The mountain

Having been warned by many people not to get my hopes up where Denali was concerned, that is, not to count on seeing it, while we were as yet on the train ...

We were approaching the town of Nanana in a long turn lining up to cross a bridge and -- 100 air miles away -- there it was dwarfing every other mountain in the Alaska Range. Photos from the moving train and through not-so-clean windows weren't worth taking, but I made the attempt anyway. As you might expect, what I have to show for that attempt is not worth sharing.

When the train arrived at the depot in Denali and after an hour in the visitor center (the 20-minute film, "Heartbeat of Denali," was phenomenal), we boarded a bus for the 90-mile trip to the Kantishna Roadhouse where we are spending two nights. For 3/4 of the trip, well beyond the Eielson Visitor Center, a new building with the potential for commanding views, the brown foothills and slopes to about 10,000 feet were the limit of what we could see.

All along the miles we watched for and stopped to view the wildlife, checking off grizzly bear, caribou, moose, snowshoe hare, Dall's sheep, red squirrel, golden eagle. Truth be told, however, we all maintained part of our attention on where the mountain should be (accomplishing that with the help of our driver).

To our wonder and delight, after Polychrome Pass the top of the north summit appeared and then played peekaboo with us until we reached Wonder Lake where the road heads into the valley where the roadhouse is and then officially ends. This photograph was taken from about 27 air miles, the closest the park road gets to the mountain.



Seventy percent of the people , we have learned, who travel to see Denali leave disappointed. We are now part of an elite group: the 30% club! And, we saw it twice in one day.

Alaska Railroad

Today's four hour ride was absolutely worth the price of the entire trip for me. From early memory, with National Geographic article photos and those from my grandmother's scenic America picture books etched in my mind, one of the images I have most romanticized, probably beyond reason actually, over the years is the long train snaking its way along a river through a mountain pass. Photographs aside, I've only gazed on that sight in person a few times -- trains along the Hudson (NY) and Columbia (OR) Rivers, specifically. In both cases, in person and in photographs, every time I have experienced a severe longing and have found myself wishing I were not always, it seemed, the one doing the watching. I probably need to analyze that persistent arrangement of thought, but not today.

Today I sat in a dome car with Tal and new friends from Alaska, Massachusetts and Maryland, travelling from Fairbanks to the depot at the entrance to Denali National Park and Preserve. I thrilled at crossing narrow brides, at the sight of the rail cars ahead and behind us on long curves, at mournful whistle and slow pace. And, as we began the long grade between the Healy coalfields and the park, I felt an unexpected satisfaction. Those people in overlook parking areas on the other side of the Nenana River stood taking in the scenery and watching our slow, deliberate, sinuous progress.


I liked, after all these years, being watched. I liked, after all those years, being on that train.

Ready to ride

I am sitting in an Alaska Railroad car, our group -- six of us and a guide -- having been boarded early for an orientation to the traveling we will be doing today. We have been assigned 16 seats at the front of the car and Tal and I are sharing two sets of seats facing each other with a table between them. (No, the computer is not, I repeat NOT, on the table.)

Alaska Wildland Adventures has been contracted by Road Scholars to coordinate this six-day excursion and our guide, on first impression, is terrific -- lively, encouraging, knowledgeable and obviously engaged by this vast state. I am so grateful that Nancy is in charge, choreographing departures, shuttles, hotels, admissions, etc. At every turn I find myself breathing a sigh of relief that I’m not, minute by minute, having to have it all figured out.

The group is small and what an interesting bunch. A pediatrician who worked with the National Institute of Health for most of his career; a kindergarten teacher who is also an avid birder, her checklist at the ready; the former chair of the School of Social Work at Smith College; a professor of social work. All of us are for most part retired. And, some of the travels experienced are pretty awesome, the Milford Track in New Zealand being, perhaps, the most dramatic and taxing.

Our two initial ventures -- to the Museum of the North before dinner and the Trans-Alaska (Alyeska) Pipeline in the evening were, I realize, mere dips of a toe into what there is to see, know and experience in those two locations. I’m not going to go into any explanation of either, so breathe a sigh of relief. But, I will add a couple of photographs, first of the interior of the museum and, secondly, of the pipeline outside Fairbanks.

This is the main hall, the Gallery of Alaska to my back and the Alaska Range Viewing Window beyond the stairs.

The section of pipeline we visited was north of Fairbanks. I am facing north for this shot, where the pipeline emerges from underground.

Tourist with a capital "T"

Waking early in Alaska is easy. And, today is the day for reveling in the light. Not only is it the summer solstice, it's also a day when -- here -- the sun will not set at all, actually setting tomorrow morning at about 1:30 and rising again two hours later. Beyond the particularities of celebration I mentioned in yesterday's post, the local golf courses are offering tee times all night tonight and there's a baseball game scheduled for midnight -- without lights on the field. There is most certainly an air of excitement. And, fact is, we're part of it. Our trip is entitled "Alaska: Enlightenment Under the Midnight Sun." May as well go with the flow, I guess.

We did wake early and enjoyed a wonderful continental breakfast in the hotel dining room: delicious oatmeal followed by fresh-from-the-oven cranberry muffins. At the last possible minute, realising our group was not scheduled to assemble until after 3:00PM, we decided to play tourist and cruise the Chena River aboard the riverboat Discovery. It was a three hour tour (yes, I did hum the "Gilligan's Island" theme song at least once) down stream from the landing in the vicinity of the Fairbanks International Airport to the point where the Chena joins the Tanana. Some of the events along the way were pretty cheesy, but the scenery and the commentary were very enjoyable.

This is a photo of Tal taken at our one stop during the morning. The sternwheel has 20 paddles and, while it does propel the vessel, two bow thrusters and one stern thruster on each side do simplify navigation. When we reached the Tanana, the ship matter-of-factly turned around, its center point remaining stationary. (It reminded me of learning to turn a canoe, the front paddler doing a forward sweep on one side while the paddler in the back did a backward sweep on the opposite side.) Not possible, I suspect, in an authentic riverboat, poles and lots of manpower doing the work.

We meet our group as I said after 3:00 at which point we will tour through Fairbanks, without stops, on our way to the Museum of the North at the University of Alaska. Photographs I have seen of the musuem are striking, a modern structure designed by Joan Soranno and intended to convey something of Alaska's expansiveness. We will return to the hotel for supper and an orientation to our week with the Road Scholar group and drive north of town to see the Alaska Pipeline.

Since we won't return to the hotel until about 10:00 and we have to be at breakfast at 6:00 in the morning, I'll likely not write any more today. I do not have any idea about the availability of internet in the Denali National Park -- where we are going tomorrow via the Alaska Railroad and small bus, so I may fall silent for a couple of days. Be patient. I'll be back!

But, a closing photograph ... this one of the Chena taken from our lunch table after our morning on the Chena.

On the Chena River

Feeling tired after a day of travel turned into sleeping soundly for 10 hours, rousing a bit only to sleep for another two. Today all we had to accomplish was find something to eat and move from one hotel to another, both of which were made simple by our hosts at the Alpine Inn. Breakfast was provided (and we arrived within the allotted serving time by the skin of our teeth) and their shuttle driver gave us a ride to their competition. Luckily, our transfer was accomplished by early afternoon, as the rains came toward the end of the day (I know, I know ... how does one tell when "day" is over in this part of the world at this time of year?) and it poured for hours, producing at one point a double rainbow of which, because of the airport, we could see both ends right down to the ground.

The transfer itself was almost inconsequential -- less than a mile, but difficult to pull off with two suitcases and the camera/computer case and no sidewalks. But, we moved from overlooking the exit for the Fairbanks International Airport to overlooking the Chena River. A world of difference. The other difference is that Pike's Waterfront Lodge, where our Road Scholar group is going to assemble on Saturday afternoon is completely full, making for exceptional people-watching and fascinating conversation.

This weekend is the summer solstice and, I am coming to understand, a very big deal. I sat next to a man on the airplane from Minneapolis to Fairbanks who grew up in Alaska, his parents having relocated from Minnesota when he was a child to open a hotel and restaurant. His mother died last December and unable to bury her because of the frozen ground they had chosen this weekend to come back for that ritual, to be made that much more significant given the solstice. I've counted at least four wedding parties between the two hotels, the date chosen not by the availability of a particular church but by the date on the calendar. And, this weekend marks the Yukon 800 Marathon, a high-speed, high-endurance Formula-One boat race. Teams leave Fairbanks on Saturday morning, go 400 miles downriver, and return tomorrow. A summer solstice tradition dating back 47 years.

Other than our move, some sustenance, reading our books and, since checking in here at Pike's, watching the river, we've had a very quiet day. That in itself is achievement enough.

A day of travel

Tal and I are settled in our comfortable room at The Alpine Lodge within sight of the Fairbanks International Airport at the end of a long day. This morning we rose promptly at the sound of the 5:30 alarm. My watch now tells me it’s 1:00AM -- tomorrow. Of course, the long-shadowed daylight outside the window has my body mightily confused, as does the bedside clock that glows 8:00.

I am deeply grateful to be here and to be here with Tal, who can now say he’s set foot in 49 of the 50 states. While the day was long, everything went smoothly, from locking up the house (sadly in need still of dust cloth and vacuum cleaner) and dropping Whitby and Belle at the vet’s office (along with a large vase of roses for the receptionist that we couldn’t bear to leave on the kitchen table or simply to throw away) to four airports (Columbia, Cincinnati, Minneapolis, Fairbanks) and three aircraft (a Freedom Airlines Embraer 145, a CRJ 700 operated by Comair and a Northwest Boeing 757 -- all technically belonging to Delta). We moved north and west pretty much on time, the longest delay being at the gate in Cincinnati where an on board coffee maker had to be replaced before we could depart. Couldn't fly without that and I did ask for coffee during beverage service in appreciation.

The flip side of the long hours is the opportunity to sit quietly, aware of the magic of the adventure in which we are involved -- and to read for lengthy periods. Tal is into a Louis Lamoure and I am being awed by Greg Mortenson’s saga of school-building in Pakistan in “Three Cups of Tea.”

All three aircraft flew full, our flight into Fairbanks met by well-scrubbed, placard-toting folks from Celebrity, Princess, Gray Line and the likes. AND, our two bags rode up a conveyor from under baggage claim, made a hard right, dropped an amazing three feet onto the carousel and after circumnavigating 3/4 of the long oval track found themselves back in our possession. Miraculous.

Harder, I think, than the hours of sitting in close quarters in airport waiting areas and while hurtling through the sky is the challenge of eating. The terminals all have restaurants, of course, but connection times being what they are and sheer numbers of travelers kept a sit down meal from being a possibility. In Cincinnati I found raw almonds and a granola bar at a newsstand. In Minneapolis, while Tal sat with the camera equipment, I walked back to a kiosk vendor I’d spotted for a turkey sandwich and a bottle of milk. Delta has the most delicious ginger cookies, called Biscoff, which we savored on each leg of the journey. They taste much like the ginger crinkles my mother used to make, only very crunchy rather than soft. But, a meal they do not make.

While we avoided the pizza and chip temptation through the day, we arrived here hungry and not quite too tired to care. The hotel’s restaurant, called The Finish Line (I’ll have to find out why tomorrow), was our closest choice and the only one not requiring a taxi. We ate beautiful fresh green salads and shared a crab cake appetizer, none of which I’m sad to say I actually tasted, but which I hope will help me sleep.

Hiking along Stevens Creek

We are almost within the final two month period before our June adventure to Alaska (Alaska: Enlightenment under the Midnight Sun). Road Scholar (a division of Elderhostel) has sent out a detailed description of the excursion, advocating some conditioning prior to meeting the group in Fairbanks on June 20th. Ever obedient, our walks are beginning a shift from the flat of the roads in our neighborhood and the gentle hills of the nearby golf course. Yesterday afternoon we headed out to explore a portion of the 12 miles along Stevens Creek in McCormick County.

The day was utterly georgeous and I felt better than I had in a couple of weeks. Given those two plusses (which can quickly become minuses), we agreed to try to refrain from being overly ambitious. Since neither of us had thought to wear a watch and since I'd left the cell phone (which includes a clock) on the kitchen counter, we couldn't walk for a pre-determined length of time and turn around. We were grateful, once on the trail -- beginning at the bridge on SR23 near Modoc -- to see that the distance is posted every half-mile. This is Tal as we turned around at the 2-mile marker. (He indulged my effort to get the marker in the foreground by walking into the distance.)

It's along Stevens Creek that the famous and endangered Rocky Shoals Spider Lily will begin blooming next month. Although we weren't treated to that sight or scent today, we were blessed with another lily ... I think the Atamasco ... growing along tributaries to the main creek and in low glades. I managed to muddy both knees, but getting these shots (and several more ...) nourished my soul this Easter day.


This flower isn't new to me. As a child I was privately convinced that it should have been the real Easter lily. I remember (perhaps wrongly) that they bloomed at Eastertime on either side of a brick waterfall near the Youth Taming the Wild pool at Brookgreen Gardens. An enchanting spot in my memory to be sure and one, to my surprise (and I have looked), that I did not photograph during those early years.