Denali Ramblings

by David Jones

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Denali Ramblings by David Jones

Following is an account of my first Alaskan experience. We decided to visit relatives in Fairbanks -- my wife's sister and brother-in-law (he and I got into backpacking about the same time). While the sisters saw the sights from a cruise ship in Prince William Sound, Jimmy and I split for the backcountry. A short trip by necessity, but how could I pass up Denali?

We spent three days in the bush; fall was coming on strong and the mosquitoes were already gone. Low temps weren't much below 20, still plenty cold.

This account was transcribed upon return to Fairbanks.

Day 1

Denali National Park takes up about 6 million acres (roughly the area of Connecticut) in the middle of the state. Backcountry use is regulated through the assignment of overnight hikers to specific areas ("units") of the park. Registration is on a first-come basis; a large board in the visitor center tells hikers which units are available for which days. After viewing the mandatory orientation videos (about 45 minutes of bear advice), hikers choose their backcountry units, and are given permits to attach prominently to pack or tent. Overnight use is regulated to between 6 and 10 hikers daily, for a limit of about 500 hikers per day. The system, though it may have its flaws, accomplishes the desired objective of giving each hiker his or her "own" corner of the park.

Transportation within the park boundaries is simple and efficient. A single road travels from the outer edge of the park to a central point about 80 miles in, just a few miles from Denali (Mt McKinley). Busses travel the road several times daily, running tours for photographers, wildlife observers and sightseers as well as hikers. For $15, hikers have unlimited access to available seats on any bus. If your backcountry assignment includes, as ours did, non-adjoining units, simply ride the bus to the first unit, hike out from the road, do the time, hike back to the road and flag down the first available bus to ride to the next unit. It's not glamorous, but it is effective, and it keeps civilian traffic in the park to a minimum.

Our first night's assignment was in a unit maybe twelve miles into the park. The front (road) side of our section was a relatively flat valley rising to meet several smaller mountains. The valley floor was covered with tundra scrub which varied in height from calf- to head-high. This was fall in Denali, and the tundra was changing color; a carpet of red, yellow and green covered the entire vally floor. After de-bussing, we headed up a wide streambed littered with larger boulders.

Travel up the streambeds proved much easier than bushwhacking through scrub, where an hour's travel might produce only a half-mile of distance. Two miles in from the road, we made camp in a bare spot overlooking the valley we had just climbed. Behind us rose a larger hill (smaller mountain), and behind that lay a larger, snow-covered range.

We watched weather come in and out all day. At several points, we stopped to watch snow fall on the mountains above us. A distant herd of sheep moved down the slopes just ahead of the snow; I thought for a while our path might intersect theirs, but they turned into a smaller valley before reaching the streambed.

Snow fell in the valley as well, flowing across the floor and sides in giant moving curtains, with the sun occassionally lighting from behind. Watching the snow made for great entertainment during the otherwise dreary hike through the thick brush.

After making camp, a short climb partway up the closest hill rewarded us with a tiny ledge from which we had expansive views of the valley below and the mountains on the other side. We had eyes on the top of this little hill, but stumbling through the brush had taken what energy we had left. After an uneventful hike down and a welcome dinner (curry chicken with brown rice), we had no problem sleeping late.

Day 2

Morning was bright and moderately clear; overnight temps were below freezing, but not much below. As I stood outside the tent preparing for the morning constitutional, my eyes followed the far ridgeline in toward the middle of the park and were rewarded with an unprecedented view of Denali. Though the top of the mountain was hidden, wispy clouds hung around the middle and upper elevations. The effect was very mystical, reminiscent of those ancient oriental artworks that depict the abnormally tall mountains with temples on top. I sat silent for several minutes, unable to believe that this mountain, 60 miles distant, could tower over four- and five-thousand foot peaks only a few miles away. It was a proper introduction to the power the mountain has over its audience. I would glance at it continously during the day.

The hike back down to the road went without incident, and after hitting pavement we waited about an hour for the next bus to pass by. Denali was still visible, though the face closest to us was in shadow. Our next night's permit was for the Sanctuary River area, about 10 miles further in. We forecasted easier travel among the river bars, and were proven corrrect. Though scrub still blanketed the riverbanks, the gravel bars provided an almost continuous path up the valley. The day was clear but noticeably cooler, and a strong cold breeze forced us to keep our raingear on for wind protection.

After walking in maybe three miles, we pitched camp at the edge of a small bar covered with pea-sized gravel and mud. After setting up the tent, we started to notice a variety of large animal tracks; caribou, moose, wolf, a single grizzly print. Too tired to pack up and move, we at least took comfort in the fact that our site was out of the apparent direct line of travel. Small comfort.

The site was about 175 feet back from the river's edge, maybe 25 feet from the edge of the brush. Views back into the mountains were outstanding, and over supper (tomato basil soup with couscous) we watched the full moon rise over the peaks. I had hoped to get a front row seat for the aurora, but it stayed hidden that night. No great loss, as the full moon cast an eerie blue light over the landscape, giving a lunar appearance to the rocks. The night was incredibly cold (to me); temp at the visitor center dropped to 19. We were in a deep river valley, so it may have gotten lower than that outside out tent. Water bottles were frozen in the morning, along with my feet. Nose and mouth were chapped where they were sticking out of the sleeping bag, and we stayed buried in the bags until 9 or so, when the sun warmed the tent.

Day 3

Left the nest and had wandered outside to start breakfast preparation when I was approached by a red fox, who stopped no more than eight feet in front of me. Though I didnt want to scare her away, I whispered for Jimmy; the fox didnt run, but instead made two lazy circles around our tent before nonchalantly wandering back into the brush. She was bigger than I had assumed foxes to be, weighing perhaps 20 pounds and standing as tall as a grown lab, though much leaner.

We spent a couple of hours hiking upriver, just to see what was there. Our map told us we were closing in on the entrance to Refuge Valley, which Jimmy had heard was a particularly beautiful section of the park. A huge glacier, which we could see even from ten miles out, covered the upper end of the valley, and fed the river we were hiking with. We decided an all-out assault on the Valley would make a fine adventure someday.

We turned around at the appointed time, after taking a minute to stop at the end of our trail and stare at the scenery around us. The mountains we had glimpsed intermittently during the previous day's hike were now ours to view without obstruction. The water, grey with glacial silt, rushed by below us while a cold sun shone from high noon. A magical spot, and I will take comfort simply from knowing that it is always there; all I have to do is get to it.

The hike out was little more than the converse of our entrance, and we decided to make a speed run. We wanted plenty of time to sit at Lynx Creek Pizza before catching the commuter bus back to Fairbanks. Caught a tourist bus on the way out, and we enjoyed feeling smug while hauling our dirty packs and smelly bodies down the narrow aisle to two seats at the very back. People looked at us funny, and they left us alone, though toward the end of the ride we started to get questions. How cold did it get last night? Did you see any bears? How long were you in?

Got dropped off at the vistor center and enjoyed feeling smug again, though we were far from the only hikers in the center. Threw out our trash, turned in the bear can and hit the road for the 3-mile walk to Lynx Creek. Made the trip in about 45 minutes, and spent the rest of the evening eating pizza and sampling some local brews. Bus came at 9 pm sharp, and we were on the way back to Fairbanks.

With the end of this trip, a tradition was established. This made the third consecutive year Jimmy and I have gone on walkabout -- first in the Smokies, then Colorado and now Alaska. A definite pattern, and one we should adhere to at all cost. Next year's destination -- the High Sierra. Kings Canyon, Yosemite, Ansel Adams territory. It should be a long trip, we decided, six or seven days.

For now, my most immediate task is to put away all my toys; compasses and stuffsacks, sleeping bags and fleece sweaters. Rain gear. Tent. I didn't use it nearly enough this year, only making this trip and a short Colorado hike with Greg. Not even a week total.

Obviously, I've forgotten what's important.

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