Alaska Day 5

It was another cold night—forty-three degrees when I woke up. I did not sleep well due to the cold. No matter how many layers or how good the sleeping bag, the cold still penetrates my body. There were more tents, more sites taken than the previous night, but it was still quiet and peaceful.

In order to preserve the park and reduce traffic, you are not permitted to drive deeper into Denali National Park than the Savage River which is at Mile 15. That is also where the paved road ends and the dirt road begins. To see more of the park you need to take a bus which is what we are doing today.

The National Park was established in 1917 in an effort to conserve wildlife especially the Dall sheep. At the time the sheep were being over hunted and there was concern they might be hunted into extinction. Dall sheep live only in center and northern Alaska, the Yukon, and northern British Columbia. The park was originally 1.6 million acres but over the years it grew to 6.2 million acres—the size of Massachusetts. It is the nation’s third largest park. The second largest is Gates of the Arctic to the north. The largest is Wrangell-St. Elias to the east which is roughly the size of Arkansas. Even though Denali is lush and green, it is technically a desert, getting about as much rain per year as The Grand Canyon in Arizona.

One of the first acts of our culturally decisive president when he took office for the second time was to change the name of Mt. Denali back to Mt. Mckinley because he would love to erase all history that is not white Euro-centric. As you may have noticed, I refuse to call it anything but its indigenous name. However, being here prompted me to do some research. At least nine Native American groups have various names for Mt. Denali. The name “Denali” comes from “deenaalee,” which is a Koyukon word that means “the tall one.” During the ages of colonialism and imperialism, the British and Russias also came up with their own names for the mountain. In 1987, William Dickey, a gold prospector and huge fan of President McKinley, first used the name Mt.

McKinley in a New York Sun article. Four years later, the name gained in popularity after the president was assassinated. In 1916, when legislation was drafted to create a new national park there was a debate over what it should be called. By the following year, Mount McKinley NationalPark prevailed, but not everyone was happy and controversy continued. In 1975, the year after I was born, Alaska petitioned to have the name of the mountain officially changed to Denali—a nod to their indigenous roots. The petition was blocked by Ohio, President McKinley’s home state. Four years later, in 1980, President Carter, just before leaving office, signed legislation that tripled the size of the national park. That legislation—Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act—also changed the name of the park from Mount McKinley National Park to Denali National Park and Preserve. The name of the mountain did not change until President Obama restored its native name in 2015. No surprise, Trump took to Twitter to complain about it. However, it took until his second term to change it and he changed it back because he idolizes McKinley, a businessman who made lots of money. Need I point out the way in which this demonstrates that Trump completely lost the plot. National Parks are not supposed to be about business and making money. They are about nature and conservation and protecting wildlife and the environment, all things Trump does not value.

The bus tour was about four and a half hours and some of the views were majestic. Rolling green hills in the foreground sprouting tall skinny pines and other greenery and snow capped peaks in the distance. Rivers and streams cut through the landscape. Mt. Denali—snow covered and massive (two miles separate the north and south peaks)—was clearly visible despite the clouds that briefly drizzled rain on us. The snow on Denali makes it so white that in the distance,

at a quick glance, it looks almost like a soft fluffy cloud..

What I dislike about being at the mercy of a bus is while I get to see and enjoy the views I can’t get off to take pictures. We had hoped to see some wildlife, but ended up a bit disappointed on that front. No bears. No moose. However, way off in the distance, nestled near the top of one mountain we did see three Dall sheep. They were so far away they looked like three white specks on a brown background. Further up the road, we saw a caribou resting on a patch of snow. Caribou antlers are the fastest growing cell tissue in the world. They grow faster than cancer.

Yay!!! We were ten minutes out from the visitor center, returning from our bus trip, when we saw a moose. It was further away than the one we saw yesterday but she was out in the field drinking from a pond, not partially hidden by trees. This time I was successful in getting a decent picture, as well as a video. Kati is now happy. This feels more like a real sighting for her since she only saw the moose’s rear yesterday.

We left the park for lunch and ate at a food truck because G3 wanted to try the reindeer sausage. He said it was okay and that it tasted like any other sausage. Kati had the worst hotdog she’s ever eaten. According to her, “Hotdogs at track meets even taste better.” And I had the world’s worse veggie burrito. I know, I didn’t expect much, but as a non-meat eater my options were severely limited. I just didn’t expect it to be that bad. The cheese curds, however, were good.

Back in the park, we were driving towards the Savage River to do a short hike when we noticed several cars pulled over. immediately, our eyes started bouncing around to spot the reason. Mine quickly landed on a baby moose eating her lunch. I hopped out of the car and reached for my phone to snap a picture and a video. Seeing the adult moose earlier made me happy but seeing the baby brought me a great deal of joy. It was a highlight of this trip so far. As the baby walked away, slipping into the coverage of the trees, I noticed her mom and another baby also grazing, but I couldn’t get a decent picture of them.

I hiked the Savage Loop Trail alone. G3 was in a mood and refused to join us and since we weren’t sure what mischief he might get into if left alone, Kati stayed behind with him. It was a flat easy hike, one mile out on one side of the river and a return on the opposite bank. The scenery—mountains in the distance, craggy hills rising up from the valley, and river rapids rushing by—was pretty.

For dinner, we went into town—a glorified strip mall consisting of gift shops and restaurants constructed from wood to look rustic yet touristy—to get some more of that delicious cheese bread that we ate yesterday for lunch. The wait was eternal but we really wanted that white pizza—I swear I will be fantasizing about it for years to come—so we stuck in out and decided to wander around the gift shops.  I have been on the hunt for a new apron for three summers now because mine is old and torn and I got it into my head that a new one had to be picked up as a souvenir. You can find just about anything in gift shops and that includes all sorts of things for the kitchen. Why are aprons so hard to find? Do people just not cook anymore? Anyway, I finally found an apron—in Alaska of all places—which was very exciting. One apron. That was it. Not even a choice. But it didn’t matter. It’s now mine.

When we got back to our campsite at 10:30 we intended to have a fire but we could not find the matches. Luckily, we have an Eagle Scout with us who apparently travels with flint and steel. He successfully used it to get a fire going.

Ugh! Even with the smoke from the fire the mosquitos are relentless tonight.