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Denali National Park. Arrive aboard the new panoramic McKinley Explorer Railcars on the Alaska Railroad.
Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. Drive there on the Glenn and Richardson Highways.
Glacier Bay National Park. Start your visit by fl ying or ferrying into Gustavus, a village of 400 year-round residents.
By mid-afternoon the long train pulls into the sta-
tion, close by the entrance to Denali NP, in a drenching rainstorm. I don’t mind, as my destination tonight is the McKinley Chalet, a lovely and well-situated haven. That evening the clouds clear away, and I dine at the Nenana Grill, overlooking the noisy Nenana River. My waitress advises, “Turn in early if you’re riding the Tundra Explorer Bus, and don’t be late, cuz they’ll leave without you.” I’m glad to have heeded her advice, as at 5:30 the next
morning I’m on the #7, with every seat full on this mod- ifi ed school bus. Our driver, naturalist, and narrator, hail- ing from far off Bisbee, Ariz., is named Hoven. Less than a mile inside the park he spots a moose and three calves grazing in the early light. For many visitors, Denali is about two things, wildlife
and the mountain. Many visitors never see the 20,320- foot summit, but just about everyone comes home with memories of its wildlife. This is their home, and it’s a spa- cious one, six million acres, roughly the size of Vermont. Established in 1917, it’s the oldest of Alaska’s National Parks. Today we’ll ride 53 miles up the solitary park road, and Hoven tells us we will be “high grading,” forsaking distant views of animals in hopes of close-up cameos.
“Moose live in the spruce,” quips Hoven, as we move
north into the taiga, north towards the tundra. Treeline at this 64-degree north latitude is all the way down to 2,800 feet, and we’re just 220 miles south of the Arctic Circle, the real Far North. Before we can consider just how far from home we truly are, a rider exclaims, “Bear! There’s a bear right over here!” Sure enough, 40 yards off the road a scraggly grizzly is munching soapberries, trying to build the fat layer that will keep him alive in winter. We watch intently, shutters clicking, people crowding the windows. This is a wildlife sanctuary, and as the day rolls on, over Polychrome passes and across braided riverbeds, a remark- able portrait of life emerges. A lone caribou is skylined below Sable Pass, his massive
rack clearly visible from 500 yards. “Caribou are social, moose are solitary,” adds Hoven, but this individual belies that statement. Later we glimpse Dall sheep grazing in groups, two grizzly cubs ambling on wobbly back legs, and stunningly close, a wolf mom and pup laze across a pebbly streambed, unconcerned, unthreatened by 50 humans in a steel cocoon. When we stop to stretch our legs and turn back south we are rewarded by a partial fl eeting sight of Denali itself, punctuating a perfect day. Hoven says con- tentedly, “You’ve seen the Grand Slam, as we drivers call
EnCompass January/February 2011 27
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