It must have been the alcohol that kept me warm. Squirming in my sleep, I became aware of the frost in sunless hours of the night, which was between 3 to 5am. I watched the sun rise from my tent, a permanent structure that was quite sturdy and roomy and somewhat drafty. The Denali Mountain Morning Hostel was situated on the edge of the woods, and I was sure I was going to get eaten by bears before morning.
The first person I encountered was Joan, a fifty-something woman with a bulbous nose, unflinching eyes, and a bob hairstyle that seemed too young for her face. She proceeded to tell me she had stopped at Talkeetna (quaint tourist town in Alaska) and she loudly enunciated the KEET part of it. I thought of her as a parakeet, KEET, chirpy and over-eager. I made a mental note stay away from her.
Rick was on the shuttle at the same time, but he didn't say a word to me. Not even "hi" or "good morning." Instead I talked to the shuttle driver, a redheaded girl with dreadlocks, who was actually from Minnesota and came to work here for the summer. Actually, a lot of strapping young folks take summer jobs in Alaska for the opportunity to enjoy the great outdoors in their downtime.
Joan, Rick,and I got off the shuttle and waited for our buses in the Denali Visitor Center. Depending on your destination and the distance from the entrance, there were a plethora of different buses on different schedules. I was headed to Wonder Lake at mile 85, a gorgeous reflective surface where the majesty of McKinley would be doubled. Mosquitoes were also abundant in that moist wetland, so I came prepared with a mosquito net.
I took the 7:55 am bus, accounting for the 11 hours roundtrip. Now these buses also provided a rare glimpse into this untamed land and all associated wildlife. Every time an animal was spotted, we were to yell "Stop!" and the bus would halt for a closer look. I saw a fox, caribou, coyote, and an eagle. But mostly, I saw rocks. My companions on the bus were a bunch of over-excited, happy-to-be-there Asians, and they yelled "Stop!" at everything. Usually, it was a rock or a lone ranger walking along the road. I began to worry that I would arrive at Wonder Lake too late to see McKinley, since clouds of condensation typically formed at the peak at around 11am. Worse, the 8:25 am bus passed us, even though it was scheduled to run 30 minutes later. Joan saw me from the window of the other bus and waved voraciously. I turned in the other direction.
After a 4 hour ride, the bus took a lengthened stop at the Eielson Visitor Center, 19miles from my destination. Disheartened, I took out my lunch and sat at the picnic tables, which coincidentally offered lovely views of McKinley. I began to dread going back to the bus. Out of the corner of my eye, someone was waving at me. I hoped it wasn't Joan.
It turned out to be Kari. She was waiting for Howie and jumped up to talk to me.
"I was hoping we'd see you." We forgot to exchange phone numbers the day before.
She pointed to a small, surmountable mountain, or so it seemed to me.
"There's a ranger hike up that mountain at one o'clock. You have to reserve your spot and it's all filled up now."
I must have looked crestfallen.
"Don't worry, we got you in. Howie put your name on the list, just in case."
I don't remember when the bus left, but I wasn't on it. Kari, Howie, and I shared our life stories. We explored the Eielson Center together, a de facto museum with historical artifacts, complete with the skulls of mammals. On display outside, there were two skulls of mountain goats, interlocked by their white horns. Apparently, they had gotten tangled and perished, unable to pry themselves from the other.
Time for the hike. We climbed up the mountain along the rocky path, and it was strewn with flowers, weeds, and green vegetation. Strolling behind me was an eight year old boy who somehow wound up in front of me. Nonetheless, I wasn't as tired as yesterday. As I climbed higher and higher, I marveled at the beauty before me. McKinley loomed over us like a great creator, an immortal pillar before us puny humans. Its ridges were the deepest cobalt and the snow was a crowning glory of unadulterated white.
I realized I had been blind. Since yesterday, I had been so busy surviving, catching my breath, that I didn't see the awe-striking wonders of this place, even though it was right before my eyes. We are so busy, so consumed with ourselves, trying to live. We are so concerned with moving and going somewhere. And our blindness is self-inflicted. When we stop struggling, the simplest truths reveal themselves. The earth is beautiful. Life is exquisite. We are.
Then I reached the summit. It was a familiar feeling. That sense of exultation, of victory, of overcoming not only external obstacles, but overcoming myself. My own fears and doubts. My own demons. Liberation. To be freed from the self. How funny that sounds, to be free we must forget ourselves. To understand that there is something so immense, so much greater than ourselves. To know that we matter so little in ourselves, but it is in the connectedness, the unity of man and nature that keeps us eternal, because we were here and we were part of this. This was where I found God again.
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