. These must be their life’s
possessions. Months worth of survival gear,
tent’s, sleeping bag’s, mattresses, cooking gear,
another pair of pants, a sweater, and the precious
stuff, a camera and journal. We may see them
later camping at Wonder Lake.
Trains all across the Northwest have multiple
engines, both in front and at the end. It’s not
uncommon to wait at a roadside and count 150
or more attached cars. These are seldom tourist
or passenger trains. They usually have less than
30 cars and many of them are extra tall; double
Decker’s. The upper decks have windows above
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them and to the side, so that everyone can see
out and above at the towering mountains, and
occasional mountain goat or sheep. These
‘observation’ car’s lower decks have dining areas.
There are no sleeping quarters, as the train goes
between Anchorage and Fairbanks, 4 – 6 hours.
Here in Alaska all the trains carry passengers with
a few freight cars attached. There’s no need for
multiple engines, but all the trains are painted
with snappy colors. The colors are blue and gold
emphasizing Alaska’s State colors. Each
observation car has it’s own name, a tricky thing
to catch the tourists attention, and sometimes the
State’s symbol the ‘Big Dipper’ constellation on
the side.
These trains stop everywhere. Every road
crossing, every town, even along the way, where a
hiker or native might hail them. It’s what we call
a ‘milk run’. The only source of public ground
transportation in the back country.
It was quite a spectacle, how quickly the tourists
were unloaded from the train, and reloaded into
their buses. It took less than 2 hours, before the
station was empty again. I took several snap
shots of the caboose, and waved to the
conductor, as they headed, empty, toward
Fairbanks.
Back in camp we took a nap before eating dinner
and getting ready for the evening’s Ranger
lecture. The rain, which has kept up since we’ve
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been here is okay. The clouds fill the sky making
it cooler and a little darker, making it much easier
to sleep. We have also arranged the tent so that
we can climb in and out under cover of the picnic
table tarp. We keep dry going between the tent
and making meals for ourselves on the table.
The lectures have become less interesting, and we
have less enthusiasm going to them. But we have
found something else to take their place. It’s the
concession stand. They have all kinds of goodies,
that we can’t live without. High on the list is Ben
& Jerry’s ice cream. We started with one pint
between the two of us. That became a problem
and instead of fighting over the flavor, we’ve
settled on a pint each. Me, Cherry Garcia,
Arlene, for the time being loves Hubby Bubby.
We’ve also found that we could drive out to the
end of the hard top to eat it, and watch the sun,
as it drops, down a bit around the foggy cloud
covered mountains.
We’re sleeping in the van, and doing pretty well.
Our tent, despite digging a trench around it still
doesn’t keep the rainwater from running under it.
Actually, it may be in a puddle. Hopefully we’ll
have a dry spell where it will dry up, and we’ll be
able to pack it dry. That’s not high on the list as
we expect to stay here for a while.
There are a few things in the van that need
attention, like the lights and door locks. They
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seem to have a mind of their own; they work but,
I’ll never understand them.
For instance, today I unlocked the passenger side
door. Then flipped the unlock toggle for all
doors. After closing the door, they all locked on
me. So I couldn’t open any door. I did it again.
This time I could open the side door. But, when
I got around to the back it was locked as well as
all the doors. I opened them again, and unlocked
all of them again. Everything worked.
The lights are as independent and stubborn as the
locks. Each night we move things to the front
making room to sleep. This includes putting
things in and around the front seats. I did that
and as I walked around the back of the van I
noticed the lights were on. I’ve left the lights on
too many times so I checked them out, They
were off. Back around and the tail lights were
still on. I looked inside and rearranged the water
jug. That turned the lights off.
With the lights sort of off, at least for the while
and the door locks working, I turned my
attention to the safety belts. They have bells
attached to them, and if not turned off you’d
think it was a perpetual dinner call. The bells
would ring when the belts weren’t attached. So
we would attach them. No problem, but if; you
have the lights on, even the parking lights the
bells never stop. So at bed time we climb in,
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turn off the lights, lock the doors and attach the
seat belts.
Can’t you just see me; lights on closing the doors,
locking the car and the bells ringing like it was
supper time. It took me over a 1000 miles and
weeks to figure the bells out. I’ve still to
understand the locks, which go click, click on
their own. Even with these things solved it’s
only safe to say it’s a temporary solution, because
we are apt to forget and need to go through it all
again. Always keep your keys with you.
Another couple of days have passed and we have
gotten into a schedule. After the usual lecture,
we get some ice cream and head back to camp.
It’s usually around 9:30 in the evening by the
time we get into camp. Each night we drive out
to the end of the road, as far as we can go in
hopes of seeing some animals or The Mountain.
It’s been a swell place to eat ice cream, but not
much of anything else.
Tonight we had a really good lecture on birds,
and when we got out of the auditorium the sun
was shining in the west, and the clouds were
clearing in the south. We couldn’t wait for ice
cream and rushed back to camp to get the van.
We have never moved our gear from the front to
the back so quickly. The entire Bear List was
moved in only 4 minutes.
We moved out, up the hill past the Visitors
Center, the Hotel, past Headquarters and the dog
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kennels, out past Savage Creek onward to mile
post 10. Finding mile posts is one way to locate
the possible viewing sight of Mt McKinley.
Particularly useful when there isn’t a chance in
hell of seeing it.
th
When you get to the 10 mile post you look out
and say, ‘There but for the grace of God is this
fabulous view, mountain and or whatever.’
Because it was clear and the sun was shining we
proceeded with our eyes on the rolling green
hills. The Laplanders Tundra, where few trees
grew mostly moss and low bushes. There were a
few clouds. Those of course were the usually
beautiful fluffy, full, rounded ones.
Then between two hills appeared, like a ghost a
white cloud, that wasn’t fluffy. It had long white
lines dropping down it and sheer white sides like
slabs. Not cloudy. It was The Mountain.
MOUNT McKINLEY
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Mt McKinley in the late evening, 10:30 pm, sun
light. The north peak, it’s highest, was clear. A
rim or crest ran down it’s side toward us,
brilliantly shining in the sun. The slope covered
the entire north side of the mountain including
the second peak, south of the 20,000 foot north
summit.
We were used to seeing pictures that show more
of a frontal view of both the north and south
peaks. Our view, the reality, was more of a
profile, where the ‘frontal side’ would be twisted
or rotated to the right.
On the left side of the summit was a cloud that
reached even higher than the summit. It covered
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the Cathedral Mountain and at first we thought it
was, the cloud, covering the summit. It was not.
The summit and its shear side was so clear and
white that we were spell-bound.
We watched the weather around the mountain,
driving, stopping along the roadside, again and
again taking lots of pictures. At one pullout
there were several informative signs that
described The Mountain and the surrounding
hills.
Mt McKinley lay between two tundra mountains
called ‘Double’ Mountain on the left and ‘Sable’
Mountain on the right.
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Usually there are only a few people out at this
time of night. Seldom more than 5 or 6.
Tonight was no different, yet all of us were in for
such a treat.
One lady, had been to Denali 4 times before she
saw The Mountain, and it was this evening. She
was pleased.
She also told us about several alternative sights.
The best was about 100 miles south of the Park
near the Denali State Park. There are planes that
will take you up to the glacier at Mt. McKinley’s
base. It’s about 7,000 feet where mountain
climbers use as a starting point. We could do that
for about $100 to $150 each. Climbers fly in and
take time to adjust to the altitude.
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This drawing, author unknown, is a view of the
mountain looking north. You can see the glaciers
and starting points for climbing. Our view, and
most of the park is on the side, looking south.
Wonder Lake is the little sliver of blue on the
right side just beyond the Alaskan Range. Other
points of interest may be, from left to right Mt
Foraker, 17,400 ft, Mt McKinley 20,320 ft. The
major glaciers from the left, Kahillna, Taksoetna,
The Great Gorge, in the middle, and Buckskin.
How Buckskin glacier got an European name I
don’t know.
There are lots of people that want to climb the
mountain. This year over 1000 have tried and its
only July. So it’s a clear challenge for folks, yet we
haven’t met one yet.
‘The Great One’ has lean air, and less oxygen,
because of its latitude, so far north, and its high
altitude. Climbing can be strenuous because of
it. There is also an experimental station set up
there to study altitude sickness. Some people are
sensitive to it and others are not. They think they
can tell who will be and who won’t be struck by it
beforehand.
The plane with ski’s on it’s wheels would
supposedly take you and 3 –5 others up around
the mountain. It would actually land on the
glacier. Everyone would get out breath deeply,
walk around and then get back into the plane and
take off.
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A Ranger told us that he flew up onto the glacier.
When the plane was ready to take off it got stuck
in the snow and couldn’t move. The pilot asked
everyone to get out and push. They did, pushing
on the wings and tail while the pilot gunned the
engine. The plane broke loose from the snow
and ice. Everyone climbed back in. The plane
taxied around, and took off down the glacier.
Landings were up hill on the glacier and down
hill on take offs.
It was spectacular. After 4 trips out here we
actually saw the highest mountain in North
America. It’s difficult to get a perspective about
how high it is, and how it dominates everything
around. If the best viewing is 100 miles south of
here, I imagine one could see it from Fairbanks.
In fact when we were at the University people
told us that on a clear day we could. It’s so high
that it creates it’s own weather. During the
summer it’s usually cloudy and it’s seldom seen.
All the great pictures are taken during the winter,
when it’s crisp and clear.
We will return here each night to see it again.
Arlene has her binoculars with her now. One
more time would be swell, but if not we were
plenty lucky, as it’s only visible about 20% of the
time during the summer. That would be once
every week. We could surely attest to that.
The other night we met a couple that have been
traveling in Alaska over the last month. They are
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on their way to Skagway and Dyea. We talked for
some time and they related several stories about
travelers they saw while crossing Steamboat Pass.
That’s the steep, 9%-10% grade, deep dusty road
we climbed in British Columbia where so many
th
people had trouble. They saw a 5 wheeler that
had slipped down into the valley. Another RV
pulling a car had slid off the road. Both were
lost forever. And one RV had been shaken so
much from the gravel and ruts that the back
window after being twisted and turned shattered
under the strain.
It wasn’t all bad news. They had stopped and
helped a miner clean out his sluce box. That’s the
end of panning, where one finds the gold. There
was some, it was fun, but they’d keep their day
job, and continue their retirement and traveling.
Everyone you meet seems to have a story. Most
of them are worth listening to.
Today will be another big day. We’re scheduled
for our tour into the back country. This is one of
three trips we’ve booked, and the longest. We’re
headed for Wonder Lake the furthest into the
park along any road. It’s 90 miles one way. A
long day, about 8 hours, or about 20 miles an
hour, considering stops. It should be an
adventure.
The bus is like everyone you’ve ever seen
trucking children around the neighborhood. It’s
a Blue Bird. A yellow school bus with a short
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snout and the most uncomfortable seats with
bars across the top to hold while bouncing
around. Windows that slide up and down at the
insistence of two strong arms. Fortunately for us
we didn’t quite fill the bus. That left room for us
to move around, view the scenery, carry lunch,
cameras and binoculars, and take pictures from
either side, at all the wild animals.
We were loaded and ready to go. The bus driver
was excellent. He had been driving the route for
several years and at the beginning of each season
he took a refresher course. In addition, there was
no tour guide with us, and it was his
responsibility to deliver us safely. However, he
was wonderful, right from the start. He had
rigged up a loud speaker so we could all hear. He
was our guide. And off we went.
It was an easy drive away from the hotel, over the
hard top past the kennels, and up to the final mile
post where we had seen the Great One. Then it
became interesting, rough and bumpy. The
single lane dirt, gravel road stayed on the high
side of the hills, overlooking the tundra valley’s.
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