Camping on the Nenana River outside
of Denali Park. In contrast with the bucholic appearance of this
scene, the George Parks Highway is right behind the camera.Tory, it seemed had developed a terrible thirst while shopping but we had forgotten to buy any drinks. As we pulled onto the street leading out of Fairbanks, I promised to stop at the first convenience store rather than do a U-turn. It was a good plan but within two minutes we were on the highway southbound with all signs of civilization well behind us. There was absolutely no settlements or commercial activity on the highway. Tory was gritching and blamed it all on me. Fortunately within ten miles, we came to a small roadside settlement that sold soft drinks.
The terrain itself was flat with small to medium sized trees bordering the road. It was quite green but not lush and might have been swampy under the surface. The smoke was very evident and visibility was certainly less than ten miles, often a lot less.
As we preceded south we became aware that it was awfully AWFULLY hot. It turned out that the heater was going full blast and we could not turn it off. The heater control just had no effect. This was not going to work, but we had already come thirty miles. It would take over two hours to return the car and get a new one or get the heater fixed. So we slogged on. At one point, we stopped and stuffed rags into all the heater vents. That didn't have much effect so we stopped and put duct tape (from the tool box) over all the vents. That wasn't perfect but it was better. All the windows were wide open. I, as the chief passenger, could put my bare feet out the window for their cooling effect, but Tory needed her feet on the accelerator and could do nothing to cool off. We were pretty miserable with a two hour trip (100 miles or so) ahead of us.
We finally, started climbing into the north end of Windy Pass through which we had passed at 8500 feet several hours earlier. It was about 5 pm when we arrived at the entrance to the park. We headed to the visitor's center to get the scoop.
We really didn't know what to expect. It was disturbing to us that we couldn't drive into the park (or so we heard). It wasn't clear how we would camp if we didn't have the car. I thought maybe everything was done as a day trip on the busses we heard were available. It was possible, I thought, that we just couldn't get in at all.
It turned out that this was very nearly the case. We might have gotten nowhere except for the fact that Tory became quite assertive. And a good time for it, too. Tory, who had some notion of the procedures from reading her guide book, was in charge of the "negotiations".
Tory talked to a Park Ranger behind the desk who was very unhelpful, almost aloof, and it appeared that he was playing a game of "guess how to get a campsite". He was a young, tall, good-looking vain type, but Tory was not impressed. She would not take no for an answer. When told there were no campsites available, she probed and discovered that was only true tonight and that some campsites were available the next day and the day after (at different camp sites). But that didn't do us any good, since there were no available bus reservations, except (as the interrogation continued) for a pair that he just happened to have in his pocket, but no promises about the return trip, but (when pressed) if we didn't mind getting the early bus, there was some room. Tory kept pressing and smiling through clenched teeth and finally we were all set up for the next two days.
It seemed the system (if there was a system at all) is set up to give the few unreserved assets to those people who really wanted them and were willing to scrounge and scratch.
So we ended up with an overnight reservation for Thursday (the next night) at Sanctuary Campsite which was twenty miles into the park and at Wonder Lake Campsite, the farthest out campsite at 80 miles, on Friday night. Both these were accessed only by bus as private cars (the few that are permitted) cannot go beyond mile 14. Therefore we would have to pack in all our stuff for three days. Hummmm.
We poked around the visitor center and got the scoop on how to avoid getting mauled by grizzly bears and how not to damage the delicate tundra. Then we went into the book store and bought a Denali "trail map". I know it was a trail map because it said so clearly on the outside. But when we opened it up, no trails were marked. I was quite irate about this misrepresentation. We later discovered that the trails were not marked because there are no trails in Denali. All off-road hiking is done on the unmarked tundra. In fact, they don't want you to make trails since the tundra cannot recover from heavy use.
But we had a small problem. We had no place to stay for this night. By now it was getting on toward 7 pm (early in the Arctic) and we were quite tired. It was suggested that lots of people camped at various turnoffs between the highway and the Nenana River. So we headed north again to snag a spot. We avoided what looked like the world's largest RV parking lot (we dubbed it Winnebago City) and found a nice, albeit very un-private spot, over looking the river. There were campers ten feet in each direction, but the spot had a good feel anyway.
Camping on the Nenana River outside
of Denali Park. In contrast with the bucholic appearance of this
scene, the George Parks Highway is right behind the camera.
We were about 100 feet above the level of the river and the drop off to the river was nearly straight down. We had no need to get to the river but the slope represented the only semi-private place to have a pee. It was really possible to get killed answering a call of nature if one wasn't careful. The river was several hundred yards wide and looked like a swiftly flowing white water river. It flowed north through Fairbanks and thence into the Yukon River which, if you have been following our story, flows from Whitehorse to the Bering Sea. On the opposite bank, at about our level, was the cut for the famous Anchorage-Fairbanks railroad. We saw a moose cow and her calf walking unconcerned along this right of way.
While we were setting up camp, our "neighbors" came over to visit. They were a retired couple from (I don't remember) and, after hearing our story of the day, he offered to look at the car's heater. After pulling out the rags and duct tape, he flicked a lever under the dash so we would no longer be driving a rolling sauna. He said the temperature control cable had come disconnected.
We pondered how to carry in our camping equipment and provisions. We guessed (prayed, actually) that the bus would get within walking distance of our assigned campsites. We planned to take only the essentials. Remember that we had no light weight back packing equipment or, most importantly, any sort of a pack frame, so we would have to schlepp whatever we took in. It turned out that our gear totaled nine parcels that, between us and with difficulty, we could carry for short distances. The items we selected were:
When we got onto the bus the next morning, we were the only people without well worn pack frames. I felt very un-cool and out of place, like we should be going to the beach. Tory couldn't have cared less. We both looked (and felt) like pack animals.
We were so tired after all our traveling, driving, and logistical planning that we hardly had energy to eat dinner. Around 10 pm we made some half hearted gestures toward preparing a meal and turned in for the night (which was still as light as day). This was our farthest point north (so far) and it had a noticeable effect on the sunset time
Throughout the night (or day, as it really was ) we were occasionally awakened by 18-wheelers climbing up the grade next to our campsite. On another occasion, we heard what sounded like a mobile fraternity party, hooting and hollering and carrying on. But we slept on until about six. We were mindful that we had to get up early, break camp, eat breakfast, prepare our camping gear for the Denali adventure, and report (at 8 am) for the first camper bus. Tory's alarm clock provided the necessary stimulus.
Considering our fatigue and all the miscellaneous stress and uncertainty about our adventure, we were in very good spirits. After all this was our vacation and we were here to have fun not to grouse at each other. I give Tory more credit for maintaining the cheerful climate. She was always looking at the best side of each situation and often told me to "come off it" when I made a grumpy comment. Gradually I concluded that such comments had no effect, so they tended to come less and with less frequency, usually before my morning coffee.
We arrived at Riley Campground about thirty minutes early and were the first to arrive for the camper bus. Riley Campground is the campground closest to the park entrance and is set up for motor homes and campers. It is nicely laid out and although densely populated, still maintains a wilderness flavor. Gradually, the other bus reservation holders arrived with their backpacks and food safes. The latter are steel containers about the size of a gallon jug into which all edibles are to be placed when camping in the out back. It is mainly an anti-bear mechanism. Generally, the back packers were a lean and athletic lot preparing for a week or so away from the prepared campsites. Many of them had ski poles with them. Tory asked if they were somehow going skiing and was told that the poles are for balancing while crossing streams and rivers. It appears one of the major dangers is getting swept into some swiftly flowing river of glacier runoff.
The bus arrived at the appointed time. It was a regular school bus with the last five rows of seats removed to make room for camping gear. Several of the campers had mountain bikes with them so the baggage area was pretty full, especially with our nine bundles. In general, I felt pretty silly with all our gear when compared with the backpackers. But then, we had to use what we had and Tory told me to loosen up.
The driver was a grizzled mountain man who kept up a running commentary on the bus' public address system. We discovered why the busses take so long to go relatively short distances: Every animal or point of interest occasions a stop and a small lecture. It was quite interesting except that the PA system was weak and we only got half of the information content.
We left the Visitor's center at about 8:15 with a two hour schedule to reach our first night's campsite, Sanctuary Campsite. We departed in good spirits and curiosity. The traffic was light, mostly busses (both tour and transportation busses) and the occasional private car. Private vehicles are not permitted beyond the campsite at mile 14. The road was paved for the first ten miles. Thereafter it was firm packed gravel and dirt. Each bus raised a pretty good dust cloud, so one didn't want to be eating someone else's dust and the busses tended to spread out.
A carabou on the road. He was more
intent on scratching his cheek than getting out of the way.
Once within the park there were almost no trees. It is mostly tundra with low brush, rivers, and, of course, mountains on all sides. The road seemed to be crossing river valleys that were perpendicular to our direction of travel. So the road would alternately climb to some ridge and then descend into the next river valley.
The rivers were unique. They all existed in fairly flat valleys so they spread out and were often several miles wide and very shallow. There were almost always several channels, often as many as a dozen for the larger rivers. This type of shallow, meandering, multi-channel river is called a braided river and is very common, in fact the norm, in Alaska. The channels were also barren gravel with very little vegetation in the river channel itself. Finally, the water was very turgid, totally saturated with silt and a light grey/brown in color. We were told that because of the silt which comes from the glaciers, the fishing isn't terrific. We were told what kinds of fish did inhabit the rivers but I don't remember now.
As we passed Igloo Campsite, at about sixteen miles, we were told that the campsite was closed due to some rowdy Grizzly bears.
As we went further into the park, it became evident that the smoke was getting worse. Apparently there were some big forest fires burning at the western end of the park and the smoke was drifting eastward. We were told that it was unlikely that there would be any good views of Mt. McKinley. Therefore, we were grateful for the stupendous views we had seen the previous day from the air. It was the western slope of the Alaska Range rather that the eastern slope that we would be looking at now (if we could have seen anything).
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