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Denali. To me, the word conjures up images of real wilderness – untouched streams, pristine lakes, huge mountains and wild animals. And there I was, standing by the side of the road, watching the bus that had carried me and my backpack to the center of the park disappear in a cloud of dust. Fifty miles away, just over the first ridge of mountains and behind a veil of clouds was North America’s highest peak, Mt. McKinley, or around here just “The Mountain.” The sun was warm on my face, and the soft breeze carried the slightest hint of recent rain. I hefted the pack on my shoulders, tightened up my hip belt, shoulder straps and load lifters, felt the familiar weight settle on my legs and back, grasped my camera and set out, by myself, into the depths of Denali National Park.

I had arrived the previous day, toured the spectacular visitors center and visited the backcountry office to get my orientation. The orientation is in the form of a 20 minute video outlining the rules and difficulties in Denali. Even if you aren’t backpacking, I’d suggest dropping by and asking to see it. It gives a good overview of what it’s like to travel in the backcountry. There are two “unusual dangers”, as the rangers called it. River crossings and bears. The rules come down to, “Don’t be stupid” and “Be noticed.” When crossing rivers, cross at the shallow, wide sections. Unbuckle your pack straps. Things like that. And when it comes to bears, make sure that they hear you coming and that you don’t surprise them. Even grizzlies have an instinctual fear of humans. It is only when they learn that a human’s backpack is a potential food source do they become dangerous. That, or when you start poking them with sticks and stuff.

All this was on my mind as I looked over the terrain in front of me. My plan was to follow Stony Creek down until it ran into “Unit 39” and perhaps get up on top of a large plateau for the night. So, as I donned my backpack at the bridge over the creek and watched the bus drive away, I couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. It was now me, the creek and the bears.

Hiking in Denali is odd. I’d been weaned on trails: Pacific Crest, Appalachian, the one from the house down to the beach. Denali works under the “dispersed impact” philosophy. You actually want to walk where there is no trail to prevent trails from forming. It took a couple of miles to get the hang of it, actually. It also meant that the easiest way is not the best way. It took a toll on my pace and my energy, walking in the rough. I got it though.

I then reached my first area of heavy brush, the area in which the video had emphasized was the easiest to surprise a bear, and therefore the most dangerous.

“Hey, Bear! Coming through! I can’t see you, but I’m making damn sure you can hear me!” I exhausted my supply of exclamation marks in the first ¼ mile or so. I wish I would have had my voice recorder with me; it would have made for an interesting audio blog, hearing me talk to the brush. I found myself singing “I’m backpacking in DenAAAHHHLLIII” to the children’s six note taunt more often than not, just as much in joy as to scare the bears.

As I exited the thicket, I saw these set of tracks and was happy that I had talked the way I did. I then worked my way over to the gravel bar, easily crossed the creek a few times, and finally found a spot to camp along the creek. Exhausted, I stopped, pitched the tent on the bar and looked around. I’d made eight miles in just about seven hours. Slow going in this country.

Being so far north, I knew it was going to be light the whole time. I hadn’t even packed a flashlight (first time for that!). So, instead of grabbing dinner, I packed my food in a bear resistant food canister, put it 100 yards downwind of my camp and jumped in my tent just as the mosquitoes discovered me. Unlike the mass attack of bugs in Voyageurs, Denali mosquitoes were few in number, but very well trained. Mosquito special forces., if you will. They found their way up my pants legs, down my collar, under my head net and even in my socks! I had no idea they were so clever.

I got about 20 pages into my book when I dozed off, comfortable on the sand of the gravel bar.

“Sniff, sniff, SCRATTCCH!” My eyes popped open. BEAR!!! Right outside the tent! Some instinct kept me from bolting upright. Okay, hold still. Grab the camera tripod. Shaking, I slowly looked up and saw not the drool filled maw of a grizzly, but the backpacker’s permit tied to the outside of the tent, rubbing up against the tent’s bug netting, scratching away.

“Whew! Enough of THAT! What time is it? 11:30pm! Dinner time,” I said to no one. My sentences are short but well punctuated when I just wake up, especially when I’m hungry. Getting up, I was presented with a wonderful vista. The low sun was shining through the smoke from a wildfire to the north and turned the surrounding mountains a ruby red. It was to this vista that I cooked and ate my dinner, swatting persistent mosquitoes, watching for bears and smiling like a fool.

The next morning, the smoke had moved into the valley, and I walked as if through a campfire all the way back to the road. Smelling like smoke, I flagged down a bus and caught a ride back to the visitors center.

On the way back, I saw more wildlife than I had on the entire backpacking trip. Foxes, moose, sheep and, yes, even bears, were all spotted from the bus.

It doesn’t happen often, but this was one of the few times I wish I wasn’t traveling alone. I could have traveled farther and in wilder country if I would have had someone covering my back, so to speak. Oh well, next time!

From Denali, I plan on crossing the southern mountains and hitting the “wet” Alaska. First stop, the Kenai Pennensula and Kenai Fjords. See ya!