Wrangell- St. Elias- Ben's blogging debut

Driving into Wrangell-St. Elias from the more remote north entrance

We decided to go for another weekend adventure; this time to the south and east of Delta and into the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. The fall air still persisted, and the accompanying colors that follow cool temperatures remained. We eagerly packed the car after work. The daylight was evanescing with each day, and once the sun vanished for the night the cool air turned cold and dipped near freezing.

                  

Even after a short time driving, the mountains came closer and the hillsides ignited with the autumn colors of red, yellow, and shades of orange. The birch and aspens filled entire slopes with yellow leaves fluttering in the breeze. Below the birch and aspens, blueberries, cranberries and low bushes bled a fire red and melon orange, carpeting the forest floor with an array of magnificent color variations.

                  

The Alaska Range continued on as we headed towards our first destination of Tok, a small interior town located on the Alcan Highway.  We were excited to see multiple shops, restaurants, hotels, and lodges, and a friendly appearing café. But, what excited us most about Tok was the bike path separated from the road, starting 10 miles from town. We spent little time in the town- for the mountains beckoned. We wanted to make it to the start of the Park’s road by dark; and as the sky turned pink, that darkness was not far away. We turned onto the Glenn Highway and veered off of the Alaska Highway, our new home street.

                  

We eventually arrived and turned onto the park road expecting a grand entrance. Besides a park sign and a small ranger station, there was little presence of us entering the largest national park in America. The park is over 13 million acres, over twice the size of Denali National Park, the famous and sought after national park. We watched as the night sky took over, even in early September the night did not take full force until near midnight. Even so, the darkness was a reminder for us to find a home for the night. With no visible campground, we pulled off to the side of the road and slept in the back of our Subaru, which has been a truly versatile vehicle for us. We slept somewhat easily, although the constant concern of someone knocking on our car window stuck with us throughout the night.

    

We awoke to start our adventure, the morning light showed little with the abundant looming clouds. We went to the ranger’s station, which was not far from our car camping, and found it to be still closed. We pondered on our next step; do we venture into the park’s road without talking with a ranger first? We decided to wait for the ranger station to open, but in the meantime we wished for a hot breakfast. The only place relatively close was Duffy’s Tavern a few miles back from the direction we had come from the night before. When we arrived at Duffy’s it was obviously closed, yet as we turned around, Duffy or someone related to Duffy, came out of the run-down building waving us in. I hesitated, but with Emily’s persistence we parked the car and apprehensively went in. The ‘’tavern’’ seemed similar to a scene from the beginning of a horror flick; small rooms, food from a previous era, dim lights, and stuffed game hanging from every free space on the wall. Even so, we were grateful for the entrance, because when we walked in we realized that the tavern was not to open until 10. The stop was somewhat of a success, especially for me; for I drank Emily’s coffee because of her insistence on not being a coffee drinker, so I was warm and wired. But, we were still without a hot breakfast and with little to no drinkable water. We decided to wait outside the ranger station until a ranger arrived.

Metallic pink rocks seen on our hike

                  

A few minutes after eight a ranger did finally appear. Ruffled and surprised to see a car waiting outside the station, the young attendant opened the station. We speculated on if she was a ranger, but whatever her position, she was not excited to be at work. We discussed our trip with her and it all seemed reasonable to her. She gave us the updated weather report (which consisted of her looking out the window and telling us what she saw) and then provided us with some potable water. We filled up all the jugs we had in the car and started on the Nebesna road into the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park.

                  

Checking the slopes for Dall sheep

The first 15 miles of the road were paved and it eventually faded into dirt. We excitedly took in the first few miles, but quickly realized that the road was a much different transport route than our previous trip to Denali the week before. Private roads and structures scattered the roadside and we questioned the legitimacy of this road being in a national park. Even so, the road meandered on the valley floor surrounded by immense mountains. The mountains were gargantuan, some reaching upwards to around 14,000 feet. We drove past in tandem agreement of the serenity and beauty that we had found ourselves driving through. We eventually came across the ‘Sportsman Lodge’. The lodge was 30 miles into the Wrangell-St. Elias Park, but had no vibrant national park environment, although it did have a sign stating “Palin for Governor.”  I desperately wanted to stop and get a cold beer and burger, but Emily wisely retorted and we passed with stomachs empty of grilled, greasy bovine.

Excitedly, we arrived at our trailhead- Skookum Volcanic Trail. The trail started in a thick forest with a mix of birch and spruce. The white and black spruce in the interior are dwarfed compared to the Sitka Spruce we have grown to love; even so, the spruce throughout the forest added a nice mix of diversity with the intoxicating beauty of the birch. The birch waved their colors high in the sky for all to marvel at.

The trail became increasingly steeper as it continued towards the alpine. We passed rocks of all shapes and sizes- pink, black, brown, small, and large- the geology astounded us. The earth was strictly tundra- mossy, spongy, and filled with water. As we neared the base of the summit rock walls, we stood in silence, taking in the tranquility. There was no wind, no sound. As our ears and eyes soaked in the peace, a loud moo came echoing from within the basin. We looked at each other and whispered, ‘what was that?’ The moo came once more and then stopped. We scanned the rocks above to see if a goat was announcing its presence to us. We found nothing.

                  

After deciding to forgo the trail in the creekbed, we scampered up a ridgeline to reach these peaks

How many sheep can YOU spot???

Our curiosity subsided after a few minutes of searching.  As Emily, who has nearly perfect vision, eagerly searched she saw something move on a knoll right before the steep incline of the rock wall. The knoll had a layer of snow on it making it difficult to view anything, but as we patiently looked we saw a small herd of Dall sheep begin to appear. Their white coats blended in perfectly with the surrounding snow. Their incognito was only disrupted by the rocks poking out of the snow and the sheep’s yellowish horns contrasting against the snow and their white coats. 

As we watched, more sheep began to appear. We counted eight dotting the landscape above us. We tried to walk discreetly closer to the group to capture them in a photo. We neared their wintery grazing spot and quickly realized the impossibility of viewing them; some things are left better not captured and only observed. We agreed to leave them in peace and began our trek downwards.  We followed the creek bed down passing ptarmigans, unfamiliar rocks, blueberries, and scattered cairns. On our trek down we were able to relive the memorable moments of our ascent; the descents never seem like the defining moments of any adventure. We arrived back at our car with a satisfaction of completion- we had hiked into our first interior high alpine. We drove out of the park’s road filled with joy and zeal- for we looked forward to our return to the interior’s tundra alpines.  

Our ptarmigan friends, still sporting half of their fall coats