The trip back in from Eielson was considerably faster with less stops to look at wildlife than the outbound journey. I guess everyone was tired and was happy with the wildlife we’d seen on the way out. I sat on the side of the bus that gave me majestic views up the wide pretty valley as well as a bird’s eye view over the sheer cutting at Polychrome Pass. Through the pass, the margin for error on the road was less than I’d imagined and I froze in fear as the front tyres of the bus turned perilously close to the edge as we rounded the tight bends. No wonder they don’t let punters drive out into the park by themselves.
A dust storm was brewing in the bed of the Toklat River when we pulled up for a comfort stop, and the large domed tent that housed the summer’s temporary visitor centre and souvenir store was flapping loudly in the stiff breeze. Inside, along with the pelts of a bear, a wolf and a mountain goat, draped over a rustic wooden frame, there were food tins and other assorted items bears had chewed, to demonstrate how savvy and the bears are at finding even sealed metal food containers. You could also buy a t-shirt, a postcard, or a coffee table book, so the hoards were happy. Outside on a bench there were a range of antlers and horns from moose, caribou and sheep that the people were holding on top of their heads and taking photos like tourists do.
A family joined us on the bus at this stop and sat across the aisle from me with their two daughters; one in her early teens, the other about 5. As soon as we left the Toklat River stop, the little one started asking her Mum how long the bus trip was going to take. About an hour out, her mum finally told her “It’s only five minutes”. Subsequently I experienced the longest five-minute hour of my life. This five year old's persistence and tenacity were a feat to regard and will no doubt hold her in good stead through her adult life enabling her to achieve whatever she chooses to take up. Her parents and sister had an equally remarkable capacity to ignore the incessant and repetitive questioning. I must be getting old!
I was overjoyed to finally get off the bus into the sweet silence at the park headquarters and decided to stretch my legs by walking down to visit the Denali Sled Dog Kennels. The final presentation for the day was just about to begin, and Sarah, an intern, who I’d met the night before at C camp, where the seasonal workers were accommodated, said “Hi!” over the cacophony of the dogs barking excitedly in anticipation.
The 25 or so resident dogs lived chained to little wooden dog houses that they sat on top of, proudly displaying their names on a routed wooden sign. They live outdoors all year round, and over summer have an important role educating and delighting the 50,000 visitors that come to see them. The dogs are habituated to people and it is fantastic that visitors are allowed to pat them and get to know them up close. The show was great, Sarah was engaging and informative and for only having worked there a few months, she came across as a veteran with all the answers to the questions the visitors threw at her.
She told us how Harry Karstens, Denali’s first superintendent had brought the sled dogs to the park to assist with his most urgent task of controlling the poaching of wildlife. As a veteran dog musher he knew the best way to travel through the frozen country was on a dog sled behind a team of eager huskies. He established the kennels to breed the parks’ own healthy, well trained working dogs.
In the early days each ranger was assigned a team of seven dogs and an area to patrol in the park over winter. Patrols lasted for months at a time with the rangers living in cabins they constructed on the boundaries of the park to protect them and their dogs from the harsh winter. In 1926, Karstens told Grant Pearson, a ranger he had just hired, that he was lacking in experience but was considered capable of learning. Of his first assignment, Karstens told him “I’ll send you on a patrol trip alone. You will be gone a week. If you don’t come back by then I’ll come looking for you, and you had better have made plans for a new job”. Pearson must have proved himself as he remained on staff!
Even with the advent of snow machines (mobiles) the dogs have been kept on as a uniquely Denalian cultural tradition, and because of the wilderness designation of the place. The wilderness areas are protected from the intrusion of mechanical transport, and dogs are the perfect solution to allow the rangers to carry out the park mission of protection over winter. Sarah told us during the show that the official definition of wilderness was “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where a man himself is a visitor who does not remain.” Untrammeled she further explained means ‘free or unrestrained’. Mmmm, untrammeled! It certainly struck a chord with me!
Rangers still patrol the frozen back-country during the winter, and the sled dogs faithfully help to ferry provisions and people in the still inhospitable climes. It’s cute that each set of pups born in the park are named along a theme. Just before I arrived a competition was announced among staff that sought suggestions to name the latest litter. It eventuated that Mumma Keta’s (from the salmon litter) brood of 3 males Mixtus, Sitken and Lucor were all named for the scientific names of bumblebees that occur in Alaska.
Once the dogs pass away their routed name signs are added to the wall of fame in the kennel office. Other litter themes have included the northern lights, aspects of Wonder Lake, rivers, landforms and volcanos. My favourite dog was Pyro from the volcano litter, he was so vocal and affectionate and his handler Ranger Matt who let me get a photo taken with him…like tourists do!
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