The edge of Denali
Petersville Road, Alaska
Day: 65
Km Travelled: 9,600
Sunny Days: 3
The Alaskan coastline has gifted us with some of the most memorable moments of our trip so far. It’s time now to say goodbye to the sea and head inland.
A couple hours north of Anchorage we turned left off Hwy 1 and ventured down a long gravel track that took us into the foothills of the south side of Denali State Park. As Tom and I were airing down at the start of Petersville Road, we were passed by a convoy of fellow Toyotas with rooftop tents. We caught up to them a little further down the trail, and turned on our Rockytalkie to see if we could pick up their channel. With great delight, they were chatting away. We quickly introduced ourselves, enjoying a friendly tag along as we exchanged pleasantries about trucks while trying, and failing, to avoid an increasing number of potholes and puddles, steadily creeping deeper into the hills. After a short while we left our new friends behind and set off for more spicy terrain.
About halfway down the road, the trail forks, taking us to the edge of the State Park. Here, I had ample opportunity to practice my river crossing skills as we picked our way across several cold, rocky waters. Nothing too deep to be concerned about, but my heart rate increases every time regardless. River crossings are a fun feature. They start with the approach, which involves a short conversation outside the truck, potentially paired with one of us rolling up our pants and wading into icy water. Naturally, choosing the best route across requires finding the shallowest points. Sometimes that means turning into the river as we drive across. It’s not always a straight line. Thankfully all the riverbeds in this area are pebbles and stones, so there's little chance of getting bogged down. This preliminary legwork, literally, is worth the effort. Heaven forbid Envy goes for a swim.
Braving the crossings paid off. We climbed out of the river valley, higher and higher, till we reached a plateau at the start of the park boundary. Happy to call it a night, we settled in and spent the evening watching the clouds thicken as they rolled in.
Every once and a while we were graced with fleeting moments when the clouds would let up on their teary release, fog lifting, revealing the surrounding mountains in all their glory. But those precious respites were short-lived.
The alpine in Alaska is greener than back home. The brown-red dirt, unrolling from the black rocky peaks, leads to a blanket of green in every shade, bereft of any trees. A riot of vibrant neon, medium tones with hints of blue, a vast array of darker shades like Christmas green and deep forest. It's as if the mountains were cold, so quilts of green patchwork, thick, soft, like a fur carpet stitched with small alpine flowers, were rolled out to keep their toes warm. Underneath are rocks, but on the surface, a texture soft enough to curl up on and take a nap.
With the rain following us around like a pesky younger sibling, I'm all the more grateful for our setup. We bought our AluCab camper secondhand, already fitted with a propane heater, which has turned out to be an absolute blessing. Watching the rain fall and the colder temperatures creep in at night can be pleasant when I'm curled up in a cozy camper, completely dry, warm, snuggled. We've now spent over two months living in my Tacoma, and there's no denying I've grown more attached to her. She feels like home. She is home. Alaska can throw her summerless days at us, and every night we're comfortable.
Though we haven't seen much of the sun lately, the adventure doesn't slow down for it. The same rain we grumble about is what paints these hills so relentlessly green, what fills the fords we're relieved to cross to reach them, and what sends us curling into Envy each night, content as bears. These rolling hills, roads, and rivers keep feeding our nomadic spirit.
That said, we wouldn't say no to the rain taking a day off.
