Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
At the Polychrome Pass lookout a Dall sheep takes his lordly ease on a precipitous,
grassy slope, and a caribou trots right up the road between the buses, looking irritated, as
if to say, “What's with all these BUGS?!” I sympathize; the mosquitoes are fierce. Three
marmots occupy a rocky tower down the road. At Big Stony Flats we see a herd of cari-
bou, all female, and two more bears, one a gorgeous blond, a Denali specialty, and the
other a big chocolate bruiser. Even Simon is impressed—“This is a fairly astounding num-
ber of bears for the drive in.”
We reach Eielson Visitor Center, where there are toilets, and where we find a sign that
says “Sunrise 3:40 a.m., Sunset 12:18 a.m. Total hours daylight 20 hours, 28 minutes.”
Between Eielson and the camp we see a big bull moose feeding off the bottom of a
kettle pond, a beaver cruising by, unconcerned. I feel like I'm in Disneyland, only for
grownups, and it's real.
Four miles from the end of the road, Camp Denali perches on the hillside just below a
ridge that faces due south. There are seventeen log cabins, each with its own outhouse,
wood stove, wall mounted propane lights, and a propane hot plate. Ten feet from the cabin
door is a water spigot, and I can lay on my bed and see Denali through the window, al-
though that will have to wait as the sky clouded over from Eielson on. Up the trail is Pot-
latch, a larger one-room cabin that serves as our living room and library, and is also the
location for our first night reception, which features coffee and a yummy berry bundt
cake.
Afterward, I walk up Cranberry Ridge, a short trail which begins ten feet from Pot-
latch's back door, to loosen up my case of bus butt. Is it my imagination or has the layer
of clouds on Denali lifted a little? Mark, the camp cook we picked up at Eielson after his
day off, told me that the alpenglow on Denali at sunrise is magnificent. I remember the
sign at the visitor's center: “Sunrise 12:18 a.m.” Should I set my alarm?
I fall asleep before I decide, and am woken at 1:41 a.m. anyway by a 4.5 earthquake fif-
teen miles below the Denali Fault, with an epicenter only 38 miles away. It is also raining,
so I roll over and go back to sleep.
Saturday morning we are summoned to breakfast by the vigorous application of an iron
bar to a triangle on the deck of the mess hall. Mark, my seatmate on yesterday's bus,
comes out of the kitchen and introduces himself to us and us to breakfast, cinnamon pull-
