Up Close and Personal with Denali

As I said, we had a great experience in Denali National Park and Preserve.  It's absolutely beautiful. Getting to visit and pet the park's sled dogs was an added bonus. 

I love petting dogs that are not mine!

Koven -- Almost ready to lead!

And my fellow tourists gave me endless chuckles -- the teenage boy, plagued with juvenile-onset drowsy disease, who slept through the entire bus ride, the over-dressed tourists impatiently waiting for their morning lattés . . .  
But I digress.



The truth is, no matter how wonderful the park experience, Dad and I were disappointed not to have really SEEN the mountain, and we were ready to move on to our next adventure in Talkeetna. 



The artsy signage of Talkeetna

Artists, hikers, tourists, and climbers converge in Talkeetna, 60 miles from Denali at the confluence of the Susitna, Chulitna, and Talkeetna rivers.   Hundreds of Denali climbers started their  trips from the hanger of the famous bush pilot, Don Sheldon, about whom Dad and I have been reading.  Our drive from Denali to Talkeetna, with the sun coming out and the amazingly beautiful Alaska Range out the west windows promised to be a good one.  To our great joy and surprise, we were also greeted with views of THE MOUNTAIN that we had failed to find during our two days in Denali.

Denali peeks out!

 We were entranced.

We chased that mountain as far as we could, pulling in viewpoint after viewpoint just to stare one more time at her unbelievable heights.  She remained shy, it's true, maintaining an air of mystery behind a shifting veil of clouds.

Now THAT is a MOUNTAIN!

But, by gosh, we stalked her the whole drive, earning the final benediction just as we pulled into Talkeetna five minutes ahead of a 24 hour rain storm. 

We couldn't get enough, and so, we planned for a flight-seeing tour, stopping at the kiosk of Sheldon Air and eventually booking a flight for 10:00 am the next day.

Our dreams of Denali seemed doomed, however, as the next day dawned rainy and wet -- and our flight was cancelled. Imagine the thrill, then, when, during my morning walk the NEXT day, my phone rang and Dad said, "Flight's on, get back to the RV!"

Dear reader, what can I say? 
We got into a tiny plane.

  We flew 60 miles across green, glaciated land.

We saw the mountain, up close and personal. 

 

We landed on Ruth Glacier. We walked around in our borrowed snow boots. 

We listened to the silence and to a strangely distant roar.   "What's that sound -- like a river flowing?" I asked our odd, taciturn pilot, Jok.  "That's the glacier," he said.  A river of ice.  Hmm.

We flew around the mountain, saw so many rocky peaks formed by shifting plates and moving ice. 

And mostly, we were silent. Standing on the glacier in our own space, staring, turning, staring some more.  Even in the plane, while Jok rambled on about geology and naming rights, I was so grateful to be the littlest one who got the back seat, and whose headset microphone did not work.  Sitting in the back of that timy plane, with no one to hear me if I chose to speak, I reveled in the peace and in my own braided river of thoughts . . . Even now, I have no words with which to share the impact of that flight. 

I have to borrow some from the Eielson Visitor's Center in Denali National Park:

"I have found that people go to the wilderness for many things, but the most important of these is perspective.  . . . They go to the wilderness for the good of their souls."   Sigrid Olsen.  "We Need Wilderness."National Parks Magazine, January-March 1946.