Happy New Year

"I am the living dead."

Those are the first words I heard when I woke up this morning on the first day of 2013.  They came from my four-year-old grandson.  He was tormenting his little sister, who shares the middle bedroom in our house when they come to stay.

Thousands of hungover merry-makers may have uttered the same words this morning.

I didn't think of them when I heard him, though.  Too much blabber about the Fiscal Cliff in the last month.  Instead, I thought of the US Congress and the living deadbeats who pretend to have the interest of all of us on their mind.  There they sit, clutching their "No new taxes" loyalty oaths, and "No cuts to entitlement program" manifestos, pretending to be doing the nation's business.

I picture them stumbling to their seats in the Congressional chambers, arms outstretched, eyes rolled back into their heads, drooling like zombies over the prospect of munching another day on the tender flesh of innocent children or frail senior citizens, whatever the case may be.

Most lack empathy or sympathy.  All are so locked into their ideologies that there is virtually no chance of changing their minds.

Dead hearts.

Dead minds.

I'm with Mr. Burns.  Release the hounds.

Alaska diary: New friends and fond farewells

Studying lichen (edible & otherwise) with Ranger Andy

One benefit of travel is the people you meet.  We had lots of casual conversations with our fellow campers and with the park staff at Wonder Lake.  Here are a few of the adventurers we ran into during our stay at Denali  (not counting the bears):

• The couple camped above us is from near Munich, Germany -- backpackers visiting the North American continent.  Of the more than 400,000 visitors last year, I'm guessing at least 25% were from foreign countries, maybe more. 
• The campers below stay only one night.  Gary is a freelance photographer and journalist.  She is a botanist.  Both are in their 60's, I am guessing, but fit and focused on seeing as much as they can squeeze into their overnight visit.  Gary is also a lucky duck.  The one morning they spend in camp, Mt. McKinley exposes itself.  Dale and I hear him snapping pictures by the hundreds with his Nikon. The clicking of the camera shutter wakes me up at 5 a.m.
• A young couple from southern California -- college-aged kids -- dress the best of all of us.  She sports form-fitting high-end outdoor gear (Sierra Designs, Patagonia, Mountain Hardwear).  He wears pegged denims, rolled up neatly above his combat boots.  They have the eagerness of puppies about them.  
• A couple from Washington state tells us they came to Alaska seven years ago and never left.  A common story.
• A group of four college kids -- three young women and one fellow -- are volunteering with World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (WWOOF).  It's an organization I have never heard of, but it impresses me as a practical way for someone to both contribute and learn something of organic agricultural practices.  They have been working near Talkeetna, and have taken a few days off to see Denali.  I dub them "woofers."  One young woman is a ringer for Jennifer Lawrence; I have to stop myself from calling her Katniss.
• A brother and sister from Taiwan (pictured with my brother and me and the rangers in a previous post) stay the same three nights as us, along with a couple of their friends.  Amazing people.  The siblings have been to a survival school in Vermont, learning how to subsist in the wilderness on plants and animals.   Both are meticulous journal writers and artists, drawing pictures of edible plants and animals as they learn about them from the ranger.  The sister has been in Mexico prior to coming to Alaska, living with a family on an exchange, then traveling all through Latin America.  From our camp they are headed to the Stampede Trail, the site where Christopher McCandless (subject of the Jon Krakauer book Into the Wild) was last seen alive.  The brother, Leo,  tells me they are taking only a 20 kilo bag of rice and planning to stay away from civilization for 40 days.  
• A group of four young people from China.  When the ranger has us all introduce ourselves the first night, he points out how we are from all around the world and names China (but not Taiwan) as one of the places mentioned.  The Taiwanese group speaks up to clarify that mistake.
• The camp host, Phyllis, and her visiting daughter, Jo, drive by in Ranger Magali's vehicle and stop to talk.  Phyllis has been the campground host at Wonder Lake for 23 years, many of those years with her late husband, Harry.  She is 88 years old. but continues to return to Wonder Lake and says she intends to do so as long as she is healthy.  The mountain that backs up from the camp and lake is called Harry's Hill in honor of her husband.  I ask if I can stop by and interview her, and she says, "Of course," and that she will have cookies ready.  Unfortunately, the next day she leaves camp when her daughter has to return home to Texas.
• Two girls from Anchorage camp a couple of days in the Wonder Lake area to hike and bike.    They ride the bus out with us and get off near Polychrome Pass around mile 40, planning to bike back to the park entrance yet that afternoon.

I imagine some of these people will be talking about "the brothers" when they get home -- those two crazy guys who go fishing and camping together every year.  When it's time to leave, I feel a bit nostalgic already for Alaska.

It's another clear warm day for the bus ride out of the park on Monday.  We load and head towards Kantishna at the end of the Denali road.  At the ranger cabins a half mile up the main road, Magali and Andy are on the front porch doing the CanCan.  She has on an apron printed with the neck-down image of a Folies Bergere dancer.  Andy is wearing his Elmer Fudd cap.  You make your own entertainment in the wild.

A few more miles up the road, we stop to take pictures from the northern shore of Wonder Lake.  Paul, our driver, is in no particular hurry.  He's happy to pick up and drop off hikers and bikers, or to pull over for wildlife photo opportunities.  He's also  much more talkative and we hear about his work history (spotty and opportunistic) and his divorce (she got the truck).  It will take us 2 hours longer to drive out of the park than it did to drive in.

When we stop at Eilson, I talk with the young woman, Margie, who has been sitting in front of us on the bus.  She is a graduate of the University of Colorado and lives west of Boulder.  She works at the Murie Science Center for National Geographic.  Back on the bus, Paul strikes up a conversation with her, glancing in his rear view mirror.

"Where do you work when you're not at the park?"

"I work with the schools in Colorado.  Environmental ed," she says.

"I had to take driver's ed," he replies.  "Didn't know they still offered that in schools."  And he rambles on about who taught his class and how he did on his driver's test.  Margie is nice enough to humor him -- and us-- and says nothing.

During the seven-hour ride we come across nine grizzly bears:  two separate mothers with two cubs each, a couple of males feeding together on berries, and another male ambling across the plain far below the Eilson Visitor Center.  One mother and cubs walks smack dab down the middle of the road past our bus.  Despite their proximity, they are gone quickly and we all get far fewer photos than we would like.

From Denali we drive back to Anchorage, stopping to see if the silvers have arrived yet on Montana Creek.  No luck.  In Wasila we drop by a Goodwill to donate my tent, find a place to stay for the night, and sample some Alaskan brews at "Locals," the bar and restaurant across the parking lot from the hotel.   In the morning we have breakfast at the "Trout Cafe" across the road.  It's exactly what you would expect -- pine walls plastered with photos of huge fish and bigger game -- salmon, char, bears, caribou.  Flannel-shirted locals are talking politics in loud voices over bottomless cups of coffee.  Their politics are closer to Sarah Palin's than mine, but after all this is the town where she was elected mayor -- twice.

It's been a great trip.  Two spectacular weeks in Alaska.   Our annual fishing trips are always a kick, but this one sets the bar high for whatever follows.   "Florida next year?" asks Dale.  I'm already dreaming of bonefish and margaritas.  

Alaska diary: Climate change and snowshoe hares

"Warming of the climate system is unequivocal, as is now evident from observations of increases in global average air and ocean temperatures, widespread melting of snow and ice, and rising global sea level."  -- Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, 2007 

That's what the Park Service pamphlet -- Climate Change in National Parks -- proclaims.  Ranger Andy hands out copies to his evening group of campers and walks us through what climate change means for Alaska and Denali National Park.

Among his most impressive "Powerpoint" graphics this evening is a color-coded map showing which regions of the earth have experienced the greatest increase in average annual temperatures, red being the most extreme increases.  Leading the world, by a large margin, is the Arctic zone, a red mass at the top of the graphic, a whopping 4 degrees hotter than it used to be.

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) has studied what is called the "polar vortex" -- the wind patterns that used to circle the polar ice cap, trapping cold air at the North Pole.  Changes in those patterns have permitted warmer air to move across the Pole during the winter, which means that less ice forms and therefore when it melts in the summer, less ice is left to cover the polar sea.  The ice cap has shrunk by 30% in the last 5 years and may be reaching critical mass, where melting is accelerated.

All the numbers barely hint at the consequences for plants, animals, and humans.  Andy shows photos of tundra and towns in northern Alaska where the melting of permafrost results in "subsidence" -- a term describing how the ground is literally sinking under buildings, roads and bridges.  The ground under the tundra usually remains frozen even during the summer months.  But not with all the recent changes in weather patterns in the Arctic.

Industrial and auto emissions, deforestation, and other burning of fossil fuels (ironically supplied by the Alaskan pipeline in some cases) are widely confirmed as causing rising atmospheric temperatures -- even though they occur thousands of miles and continents away.   The resulting damage to Alaska's infrastructure and personal property poses enormous financial challenges to individuals and to local and state governments, not to mention the disruption in the lives of people affected by this damage.

Ranger Andy talks about the pika, a small alpine mammal that survives only in cold climates.  This little round-eared member of the rabbit family has been forced to seek higher and higher habitat due to rising temperatures in Alaska, Canada, and mountainous regions of the lower U.S.  In some cases, that habitat has simply run out.  The pika has nowhere higher to go when a mountain that used to remain sufficiently cool during summer months, is now too warm even at its summit for these tiny creatures to survive.

Similar catastrophe faces polar bears and walrus.  Because of melting Arctic seas, these animals must swim long distances rather than hopping from ice floe to ice floe in search of food.  In the case of the polar bear, scientists predict that they may be extinct by the end of this century if not before unless melting of the polar ice cap is reversed.  Likewise, because walrus cannot float on ice floes between feeding grounds, they are forced to overgraze clam beds in fewer available locales.  As a consequence, their numbers are also shrinking.  (I saw To the Arctic on the IMAX screen at the Natural History Smithsonian a few weeks ago.  The film depicts the bleak future polar bears and walrus face in open seas, although hope remains if we act now.  Highly recommended if available in your area.)

As for effects on flora, I already knew something of how warmer winters affect mountain environments.  In Colorado our winters in the high country include plenty of days when the thermometer doesn't rise above zero degrees Fahrenheit.  At elevations above 8000 feet, sub-zero winter days are common.  A typical Colorado winter thirty years ago would contain stretches when temperatures stayed well below zero for 5-10 days or longer.  Although we didn't realize it at the time, these cold weather days had important effects on insect life with direct consequences for Colorado's extensive lodgepole pine forests.

Hard winters normally kill pine beetle eggs and larvae in the bark of lodgepole and other pines and spruce.  A combination of milder temperatures and lower precipitation the past 10 years has resulted in an outbreak of beetles which have destroyed huge swaths of trees.  Whole hillsides of trees in the Grand Lake area near Rocky Mt. National Park have turned from lush forests into a wasteland of dry timber.  These blighted areas increase fire danger and the chance that when fires do start, they will spread faster and cause more damage.  This past summer's Colorado fires were fed by both drought conditions and by areas of dead trees damaged by beetle kill.

Andy concludes the talk with everyone sharing one thing he or she will do personally to halt climate change.

Perhaps because the previous evening's talk was on a somber topic, the following day Andy takes a lighter approach.  He focuses on park wildlife, passing around pictures of various animals that reside in the park -- bear, caribou, wolves, foxes, lynx, snowshoe hare.  He intentionally calls the hare a rabbit, which is the cue for his wife, Magali, to hop into the camp amphitheater costumed with bunny ears, nose, and tail and huge white hare-like feet (which are actually air-insulated winter boots).  She lectures Andy, and the rest of us, in her charming French accent about the fact that she is a "hare" and not a "rabbit."

 "And I change my coat from brown in summer to white in winter," says hare Magali.

"Why is that?" asks Andy.

"Don't you know anything, you silly Ranger?" says the hare.  "To camouflage myself so I will not be eaten by -- I hate to say his name -- the lynx."

And so it goes.  We laugh and learn as the hare hops about.  Magali has a future in comedy if the allure of the outdoors ever wears off, which I seriously doubt it will.  

As campers depart, we pose for a picture with Andy and Magali and friends from Taiwan we have met in the camp (more on them in a later post).  A hopping good time in Wonder Lake.

Alaska diary: Rangers and Bears

Park ranger Andy Keller slides a meter wide map mounted on thin plywood into a couple of two-by-four homemade "feet."

"My Denali Powerpoint presentation," he says with a grin.

About two dozen campers have assembled for the evening ranger talk, held nightly at an open air clearing on a hill in the Wonder Lake campground.  Benches of half-sawn logs face the expansive McKinley River basin below.  Across the miles of gravel bars, the Alaska Range hunches behind an evening cloud bank.  The tips of a few peaks are visible, but not Mt. McKinley.  Mostly a band of clouds stretches across the horizon with no hint of what lies beyond.

After a brief explanation of the difference between brown and black bears, Ranger Andy starts the evening with a question and answer routine.

Q.  How close should you approach a grizzly bear?
A.  No closer than 900 feet -- the length of 3 football fields. 

Q.  What should you do if you unexpectedly come upon a grizzly?"
A.  Do not run!  Running signals to a grizzly that supper is at hand.  Stand still and gently wave your hands above your head and talk softly to the bear while backing slowly away. 

Q.  Where should you leave scented items like food and toothpaste when not in use?
A.  In one of the camp bear lockers. 

Q.  While cooking, how long can you leave food unattended?
A.  Don't do it!  Have someone stay at the cooking site or put everything in lockers until you return. 

Q.  What about black bears?  What should you do if you come upon one?
A.  If the bear approaches, make yourself as big as possible by spreading out your jacket or standing in groups.  Make noise to scare the bear away.   

Q.  If a bear should attack, what should you do?
A.  Play dead.  Cover your head and neck with your arms.  Leave your backpack on to protect your back and spine.   

Q.  How many people have been killed by grizzly bears in Denali National Park in its almost 100-year-old history?
A.  None.

Three-year-old male grizzly

(Sadly, the week after we returned from Alaska, a 49-year-old hiker from San Diego took 8 minutes worth of film of a grizzly from a distance of about 80 feet.  The bear finally grew restless, attacking and killing the man, removing him from the gene pool.  The bear had to be killed and Rangers can no longer boast of zero grizzly fatalities in the park.)

Because Denali Park is so large -- over 2 million acres of wilderness -- the wildlife has plenty of area to roam.  The natural flora remain undisturbed, so that berries are plentiful.  (The blueberries were underfoot everywhere while we were there.)  And because human contact is limited and interactions with bears rarely initiated by visitors (no feeding, no close approaches for pictures -- our late photographer excepted, careful storage of food items at campsites), the bears do not associate people with anything threatening or appealing.  Andy mentions that bears frequently cruise through the Wonder Lake campsites, but since campers are careful to avoid contact or leave out food, the animals pass through without stopping -- most of the time.

Two women from Fairbanks, who are camping with their elementary-aged kids, sit on one of the front benches.  A girl of about 10, a younger girl and two smaller boys answer all of the ranger's questions, when called on.  They have been studying the Junior Ranger packet that Park Service employees give to youngsters.   Ranger Andy and his wife, Magali, conduct a brief award ceremony at the end of the bear talk.  The kids recite an oath, pledge to care for the wilderness, and receive the official Junior Ranger patch and certificate.  We applaud.

Olaus & Mardy Murie in winter gear

After our bear warnings and Junior Ranger presentation, the evening's talk focuses on the history of Denali Park and the people who were either directly or indirectly instrumental in its establishment.  Olaus Murie and his wife, Martha Thompson, pique my interest.  Olaus worked for the US Biological Survey in the early 1900's researching caribou herd migrations and collecting wildlife specimens.  That description sounds mundane, but travel and work in the wilds of Alaska at this time were brutal and demanding.  Imagine the area with few roads and no railroads, accessible only by dogsled or boat, depending on the season.  No down clothing or lightweight camping gear.  Supplies had to be carried, acquired from friendly trappers and miners, or replenished from hunting and fishing.  Olaus was a pioneering scientist by virtue of his ability to thrive in these conditions.

Andy and Magali Keller

Martha -- also known as Mardy -- grew up in Fairbanks where her father was a US Attorney, one of the first to serve in the Alaskan territory.  Although she lived in greater comfort than Olaus, she was used to long dark winters and extreme cold, swarms of mosquitos and streets of mud in the warmer months.  When she met Olaus, it sparked her adventurous spirit and her own love of the outdoors.

The two were married in 1924 and immediately departed on a 500-mile dogsled "honeymoon" across the northern mountains and tundra, so that Olaus could conduct his caribou studies.  A challenging first few months for a marriage -- which lasted 70 years.   The couple would go on to be instrumental in creating the Artctic Wildlife Refuge and Olaus would serve as a founding board member of the Wilderness Society.  Mardy lived to 101 and is sometimes called the "grandmother of the environmental movement."  Their story is lovingly retold in her memoir, Two in the Frozen North.  

Andy asks how many of us would spend a honeymoon in the Alaskan wilderness?  Of course, no one raises a hand.  "The only time someone said yes was when Magali was in the audience of a presentation I gave," he says.  "We were married soon after and have been hiking and exploring together ever since."  Magali and Andy both beam under the brim of their ranger hats.  

Alaska diary: Mt McKinley

Karma invited us to Denali and threw a party.  Mt. McKinley was entirely or partly visible all but one day of the three days we spent in the the Park.  Peeking out describes the visibility in the evenings.  And totally or partially shrouded applies various times of the afternoon.  But on two mornings, we're talking bare naked, whole range, not-a-cloud-in-sight visible.

I could rhapsodize, but the picture and 1000 words ratio favors the pictures.  So enjoy the views.  We did.

View from Eilson Visitor Center -- on bus ride into the Park.  By afternoon, the entire range was obscured by clouds.

But McKinley peeked out again in the evening after the ranger talk.  Photo taken about 10:00 pm.

The first day in camp, the whole range was visible.  We hiked up the hillside east of Wonder Lake Campground for this view.

The view from our campsite at Wonder Lake on the first morning.  We heard Gary, the professional photographer camped below us, snapping pictures at dawn.

Dale and I hiked up to Reflection Pond, about two miles from the campground, for this and many other pictures.

Supposedly Ansel Adams took a famous black & white photograph from this very pond.  

At 6 a.m. on the final morning, McKlinley was visible.  By 7:30 the clouds had rolled in.  Our green tent -- my trusty Jansport -- squats in the bushes lower right.

On the bus ride out the last day, our driver stopped at the north end of Wonder Lake for this view of the range.

Alaska diary: Denali National Park (The camper bus)

Six-thirty a.m. Friday morning.  We take the advice of the young woman who confirmed our camping reservation yesterday afternoon and "follow the dinosaur prints" from long-term parking to the Murie Science and Nature Center.  A group of campers is already assembling.

We have stuffed most of our gear into my duffel and our two day packs.  The exception:  a cardboard box of food and the wheeled cooler that carries our open jelly jar and a gallon of iced tea.

"Now that's some old time camping gear," says an older bearded man, who is also waiting for the bus.  "A cardboard box and an ice chest."

Frank, the bus driver, shows up on time, and directs loading of backpacks, boxes, and a bicycle.  He drones through the bus regulations once everyone is onboard.  Seat belts fastened while the bus is moving.  If we see an animal that needs photographing, don't call out the name of the animal ("You'll almost always be wrong").  Just yell, "Stop."  Hands and cameras inside the windows.  Bathroom breaks along the way.

To reduce impact on the park, Denali has only one 92-mile-long main road in two million acres.  The first 15 miles are paved and open to private vehicles.  Beyond that all vehicular travel is by shuttle bus only.  We are headed to Wonder Lake at mile 83.

Back on the bus, we strike up a conversation with the young couple in front of us, who are from Palmer.  He owns the trail bike lodged in the luggage section.  The plan, he says, is to ride back out to the park entrance from Wonder Lake.  Having checked an elevation diagram of the park road, I know that he will be traversing passes that total several thousand feet in elevation gains and losses.  He looks lean and fit, dressed in shorts while most of the rest of us still have on a second layer against the morning chill.

"How long will the ride take?"  I ask.

I'm hoping to average around 10 miles an hour," he says.  That means he will finish by 10:00 p.m. if all goes well.  Daylight persists for over an hour beyond that.  We wish him good luck.

Two twenty-something women, who have summer jobs in the park, sit across the aisle.  We find out that one woman, Rachel, a PhD. candidate from the University of Pennsylvania, is studying treeline changes in the park.  She tells my brother that Alaskan spruce now grow 200 feet above their former treeline of only 10 years ago.  Global climate change accounts for the difference.  Her degree is in applied geosciences, a field she picked to guarantee a career involving international travel.  So far she has done field work in Scotland and Alaska.

At our first rest stop at the Teklanika River, Frank gives us 10 minutes for pictures and potty.  True to his word he shuts the door and pulls back onto the main road close to that mark.  The two young women across from us are not on the bus, and someone yells at Frank to let him know.  He slows down -- reluctantly -- when the dread-locked guy behind us volunteers to go back and get them.  They come jogging up the road quickly and we take off.  Frank seems bent on the business of delivering his load.  It's probably been a long summer.

From Teklanika on, the gravel road gains and loses elevation in 1000 foot increments, over Sable and Polychrome Pass.   I am in the aisle  seat on the downhill side of the bus, and from where I sit, all I can see out of the window is open air and precipitous drop-offs.   Frank navigates the narrow road on the edge of these steep inclines for many miles, skillfully maneuvering around curves.  I begin to understand why he seems determined to be among the first vehicles into the park.  The dust from the few buses in front of us lingers in hazy puffs we pass quickly through for miles.

We pull into the Eilson Visitor Center at mile 66.  Despite the obvious wilderness that stretches out in all directions from the road up to this point, it is not until we arrive at Eilson that the Alaska Range and Mt. McKinley are finally visible -- a view so stunning it looks contrived, a Thomas Cole or Albert Bierstadt painting come to life.  The landscape stretches off into the distance from our vantage on the observation deck.  We can see McKinley above the gathering clouds, which appear to be rushing towards it, as if late for an afternoon weather conference.

What most impresses is the vastness of the view, the sense of looking out across a wild and unspoiled place.  Despite the buses, the air itself seems untainted, clear and sweet.  Even milling about among the dozens of park visitors, I feel a sense of calm order.  The scale of the natural world and my place in it are in balance.

Once more on the bus, the final seventeen miles pass quickly.  Frank has been bearing down, all business, for most of the ride.  He only has to stop 3 or 4 times for picture taking, once to watch the tail end of a single bear disappearing over the hillside above us, a couple of times for other wildlife -- Dall sheep and caribou.  He pulls off the main road and coasts downhill for a mile and a half to Wonder Lake.

We have arrived in a little over 5 hours, an hour less than advertised, which really seems to have buoyed Frank's mood.  The camp hosts greet us, and seeing our cardboard box and wheeled cooler, steer Dale and me to the nearest campsite, less than 50 feet up the trail.  Before we have deposited our gear, I hear the bus gears grinding and picture Frank heading off for Kantishna, the final stop 10 miles up the road.   We have had enough of the camper bus, and Frank has no doubt had enough of us, so it is overall a happy parting.

Alaska diary: The mountain

For the next few days, it's all about the mountain.

We are headed to Denali National Park, hoping for a better roll of the dice with the weather.  The chances of seeing McKinley are about one in five, according to guidebooks and local wisdom.  We have scheduled four days and three nights in Denali at Wonder Lake, 83 miles from the park entrance, since that area affords a clear view of McKinley and the surrounding Alaska Range.  But we know from friends and published warnings, we might never see the mountain while we are there.

Getting there from Anchorage takes from 3-5 hours, depending on construction, traffic, and weather.  We stop in Wasila to fill our camp larder.  Dale drives from there while I take an hour nap.  What I see of the 237-mile drive from Anchorage, once I wake up, reminds me of highways in the eastern US.  An asphalt trail in a tunnel of trees on either side and not much visible beyond that.

That changes at mile 135.  The McKinley View Lodge and restaurant parking lot is teeming with buses and cars.  At the north end of the parking lot families are posing for pictures with -- the mountain!  The entire peak is visible, although at telephoto range.  We stand in line for our turn and take a few shots, hoping they turn out well enough to prove we were among the lucky few.

While fixing a tailgate lunch before heading out, clouds gather in the distance, and by the time we leave, McKinley is tucked behind its usual blanket of weather.

Around 3:30 p.m. we arrive at Denali River Cabins, where I have booked accommodations in advance.  We need to be at Denali Park by 6 a.m. tomorrow morning to board the camper bus to Wonder Lake.   The cabins are a short 6-mile drive from the Park entrance.  But, not so fast.  When we check in, the receptionist announces that the whole complex is without water.  The pump has stopped working and parts have not yet arrived.

"When will we have water?"

The lady who seems to be in charge is understandably evasive.  "The parts should be here in two hours and then we can start the repairs."

I hear her give this same answer to several other newly arrived guests.  Our options are to wait it out and hope for water later in the day.  Or we can move across the road to the Grizzly Bear Inn.  We are both a bit skeptical of that alternative, but after talking it over decide that a move is the only thing which makes sense.  We can't spend the night without water as this will be our last chance to shower for four days.  Not to mention the other conveniences that depend on a functioning plumbing system.

The Grizzly Bear turns out to have bigger, newer, quieter rooms in a two story building full of Canadians, who have recently arrived in the enormous bus that blocks the parking area near our room.  We unload quickly and drive to the Wilderness Access Center at Denali to check in and make sure we know where we need to be in the morning.  The camper bus leaves at 7:00 a.m. and takes 5-6 hours to arrive at Wonder Lake, so missing the early bus would mean missing half a day in the Park.  The young lady who answers my questions and check us in informs me I'm due a $24 rebate.  Senior citizen discount.  Within a minute of completing arrangements, the fire alarm sounds and the center is evacuated.  We're feeling lucky again, having checked in just in time.

After a quick freshen up back at the Grizzly Bear, we try to get a table at the famous 229 Parks gourmet restaurant and tavern a couple of miles back down the main highway.  But they are booked for the evening.  I drool a bit over the display case of tortes and other fancy pastries in a bakery display under the register, try to sweet talk the hostess into a seat at the bar for dinner, but it's rejection on all counts.

I ask her for a close alternative and she recommends Prey bar and eatery, just across the highway.  (From "restaurant and tavern" to "bar and eatery" -- the order of labels tells you something about the difference in fare and frills.)  So that's where we end up.  Which turns out to be the perfect spot.  A friendly host.  Burgers and Alaskan Amber beers.  The TV tuned to the Olympics.  We see the women's platform diving and the final of the men's 800m race.  That will be the entirety of our 2012 Olympic viewing.

Back at the Grizzly Bear, we shuffle items between duffels, deciding what will stay in the trunk of the car and what we will haul into Wonder Lake.  A part of the reorganization includes deciding what to leave in the room -- mostly food that will not keep or that we will not be able to eat.  The remainder goes into a small cooler we have purchased or a cardboard box.  We are both asleep by 11 p.m., knowing that no matter what, we have seen Mt. McKinley.  I drift off dreaming of large mountains and burly bears.