Alaska Day 12, Getting Off the Bus

Day 12

Wednesday June 13

      When I first came to Denali National Park, I had read in numerous places, if you really want to experience the park, you need to get off the bus.  So, I did.  The experience was magical.  Suddenly, I had the place to myself. The only sounds came from the wind and the wildlife.  The two encounters with Caribou only sealed the deal. 

     So, I did it again.  I wish the results could have been better. But, you roll the bones and take your chances.  A good omen for the day was the weather.  After being dogged by rain, the morning looked absolutely perfect.  I arrived at the parking area, grabbed my pack and was ready to go.  By the way, it was only forty-seven degrees.  Like I said, perfect.
      All buses leave from the depot.  You buy your ticket depending on how far in you want to go. 

   
      In the back of the depot, you line up depending on your bus.  Once they arrive, off you go.

     The driver periodically stops to point out wildlife.  Sometimes it's right by the road and sometimes very far away.  Otherwise, it's just a gorgeous ride.  Add in the factor of snow just a few days prior, and it made it even better.

     The last time, I had the driver drop me off just past a place called Polychrome Basin. 

     He dropped me off at the first point at the bottom of the hill.  This time, I had a new driver who didn’t know all the best drop off points  He dropped me off about a mile further.  I can’t blame the driver, it looked perfect where he did drop me. 

      

     It started out in a rocky wash.  I followed it out beyond the scrub brush.  That’s when it started getting interesting.  The ground started getting soft and squishy.  Imagine the softest beach sand you’ve ever walked on.  Now imagine that times five.  It made for an interesting feel under my hiking boots.   

      A little further back and I was walking in mud.  It certainly looked like a nice green field, but it was getting more and more squishy.

      The original plan was to hike back to the base of the mountains, then hike parallel to the park road for a couple of hours, before heading back.  The last scheduled bus would pass through around 7:30P.  I had plenty of time. 

     By the time I made it to the base of the mountain, I had already crossed three streams of runoff and picked my way through patches of ground that seemed more water than actual ground.  I found myself picking each step, hoping that the tuft of grass was actually higher ground.  

     The good news, before this trip, I had replaced my hiking boots.  The previous pair were allegedly waterproof, but my feet would be wet crossing a dew covered field.  That was fine for places like Big Bend.  For this trip, not so much.   Through the mud and standing water, my feet remained dry.  That is, until I encountered standing water that was deeper than my boots were high.  One hour off the bus and my feet were now wet. Add to the mix, surprisingly deep snow patches.  I also had snow in my boots.

     Obviously, this was not going to be a repeat of the last trip.  But still, I was off the bus walking in an amazing place, even if my feet were wet.

      The original plan was to stay out a little longer.  But, I suddenly realized all that green I saw from the bus wasn't firm ground at all.  It was all standing water with grass poking up.  Getting back across the valley would take a bit longer than I had expected.  

    

     The going was slow and wet.  By the time I reached the ponds, I had stepped in water deeper than expected a few more times.  My feet were no longer just damp.  As for the ponds, they appeared surprisingly deep.  

     Eventually, I got tired of trying to pick my way through the water and just stomped ahead for the last fifty feet or so.  Finally on dryer ground, it was time to work my way back to the road.  In the distance, I saw what appeared to be a caribou in a snowy patch.  That would make up for the wet feet.

      The caribou turned out to just be branches and snow.  But, I did come across a patch of Arctic Willow in bloom.  I had never seen anything quite like it before.

     I made it back to the road and started walking.

    The deal is, when you see a green bus, simply flag it down.  If they have space, they pick you up.  Twenty minutes later, I was on a bus. A half hour up the road, we came across a Dall Sheep resting alongside the road.  Our drive slowed to a crawl.

    

   And some grizzlies from very far away...

  

     By the time I had finally made  it  way back to the depot, I knew I was simply done for the day.  I remembered a place just north of the park entrance called Prospector Pizza.  The food was great and they had a very large selection of Alaskan beers. Of the fifty-nine taps on the wall, only a handful are available commercially throughout the country. I chose a 49^th State Baked Blonde Ale to go with a pizza with mushrooms and reindeer sausage.  

     My server was a fascinating woman by the name of Cassidy.  Like everyone else, she wore a black t-shirt with the restaurant logo.  It displayed the ink on her arm clearly.   I asked her about the most prominent one and she told me the story. 

     From the side, you see the face of a striking woman with dark, flowing hair.  The detail is amazing. From the front, one third of her face is a skull.  The artistry was superb.  That’s why I asked.  Cassidy explained to me that she grew up in a small town in Washington State and was disgusted by some of the bigots and racists.  So, when she was thirteen, she asked her best friend to design a tattoo showing that underneath it all, we really are all the same.  When she turned eighteen, she had it put on her arm.  

Coming Up,

Freakin’ Beavers, Part 1