Day 17 -- To Talkeetna

I found myself cursing all the lucky people who signed up for their Denali bus rides today — which turned out to be a stunning, cloudless afternoon. Darn you all! If I had only known six months ago, when I was making the plans, I would have shifted our itinerary by one day.

Actually, I don’t feel that terrible. We knew going into this that Denali is visible only about one in every three days. The mountain is so gigantic that it creates its own weather — like how a huge boulder disrupts the flow of a river. In fact, it may have been a stunning, cloudless afternoon where we ended up today, but the view from inside the park still might have been obscured.

 We slept in, and took our time loading up the ‘Burb this morning, then headed over to the Denali National Park Visitor’s Center to inaugurate the park’s two newest Junior Rangers. The park ranger who inducted them coincidentally rode our shuttle bus yesterday; he was returning from a ranger-led hike. This is his seventh season as a park ranger. He went to Colorado State University to study environmental history and then got his MA in — get this — national park history. That sounds like The Coolest Degree Ever. He said he’s leaving in a week to become the ranger in charge of interpretation at Pinnacles, America’s newest national park, near Monterey Bay, Calif. We wish him luck!

The process of becoming a Junior Ranger involves getting grilled by the park ranger who swears you in. Depending on the park and the ranger, the kids sometimes sweat this step. This morning, Ranger PT asked several good questions, including, “What can you do be a good steward of the national parks?” Charlie and Clare seemed to pass muster, so then the ranger read the Junior Ranger pledge, and had the kids repeat after him. It goes something like this:

“As a Junior Ranger, I promise to help protect Denali National Park and Preserve. I will keep learning about the landscape, plants, animals, and history of Denali. I will share this information with my friends and family. I will respect the land and the wildlife, and I will respect myself…”

At this point, the ranger interrupted himself and asked what it means to respect yourself. Charlie considered this for a moment, and then volunteered, “Take a shower?” I think the park ranger was looking for a broader answer, like “Folllow rules,” or “Take care of myself.” But I guess showering works, too, because Charlie received his badge.

In the afternoon, we caught a shuttle to Husky Homestead, home-base for Jeff King, a four-time Iditarod champion, who, in the off-season, gives tours of his kennels. The whole outfit is quite a slick set-up. He’s been running this operation for 20 years, and he has the whole spiel down-pat, right down to his appeal to buy his autographed book in his gift shop. I mean, he recited his whole monologue effortlessly, if somewhat mechanically, right down to the perfectly timed gestures and witty yet predictable jokes that you know he repeats three times daily for four months straight. The rest of the guests seemed to fall for the act, so I guess I’m just cynical. 

The best part about the experience was getting to hold the puppies, which were handed to us as soon as we stepped off the shuttle bus. Apparently we’re helping to socialize the pups, getting them used to being around strangers and being handled.  

Puppies.

Puppies!

PUPPIES!

PUPPIES!! (This one's asleep!)

We also listened to Jeff King give an entertaining and informative presentation about competing in the Iditarod. He’s certainly an intense sonofabitch — I’ll give him that. He has to be, to race 1,200 miles in minus-50 degree temperatures behind 16 dogs who want to run like hell. For ten days straight, when Jeff King runs the Iditarod, his dogs run for six hours, then sleep for six hours. Six on, six off, six on, six off. During the hours of rest, Jeff takes care of his dogs first, then he fits in 90 minutes of sleep before they run again. Ninety minutes of sleep every 12 hours. For ten days. In the middle of an Alaskan winter. It’s freaking insane.

The kennels.

After the dog demo, we packed ourselves back in the ‘Burb and headed south. It was three hours or so to Talkeetna, and in that time, the clouds cleared and we saw mountains that weren’t there on our drive to Denali on Saturday. 

And here’s the most exciting news … we saw The Mountain! The tallest peak in North America! It came out! And we saw it!

It is so frustrating and so difficult to try to capture this landscape with a camera. The mountain was SO distinct on the horizon this afternoon. In this picture, you can barely see it above Clare's head, I think...

We pulled into Talkeetna in time to unload our stuff and grab a bite for dinner. I’ve really been looking forward to staying in Talkeetna, and so far it hasn’t disappointed. The town grew up about 100 years ago as a home-base for prospectors, railroad workers and mountain climbers. Today, the entire downtown, which is designated as a National Historic Site, is a colorful strip of gift shops, galleries and funky restaurants.

A downside: Seems like a lot of other tourists also are attracted to colorful strips of gift shops, galleries and funky restaurants. There are swarms of vacationers shuffling down the main street like a scene from “The Walking Dead.” I don’t know where they’re coming from; maybe the trains are depositing them here. Talkeetna is right on the Alaska Railroad line between Anchorage and Denali. 

Those that don’t come via train arrive in their campers, or with their giant trailers in tow. There are several parked just beyond the downtown, where the paved road turns to dirt, and it almost looks like they are camping there. I suppose it’s possible that there’s no specific town ordinance prohibiting that. The mayor of Talkeetna is, after all, an 18-year-old cat named Stubbs, and he might have more pressing business than improving traffic flow through town — like cleaning his hair with his tongue.

Mayor Stubbs, enjoying a little down-time.

We walked past the parked campers to the end of the road and found a little beach on the riverbank. Talkeetna sits at the confluence of the Susitna, the Chilitna and the Talkeetna Rivers. A GREAT view of Denali in the distance.

  

We’re staying at the Talkeetna Roadhouse, which is exactly as quirky and eclectic as I had hoped it would be. It’s a classic Alaskan roadhouse — with a big family-style dining room serving up giant cinnamon rolls and hearty breakfasts, and chili, soups and pasties for lunch and dinner, dorm-style rooms with shared bathrooms in the back, and private rooms upstairs. We’re actually staying across the alley from the Roadhouse, in the Museum Apartment, literally a little apartment above the town’s historical museum — which served as the one-room schoolhouse from 1936 to 1972.

Dinner at the Talkeetna Roadhouse.

I'm already looking forward to breakfast.

The Museum Apartment.

The Museum Apartment.

Clare and Charlie have found piles of games, and Keith and Natalie have discovered a cache of VHS tapes in our apartment. After working on the blog in the roadhouse dining room tonight, I returned to the apartment at 10:30, thinking that everyone would be tucked into bed. Instead, Charlie and Clare were engaged in a game of Life in the kitchen, and Keith and Natalie were camped out on the couch watching “The Carol Burnett Show” — you know, because most incoming high school freshman these days drop Carol Burnett references and it’s important for Nat to stay current and informed. 

Next week at Camp Tecumseh, I see this conversation unfold: “Have you seen ‘Ant-Man, yet’? How do you think his powers stack up to The Atom’s?”  “Who cares? I’m still laughing over that episode when Mr. Tudball’s wife vetoes all his choices for secretary until Mrs. Wiggins shows up in those ridiculous shoes. What a hoot!”

There's nothing like playing Life by the light streaming in the kitchen windows at 10:30 p.m.