Denali: The Park and The Mountain

For our first day in Denali, we made reservations for an 8:30 AM bus ride through the park (Denali does not permit cars, instead they run regular shuttles down its sole 80-odd mile dirt road (which doesn't even get you halfway into the park)). Our driver was pleasant and enthusiastic, but the sights were few until a couple of hours in, when we saw a mama grizzly and her cub, nursing. They were followed by a bunch of caribou.

Unfortunately, however, it was dark and overcast, and even the mountains nearby were invisible, much less The Mountain. Denali Peak is over 20,000 feet tall, and its base is only 2,000 or so feet above sea level. (Compare that to Colorado's highest peak, Mt. Elbert, which is 14,000 feet high with a base 10,000 feet above sea level.) It's the sight I wanted most to see, and the bus driver's rapturous descriptions at every look-out point (of what it would look like had we been able to see it) did nothing to assuage my disappointment at missing this most epic sight. Apparently, we weren't the first bus to miss out. In the 120 days of last year's season, Denali was only visible 14 days. Even on otherwise clear days, it is hidden by its own insane weather.

The park--and day--were still pretty awesome, however. On the return trip, we got off the shuttle at a random spot and climbed a mountain without a trail. We hiked up some drainage, which was easy at first, but got a little dicey towards the top. The rocks and dirt were pretty loose, and I was afraid of causing a giant rockslide. Sophia and Isabelle were, of course, unperturbed. To scare off the bears we sang everything we could think of very loudly--and very badly. I think we scared off anything in a 1-mile vicinity (including other humans). At last we reached the ridge line and were amply rewarded: across the valley was a huge herd of Dall Sheep, the major reason for the area's preservation. We hadn't seen any yet that day. They were fun to watch--they skipped up the same rugged terrain that we had spent hours pathetically crawling up. And, as a bonus, the herd included countless adorable newborn lambs.

At the top, we were totally alone. I went off for a little bit, out of sight and hearing of the others, and it was glorious. To be alone in the middle of nowhere at the top of a mountain overlooking only wilderness for miles and miles... It was the first time on our trip that I had truly appreciated Alaska as "the last frontier." Although it hadn't been an especially difficult climb, it felt like we were the first people to ever reach that particular spot.

We awoke on our second day in the park to a pleasant surprise--blue skies! Contrary to the rainy weather report, it was beautiful and sunny. We went for a trail hike near the entrance. After an hour or so of winding up switchbacks surrounded by views of the Alaska range and the tundra, without any warning, there it was. Denali. I'm still trying to figure out a word that describes the sight and the feeling--the emotion that accompanied it. Is there a word for being punched in the stomach, but in a good way? Gobsmacked? I know this sounds über-melodramatic, but I'm trying to convey something indescribable. Denali rises above the huge mountains around it as if they are merely foothills. At first glance it could be mistaken for clouds. What it does, really, is make it look like there is only one mountain in the entire state of Alaska.