Denali National Park (8/9/2021 – 8/13/2021)
The true beginning. This was the source of my passion to escape. Not only to escape the bland state of Indiana that I had always lived in, but to escape the soul-sucking structure of society that we as humans are pressured into, often without our knowledge. This is where I was awakened to living life how I want to live it, rather than how others tell me I am supposed to live it. This is where I learned that I am capable of doing so much more than I had ever imagined.
Backpacking in Denali was my first glimpse at what the true essence of the human experience is all about, and it has proven to be one of the most pivotal moments of my life.
Part I: The Planning (or lack thereof)
Pre Trip
The trip really began in my friend Kyle’s basement, where we were getting ready to book our accommodations for a road trip across the US that we had been planning for that summer. Kyle began browsing flights out of curiosity when he saw the insanely cheap price of a roundtrip flight to Alaska. By the end of the next night, the three of us (Kyle, Niso, and I) all had our flights booked. We had it all planned out- or so we thought. The idea was for us to fly into Fairbanks and take a train into Denali where we were to backpack for three nights. After that, we were going to rest and restock in Anchorage for a few days before finding another area nearby to backpack for another couple nights. All of the supplies and clothes that we had for the entirety of the ten days were compressed into our backpacks and loaded onto the plane.
Entering Alaska
We landed in Fairbanks, where we planned to depart by train to enter Denali National Park. Once we landed, we fueled up at a local restaurant before taking an Uber to a developed campsite where we spent the night before heading into the park. In the morning, we hopped back into an Uber to take us to the train station.
The train ride was absolutely gorgeous. The first half of the ride was nothing too special, so we all caught up on a bit of sleep. As soon as the mountains appeared though, we were blown away. The track winded in between the valleys along a raging river, where we watched other adventurers taking on the rapids. Mountains rose up on either side of us. We passed old oil fields, rock quarries, and small communities, compelling us to reflect on the generations of people who had spent their entire lives in such a place. We arrived in the early afternoon at the Denali National Park visitor center.
It was almost game time. We had permits for three nights in zones one through three of the Denali backcountry. Still at the visitor center, we spent an hour or so in blissful ignorance of our upcoming escapade while buying the necessary maps and forgotten gear, fueling up, and emptying our bladders. With little to no backpacking experience (a three night trip to the Smoky Mountains being our only other time backpacking), we were prepared to send ourselves into the unpathed, untouched, and unpredictable Alaskan wilderness.
Part II: The Backcountry
Day 1:
We started off strong during the first day. The first 10 miles or so were spent on the only developed trail in the area, so getting lost was not yet possible. The trail ended fairly abruptly, and all of our decisions from that point on were to be made solely based on our paper maps and the compass app on my iPhone. We headed towards a pair of lakes that were nearby to set up camp. This was our introduction to bushwhacking (hiking on wild, uncultivated land). By the time we reached the nearest lake, we were exhausted and quickly ate dinner on the edge of the water before searching for a place to pitch our tents.
What we thought would be an easy task ended up being an excruciating first taste of the challenges that were in store. The ground around the lake was nowhere near solid enough to camp on. It felt as though we were walking on sponges, with our feet sinking into the earth with every step. We walked as far as possible around either side of the lake, but ended up back where we started with nothing to show for it except for wet boots (which would become a common theme throughout this journey). After scouring the map for a while, we decided to continue the trek further into the wilderness towards an opening near a large river, about two miles from the lake. Those two miles felt like 20. The squishy ground continued on for at least a mile- and many stops were made to reconsider our options. Our sunlight was fading, along with our spirits. This would become one of the many instances which we assumed would be the lowest point of the trip. After much complaining, we eventually made it out of the brush into a rocky clearing that led up to a river. From here, we had just enough time to scarf down some more calories, fill up our water bottles, and pitch our tents before the light ran out. Although we planned to stay out until it was dark enough to see the stars, we quickly found that this would not be possible with how exhausted we were at the end of each day. This night was unanimously the (second) best night’s sleep any of us had ever had (only to be beat out by the next night).
Day 2:
Beginning the day
Day two was easily the longest, most physically demanding day of my life. The day began with our first river crossing of the trip. After packing up our tents, eating some breakfast, and taking off our shoes and socks, we began looking for a place in the river with a slower current. After a few minutes of walking up and down the edge, we determined that we would just have to go for it. Niso went first, stepping into the freezing cold water with both his backpack and his camera bag. At the halfway point, the water came up past our knees and the strong pull of the current meant that any missed step would have been disastrous. We used our hiking poles as support and, eventually, all three of us made it safely across.
The Universe looking out for us
After drying off our feet and putting back on our boots, we took a look at the map to determine our route for the day. We saw a towering mountain in the distance that we soon made our goal to summit, although we later changed the plan when we realized the true distance that it would take to get there. Instead, we headed for the highest point in our vicinity. Our trek started with us heading up and over a shorter ridge, leading to our second river of the day. A slight drizzle at the top of this hill had us worried for the rest of the day, but within a few minutes the sky was clear.
On our side of the river, the brush was very thick, and as we headed upstream to look for a safe place to cross, we were eventually backed up against a wall of rock on an incline that made it difficult to maintain balance. It was obvious that we could not keep going this direction, so we concluded that we would have to take the risk and cross the river near where we started. Before we could get back to that point, however, we had to get out of the uncomfortable spot we had found ourselves in. The river was flowing quickly to our right, the cliffside cut off our path to the left, and footing was difficult to find due to the dense underbrush and the steep slope beneath us. (For some background, all of our food was being held in two bear canisters, one attached to the top of both mine and Kyle’s bags). As we turned to escape, the bear canister on top of my bag was knocked loose, and we all watched in horror as half of our food supply rolled down into the river, seemingly in slow motion. The canister was carried about ten feet down the river until- by the grace of God, the Universe, or whatever other force of nature wanted to keep us going on this adventure- it was caught by a single branch sticking out into the water. I quickly tossed off my pack and scurried down to retrieve it. And if once wasn’t enough to make our hearts skip a couple beats, as I was reattaching the canister to my bag, it slipped out a second time, rolled back into the water, and once again was caught by that heaven-sent branch.
We eventually made it to a point in the river that- while not unanimously agreed upon- was determined a sufficient crossing point. This river was shorter and shallower than the first, but was raging much more furiously and had an uneven floor. Niso was the last to cross on this one. The first step into the river was the most difficult, as it went from ankle high to knee high water almost instantly. Despite this, we all securely made it to the other side.
Never trust the map // The never-ending ridge
At this point in the day, we knew the river crossings were over, and all we had to do was head up a ridge for a couple thousand feet until we entered a clearing where we could pitch our tents. This idea of an easy trek to the top, like most ideas we had during our time in the backcountry, ended up being much more demanding than expected. The journey up the mountain began with us being surrounded by trees. For the first few miles, it was just a steep, tiring march through the brush.
We were forced to stop every few hundred feet to catch our breath, allow our legs to recover, and drink some water (at least Niso and I were. Kyle, who had already begun training for his IronMan triathlons, was leagues ahead of us in physical endurance and likely could have significantly reduced his amount of necessary stoppages without us behind him. Not to mention, Niso had just recently recovered from a torn ACL and was still not back to 100 percent. Throughout this whole trip, Kyle would prove to be a fantastic lead hiker, encouraging us to push another ten, twenty, thirty feet before taking another break). During one of our breaks, Niso, who was carrying his camera bag on the front of his body, realized that he was missing one of the two cameras that he brought. We determined that at some point between this break and our previous, his camera bag had become unzipped and a camera had fallen out without him noticing. Although we wanted to go back and try to find it, we all knew that the likelihood of us being able to retrace our steps through this untouched land and then spot the camera in the foliage was near zero. This camera had the majority of our photos and videos from the trip up until that point, so we were all a bit devastated (Niso maintained a great attitude through this mishap, despite the personal and financial significance that the camera may have had to him). We have all since discussed this part of the trip, and agree that it is pretty cool to know there is a record of us in the Alaskan wilderness that will either never be found- or will be found by some hikers many years down the road who will be able to see the pictures of us and our adventure.
A couple miles after the loss of the camera, we began emerging above the trees. We were far from in the clear though. The bushwhacking only got more strenuous as the grasses, bushes, and thickets were up to our waists and, at times, our shoulders. It was at this point that we concluded that with long pants, hiking boots, and hiking poles, you can push through almost any natural barriers that are in front of you with the right amount of willpower. What made this worse, especially for our mental fortitude, was that we had based our decision to climb this ridge off of the fact that the map showed that, at this elevation, we were supposed to be in a clearing. After hiking to the next elevation level and still being surrounded by high brush, we realized that the clearings on the map likely meant they were only clear from trees, not other vegetation. Another aspect that made this climb increasingly burdensome was our positioning relative to the ridge. Looking up, it seemed to us as though we could see the top each time the land began to flatten out. Every time we arrived at one of these levels though, we were only greeted with a new view of another hopeful crest. Also, throughout this climb, we were constantly discovering footprints and feces of animals that we could only hope were not grizzly bears. Every time a fresh footprint or pile of droppings looked like it could have been produced by a bear, we would make some noise and clutch the one can of bear spray that we had between the three of us. We were lucky enough to make it through the four days without seeing a bear. (From a distance it would have been cool, but with everything else that had gone wrong already, we were not in the position to be encouraging any chance of an encounter). That being said, the fear of knowing that at any point one could appear- along with the numerous signs of bear activity that we came across, led to some apprehensive thoughts that we had to account for in our already worried minds.
After what seemed like an endless climb through hell, the vegetation started to clear. We finally reached a point where pitching a tent would be possible and we could see what we knew for certain was the summit. We hiked up a bit further until we were only a short climb to the peak, and we set up camp. There was still one problem left for the day though. All three of us were basically out of water. The only water source on the map was a few hundred feet downhill and about a mile from camp. We had less than two hours of sunlight left, and none of us had the energy to take another step (luckily for us, the sun did not set until well after 9 pm during this time of year in Alaska). Kyle decided to volunteer to take the trek and I followed briefly, until the downgrade was too much and I knew I would not have had the endurance to make it back up. Niso stayed back. I could see the crevice in the ridge line where the water source was supposed to be and I watched as Kyle made his way down. When he got to the indent, he shouted the bad news up to me. There was no water. The land looked as though the stream had previously headed a long way down, so Kyle started following the path, but our hopes were not very high of finding anything that night. We were soon struck with another gift from the universe, when he discovered a very small drip of freshwater in the bed of the dried up stream. After some time, he ascended back up with his hands filled with full water bottles.
We then set up our camp stools, ate dinner, drank our newly acquired water, and enjoyed the greatest, most hard-earned views any of us had ever experienced. (This night on the ridge has remained one of the happiest moments in each of our lives). The physical and mental perseverance that it took to reach the top had paid off. The views were incredible. There was nothing but excitement and disbelief at what we had just gone through to reach that point. We took plenty of pictures and then proceeded to get the best night’s sleep that any of us had ever had.
Day 3:
Atop the Ridge
The wind woke us up early on day three. Forcing ourselves to get out of our warm sleeping bags to confront the cold air was the first mental battle of the many that we would be facing that day. After accepting the long trek that we knew we had ahead of us, we packed up our camp, ate some breakfast, and continued on our journey. We started the day by reaching the summit of the ridge, where we were greeted by another full view of beautiful scenery, along with a great vantage point for us to map out our next steps. We decided to continue hiking along the ridge for as long as we could to avoid having to bushwhack down this hill and up another. A few miles of peaceful ridge hiking later, we reached another decision point. We had run out of ridge to walk along and had to start looking for a safe place to descend.
The Comedown
Although we did not consider it safe, we found a place where the decline was possible to maneuver. It began on a very rocky, steep section, where our hiking poles were the only thing keeping us balanced. Throughout most of this descent, any missed step could have spelled disaster. We looked ahead and decided to shoot for a small clearing that we spotted amidst some trees. When we got to the edge of these trees, though, we quickly discovered that they were too thick to navigate through. Instead, we had to traverse parallel to the ridge until we hit a new terrain. That terrain came in the form of a slowly trickling waterfall that led from the top of the ridge all the way to the bottom. It was not ideal, but we knew we did not have any other options. The land around the water consisted of uneven, slippery rocks, and once we committed to going down via this crevice, there was no place to stop until the bottom. This downward climb through the waterfall felt like it went on for miles. For the first half, we were straddling the water in order to stay dry, but footing became very difficult to find and our boots continued to slip into the water. Once our feet were soaked and our attitudes depleted, our irritability took hold and we trudged straight through the water for the rest of the descent.
It is easy to look back and conclude that throughout the majority of this backcountry experience, our physical elevation was synonymous to our mental state. After reaching the bottom of the mountain that we excruciatingly summited less than 24 hours ago, we were at our lowest point. Not just in elevation, but also emotionally. We felt trapped. Behind us was the steep mountain that we had just spent half of the day carefully working our way down. Ahead of us was a narrow river followed by another ridge that looked much like the one we had conquered yesterday, but much steeper and with thicker brush. Our socks were still wet, and we had no idea where to go from there. Our original plan was to follow the stream to the point that it met the main river that we had crossed at the start of day two, but there was very little room around the water to walk. There was also no way of knowing whether we would be able to navigate from the main river back to the road. (The one road through Denali had infrequent buses that stopped to pick up backpackers and bring them back to the village. Reaching this road meant our freedom from the backcountry). Our only other option was to begin another grueling ascent up the ridge in front of us, in hopes that we could camp at the top and possibly find an easier route to the road. (For more background, before leaving for this trip, we had rented a satellite phone to use in case of emergencies). With our legs tired, feet wet, and spirits diminished, we sat in silence between these two mountains for what felt like hours, individually contemplating whether or not we should call in a rescue. That was not who we were though. None of us wanted the trip to end that way, and we agreed that unless we were seriously injured or out of food, we were not going to give up. (We did (jokingly, I think) discuss the idea of somebody breaking a leg or getting attacked by a bear so that we had an excuse to call in the helicopter). After we had made the decision not to quit, we knew we had to get moving again. We knew that the more we sat around and thought about it, the harder it would be to continue. We silenced our worries and complaints and marched on.
Pizza
Throughout these four days in the wilderness, the majority of our diet consisted of granola bars, peanut butter, dried fruit, and trail mix. While all of these foods tasted delicious considering they were our only option for replenishing our calorie-starved bodies, we were all consistently day-dreaming about what our first meal back in civilization would be. The unanimous decision, after much discussion of our possibilities, was pizza. The trek ahead of us was the last thing that any of us wanted to even begin conquering, but the final motivation we needed to get the hell out of this place was the thought of devouring a topping-filled, mouthwatering pie. We crossed the short river and began climbing yet again. This time around, there was no hope of reaching any flat ground along the way and very little reason to check the map for direction. The incline was steady and we did not see a clear patch of land until we were all the way to the top. Few words were said during this ascent. With pizza on the mind, we grudgingly marched higher and higher. Many miles later, we saw the crest. After a short hike above the trees (still through the tall brush, however), our eyes widened and smiles spread across our faces. Amidst the forest, the first sign of other humans that we had seen in days, in the form of a small cluster of buildings, appeared in the distance. Attached to this little village was the road. We were going to make it.
A new energy had been found as we hiked quicker than ever towards our freedom. Impatient as we were to get out, we knew we would not make it to the road before the buses stopped running, so we were forced to set up camp for one more night. Mentally and physically exhausted, we pitched our tents in the first clearing we found and were asleep before the sun even began to set.
Day 4:
Liberation
Never in our lives had we woken up so eager to get started on the day then on day four. We packed up our bags in record time and chose the most direct route that nature allowed us towards that cluster of buildings. After squatting to take our final, uncomfortable (yet surprisingly effective) bowel movements of the trip, we sprinted to the finish line. It must have been over 7 miles, but it felt like nothing. Shortly after the final river crossing (which we did not even bother taking the time to change shoes for), we saw the smooth brown paint of civilization. Looking like we had just narrowly survived a fight to the death with Mother Nature, we wandered into the middle of the buildings (which we soon found out was a sled-dog training facility). The first human that we saw was a man who did not seem as surprised to see us as we may have expected. Once we finished explaining to him that we had just spent the last four days traversing through the dense wilderness and were looking to get a bus back to the train station, he calmly pointed us in the direction of the road. As we sat by the road and waited for the next bus, we reflected on the insane escapade that we had just endured. We watched with new eyes as workers ran huskies up and down the road to train them for the winters to come and numerous campervans carried fellow adventurers along their excursions. The anticipation to take a warm shower, eat our long-awaited pizza, and sleep in a soft bed was overwhelming. After about an hour of waiting, a bus flew around the corner and crept to a halt directly in front of us. We stepped up onto the bus with a newfound sense of pride, as our backcountry trip officially came to an end.
We had emerged from those woods as entirely new people, with a reimagined sense of what life is truly about and what we as humans are capable of.