In September 2022, daughter Jill and I traveled north to Alaska – a 12-day adventure from Seward to Fairbanks. Click HERE to read a short introduction to our epic trip.
This story is the sixth in a series about the sights we saw and the experiences we had as we traveled through The Last Frontier.
This story is the sixth in a series about the sights we saw and the experiences we had as we traveled through The Last Frontier.
Denali National Park and Preserve, Alaska (September 9, 2022) Yesterday was a magical day, as Jill and I explored the rough-hewn land of Denali National Park. We saw legendary wildlife, crossed braided streams and rivers, and gazed on awe-inspiring views. For me, our Tundra Wilderness Tour was a dream come true…everything that I had hoped for, and more!
We began this day with an excursion in Denali National Park and ended with a unique way to observe a stunning night spectacle in Fairbanks. And, as we traveled from one location to the other, Jill and I discovered a friendly small-town restaurant that served delicious fare.
We began this day with an excursion in Denali National Park and ended with a unique way to observe a stunning night spectacle in Fairbanks. And, as we traveled from one location to the other, Jill and I discovered a friendly small-town restaurant that served delicious fare.
Reveille came early for Jill and me. We woke at six, had breakfast at seven, checked out of the Grande Denali Lodge an hour later, and arrived at Denali’s Visitor Center at half-past eight for a nine o’clock excursion. Whew!
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This morning’s forecast was for the mid-40s with a chance of rain, so we layered as we had every day of our trip so far. The weatherman got it half right – the temperature topped out at 45 degrees, but it did not rain. Without a doubt, we were grateful for dry weather!
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The Visitor Center was a discovery zone. Dall sheep, moose, Willow Ptarmigan, and other park wildlife were on display. (I wasn’t sure if the animals were stuffed or reproductions, but either way, they were life-size and looked lifelike!) And there were a couple dozen storyboards or more with information about the park and Native culture.
Jill and I wandered and learned.
Jill and I wandered and learned.
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Yesterday, we saw a herd of Dall sheep grazing high up on the slope of a mountain. Well, we didn’t actually see the herd, which appeared as a teensy-tiny group of white dots that were hard to visualize as sheep. Problem solved after we saw this display, a reproduction of a ram standing on a rocky outcrop. Much better!
Here are a few interesting facts we gleaned from a nearby storyboard: Both males and females grow horns made of keratin, the same substance found in our nails, although a ram’s horns are longer, curlier, and pointier. On average, males weigh 170 pounds – about 60 pounds more than females. Dall sheep, perhaps THE symbol of Denali National Park and Preserve, live 11 to 14 years. |
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By 1929, the company’s 22 buses, 9 touring cars, 4 stages, 2 trucks, and a trailer were pressed to the limit to handle visitors and logistics. At that, with only 150 to 200 visitors in the park at a given time, this was the golden age of park touring…”
~ William E. Brown, historian |
Oh…and in 1922, when the first tourists arrived at the park – seven in total – Dall sheep outnumbered them 500 to 1!
There were several legends about The Tall One, the 20,310-foot-tall mountain otherwise known as Denali. Jill and I favored this one:
There were several legends about The Tall One, the 20,310-foot-tall mountain otherwise known as Denali. Jill and I favored this one:
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In a Koyukon Athabaskan story, Raven, paddling furiously across a lake to escape his enemy, hurled a white stone at the great waves that rose behind him. The stone turned the waves to stone and Raven got away. The highest stone wave would be called Deenaalee.
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Who were the Athabaskans? They were among the first people to arrive in North America and thought to be the earliest inhabitants of the interior of present-day Alaska.
We saw a cow moose yesterday – actually, several – but we did not see a bull. Could you imagine encountering this bull in the wild? Six to seven feet tall at the shoulders. Upwards of 1,400 pounds. Shovel-like antlers that are four to five feet wide. Phil, our guide on the tundra wilderness tour, offered this sage advice when a moose charges: “RUN! Do NOT stand your ground.” Jill and I were glad that this bull was a facsimile and not the real thing!!
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Denali is a Wilderness at Heart
These lands make up one of the largest continuously protected areas in the world. They are among the least-disturbed wild lands in America, appearing much as they did centuries ago. The land at the heart of Denali is also Alaska’s most accessible wilderness. |
The leaders of Alaska – the territory before it became a state – asked school children to choose a bird as the symbol of The Great Land, as the territory was called. They chose the Willow Ptarmigan, which became the official state bird when Alaska was admitted as the 49th state. The Willow Ptarmigan is a chameleon of sort: To protect itself from predators, it changes the color of its plumage to blend with its environment, from light brown in summer to snow white in winter!
“Jill, the bus leaves at nine. Let’s walk to the depot.”
We boarded a park bus – comfortable, not fancy – for the short ride to Denali’s Sled Dog Kennels, where we ‘met’ many of the parks Alaskan huskies and watched a demonstration of Alaska’s traditional mode of travel.
We boarded a park bus – comfortable, not fancy – for the short ride to Denali’s Sled Dog Kennels, where we ‘met’ many of the parks Alaskan huskies and watched a demonstration of Alaska’s traditional mode of travel.
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A word about our bus driver, who I’ll call Jack because Jill said, “This dude reminds me of Jack Black.” (You know, the actor who starred in School of Rock, Shallow Hal, and many other movies.) I could tell that Jack was a hearty individual – perhaps a (small ‘n’) native of Alaska – by the way he dressed: Short-sleeve shirt and no sweater or jacket, with long pants his only concession to the 45-degree temperature that Jill and I layered against to stay warm. There was something else noteworthy about Jack: He had a good singing voice. How do I know? He sang a song – a love song, I think – to one of the dog handlers, a young lady, when he dropped us off. Nice!
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This young lady, by the way, was our guide through the kennels. I don’t remember her name, so I’ll call her ‘Jennifer’. (No…not because she reminded me of Jennifer Lawrence. Just because.)
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The Denali National Park Kennels harnesses the spirit of sled dogs to forge lasting bonds between people and wild places. The dogs, and the kennels where they live, represent important pieces of the American story.
~ National Park Service |
As we walked from the parking lot to the kennels, Jennifer said, “Denali is the only national park with a kennel of sled dogs, and it is one of the oldest sled dog kennels in the country. This year was special, as we celebrated our centennial anniversary.”
Last evening, I read that the park named each litter of dogs after a theme. I asked Jennifer about this.
“Oh, yes,” she answered. “There are one to six puppies in a litter, and each litter has a theme. For example, there were four pups born in 2016, which was the 100th birthday of the National Park Service. We named the pups Pinata, Cupcake, Happy, and Birthday.”
“How about this year’s litter?” I prodded.
“There were five pups – three females and two males,” Jennifer replied. “We named them in honor of the first dogs to patrol the park in 1922 – Skipper, Dynamite, Rowney, Bos’n, and Mike.”
Jennifer led us into a large rectangular yard enclosed by simple fencing. Inside were a couple dozen sled dogs leashed to posts – the leashes long enough so that the dogs could reach the single-strand rope that separated visitors from dogs.
“Feel free to reach over the rope to pet the dogs. All of them are friendly, and they love attention,” Jennifer assured us.
As Jill and I moved counterclockwise around the yard, we stopped from time to time to say ‘hello’ to one dog or another. They WERE friendly and they DID love to be petted!
Last evening, I read that the park named each litter of dogs after a theme. I asked Jennifer about this.
“Oh, yes,” she answered. “There are one to six puppies in a litter, and each litter has a theme. For example, there were four pups born in 2016, which was the 100th birthday of the National Park Service. We named the pups Pinata, Cupcake, Happy, and Birthday.”
“How about this year’s litter?” I prodded.
“There were five pups – three females and two males,” Jennifer replied. “We named them in honor of the first dogs to patrol the park in 1922 – Skipper, Dynamite, Rowney, Bos’n, and Mike.”
Jennifer led us into a large rectangular yard enclosed by simple fencing. Inside were a couple dozen sled dogs leashed to posts – the leashes long enough so that the dogs could reach the single-strand rope that separated visitors from dogs.
“Feel free to reach over the rope to pet the dogs. All of them are friendly, and they love attention,” Jennifer assured us.
As Jill and I moved counterclockwise around the yard, we stopped from time to time to say ‘hello’ to one dog or another. They WERE friendly and they DID love to be petted!
We were taken in by this multi-colored husky, who seemed somewhat aloof with his legs splayed and his head held high as he sat atop a simple wooden structure that was his home. Jill ‘sweet-talked’ him, and after bit of coaxing, he came over and let us pet him.
Jennifer, who was standing nearby, said, “He’s a sturdy dog, as are all of our sled dogs. Pound for pound, these huskies are the strongest draft animal on earth. And they are bred for our cold weather, with a double-layered fur coat that insulates their body all the way to 40 degrees below zero.”
That’s what I need, I thought, on those cold winter days in Show Low.
Jennifer, who was standing nearby, said, “He’s a sturdy dog, as are all of our sled dogs. Pound for pound, these huskies are the strongest draft animal on earth. And they are bred for our cold weather, with a double-layered fur coat that insulates their body all the way to 40 degrees below zero.”
That’s what I need, I thought, on those cold winter days in Show Low.
I loved this pic of a handler with one of her dogs. (Each handler, and there were many, were responsible for specific dogs.) She stroked the dog’s shoulder with one hand, while she did the same with her other hand on its head. With their eyes closed, both seemed to revel in the experience.
Soon, Jennifer called, “Please make your way to the grandstands. We will start the sled dog demonstration in 15 minutes.”
When everyone was seated, the handlers brought out a team of five dogs – two in the front, two in the back, and one in the middle. Their names were Jason, Sig Run, Caleb, Mitch, and Cindy. (Don’t ask me who was who!)
Soon, Jennifer called, “Please make your way to the grandstands. We will start the sled dog demonstration in 15 minutes.”
When everyone was seated, the handlers brought out a team of five dogs – two in the front, two in the back, and one in the middle. Their names were Jason, Sig Run, Caleb, Mitch, and Cindy. (Don’t ask me who was who!)
In my last story, about our tundra wilderness tour, I said that I was stoked to be in Denali? Well, these dogs were beyond stoked to be in the ganglines that harnessed them to this sled on wheels. You cannot imagine the racket they made – shrill yips, yaps, and barks – and the energy they displayed before the musher released the brake and commanded the dogs to move forward with an almost imperceptible sound. (Did he whistle, or did he say “Mush”?) And when he did release the brake, the team of dogs quickly shot forward, with the sled and musher in tow. Within two or three minutes, the mushing team rounded a bend and came to a full stop in front of the grandstands. The demonstration was quick but fun to watch!
The Visitor Center and Dog Sled Kennels – both free, by the way – were a great way to fill our last morning in Denali National Park and Preserve.
The Visitor Center and Dog Sled Kennels – both free, by the way – were a great way to fill our last morning in Denali National Park and Preserve.
“Jill,” I began, “we have a three-hour drive ahead of us. It’s a little after twelve, so we will need to stop for lunch before we reach Fairbanks.”
“I had a big breakfast, so I can wait if you can,” Jill replied.
“Yeah, I’m good for a while,” I answered. “There’s a small town an hour up the road. Nenana, I believe. How about checking our options before we lose cell phone coverage.”
I turned left off Park Road onto Alaska Highway 3. Also known as the George Parks Highway (he was the Territorial governor from 1925 to 1933), it is the main road between Anchorage and Fairbanks.
“Okay,” Jill soon said. “There are a handful of restaurants in Nenana. The one I’d like to go to is called The Hot Plate. They offer salads, sandwiches, and pizza.”
Jill was spot-on in picking restaurants – each one she selected was a great choice, so I felt certain that The Hot Plate, a little less than 70 miles ahead, was THE best place for lunch in Nenana.
I don’t know if it was the time of the year (near the end of the fall tourist season), but Highway 3 was lightly traveled this day. We passed through two small communities, Healy (where we stopped for gas) and Clear, as we drove a tree-lined corridor that followed the northern flow of the Nenana River at our right, with hills and mountains on the horizon.
“I had a big breakfast, so I can wait if you can,” Jill replied.
“Yeah, I’m good for a while,” I answered. “There’s a small town an hour up the road. Nenana, I believe. How about checking our options before we lose cell phone coverage.”
I turned left off Park Road onto Alaska Highway 3. Also known as the George Parks Highway (he was the Territorial governor from 1925 to 1933), it is the main road between Anchorage and Fairbanks.
“Okay,” Jill soon said. “There are a handful of restaurants in Nenana. The one I’d like to go to is called The Hot Plate. They offer salads, sandwiches, and pizza.”
Jill was spot-on in picking restaurants – each one she selected was a great choice, so I felt certain that The Hot Plate, a little less than 70 miles ahead, was THE best place for lunch in Nenana.
I don’t know if it was the time of the year (near the end of the fall tourist season), but Highway 3 was lightly traveled this day. We passed through two small communities, Healy (where we stopped for gas) and Clear, as we drove a tree-lined corridor that followed the northern flow of the Nenana River at our right, with hills and mountains on the horizon.
Before we knew it, we arrived in Nenana, an Athabaskan word that means “a good place to camp between rivers.”
(I wondered what the Athabaskan word for “a bit warmer here” was, because it was – 50 degrees and partly sunny!)
(I wondered what the Athabaskan word for “a bit warmer here” was, because it was – 50 degrees and partly sunny!)
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Alaskans from Ketchikan to Utqiaġvik are familiar with Nenana because of its namesake game of chance – the Nenana Ice Classic, first held in 1923. Each winter, a wooden tripod is placed on the frozen Tanana River, which runs right past town, and entrants pay $2.50 to record their best guess as to when the ice will break up each spring. Alaska has no lottery, so the Nenana Ice Classic is as close as it gets, and the pot usually exceeds $300,000.
~ Travel Alaska |
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Nenana, home to just a few hundred residents, had another claim to fame: It was where President Harding, in 1923, pounded the final golden spike in the Alaska Railroad. Three years later, the town built a train station, which was restored in 1988 and later added to the National Register of Historical Sites.
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I parked on the street in front of The Hot Plate, which occupied the first floor a small, two-story building. As I stepped from the car, I spotted a photo-worthy opportunity across the street – a banner hung on the side of the Community Civic Center that proclaimed the town’s centennial celebration (1921 – 2021).
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I loved to visit small towns. They have a certain vibe that cities don’t – friendly, peaceful, charming, which was how Nenana felt to me.
There were a handful of patrons in The Top Plate, which I chalked up to the hour - 1:30, early afternoon, past the time when most locals ate lunch. With a smile, the waitress said, “Folks, take any open table you’d like. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Ahh…small town friendly!
Jill and I perused the menu and were ready to order when the waitress appeared tableside…‘in a moment’, just as she promised.
There were a handful of patrons in The Top Plate, which I chalked up to the hour - 1:30, early afternoon, past the time when most locals ate lunch. With a smile, the waitress said, “Folks, take any open table you’d like. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Ahh…small town friendly!
Jill and I perused the menu and were ready to order when the waitress appeared tableside…‘in a moment’, just as she promised.
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“I’d like the salad bar and a grilled chicken sandwich,” said Jill.
“And for you?” the waitress asked as her eyes shifted towards me. “That sounds good,” I replied. “I’ll have the same. I’d also like a cup of coffee.” “Well, that couldn’t have been any easier,” she remarked as she wrote our orders on a ticket. “You’ll find chilled bowls at the salad bar,” we heard her say as she headed to the kitchen. |
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It wasn’t a big salad bar, but there was a nice selection of vegetables and greens, cheeses, and a few other items…and everything was cold and fresh.
“So,” I began as I stuck my fork into my salad. “What did you think about our park excursion this morning?” Truth be told, I could have guessed Jill’s answer.
“I miss my Lily, so I really enjoyed the dog kennels. Petting the huskies was almost as good as petting Lily.”
Lily was Jill’s black and white mini schnauzer.
“How about you,” she asked.
“You know me from the trips we’ve taken. I’ve favored history, culture, and scenic beauty, so I enjoyed the Visitor Center, with its exhibits and storyboards, over the kennels. Don’t get me wrong – I was fascinated by the dogs and sled dog demonstration, just not as much.”
“Yes, I do know you,” Jill countered with a wry smile. “I still shake my head when I think about our day in Jamestown. National Buffalo Museum, Frontier Village, Fort Seward. While not my cup of tea, these attractions were like a jolt of strong coffee for you.”
She was right, of course.
“So,” I began as I stuck my fork into my salad. “What did you think about our park excursion this morning?” Truth be told, I could have guessed Jill’s answer.
“I miss my Lily, so I really enjoyed the dog kennels. Petting the huskies was almost as good as petting Lily.”
Lily was Jill’s black and white mini schnauzer.
“How about you,” she asked.
“You know me from the trips we’ve taken. I’ve favored history, culture, and scenic beauty, so I enjoyed the Visitor Center, with its exhibits and storyboards, over the kennels. Don’t get me wrong – I was fascinated by the dogs and sled dog demonstration, just not as much.”
“Yes, I do know you,” Jill countered with a wry smile. “I still shake my head when I think about our day in Jamestown. National Buffalo Museum, Frontier Village, Fort Seward. While not my cup of tea, these attractions were like a jolt of strong coffee for you.”
She was right, of course.
No sooner had we finished our salads than our sandwiches arrived. Chunks of chicken breast grilled to perfection, topped with lettuce and slices of juicy tomatoes and served a sub roll. It was good from start to finish!
We chit-chatted with our waitress after lunch. We asked a few questions about the town; she asked a few questions about our trip. Small town friendly.
We chit-chatted with our waitress after lunch. We asked a few questions about the town; she asked a few questions about our trip. Small town friendly.
And then it was time to pay our tab. I pulled out a credit card and put it into a portable reader.
“I can add the tip at the end, right?” I asked the waitress.
“Thank you, but you don’t need to leave a tip,” she replied.
I was stunned, and Jill was too by the look on her face.
“Really? Why not?”
“We’re a small town. Most of our customers are locals, and we insist that they not tip us. It’s the same for out-of-towners.”
Well, I’ll be. Small town friendly indeed!
“I can add the tip at the end, right?” I asked the waitress.
“Thank you, but you don’t need to leave a tip,” she replied.
I was stunned, and Jill was too by the look on her face.
“Really? Why not?”
“We’re a small town. Most of our customers are locals, and we insist that they not tip us. It’s the same for out-of-towners.”
Well, I’ll be. Small town friendly indeed!
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This is our village and our stories. Though our tongues and dialect may change throughout the years, our voices remain, growing louder every day.
~ Alaskan Native Artist Erica Lord |
I spotted another Kodak moment as we drove from the restaurant – a colorful mural that, I later learned, depicted the town’s culture and history. This mural and others we did not see were created by Erica Lord as part of the Nenana Mural Arts Project.
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The road to Fairbanks beckoned, and we heeded the call. Back on the Parks Highway, we crossed the Nenana River Bridge, which spanned – no surprise – the Nenana River.
Now, the town of Nenana was in our review mirror. And ahead, we had 83 miles to our next layover, located on the northern edge of Fairbanks. |
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Here’s the teaser to my next story: Our geodesic lodging, located on a ridgeline surrounded by boreal forest, was the ideal spot to witness a spectacular phenomenon. Nuff said.
I look forward to sharing this experience with you!
I look forward to sharing this experience with you!