The Road Home

I drove 500 miles of road from Anchorage to Cantwell and back today. That was the easy part: after flying around Mt. McKinley, then across to Denali National Park, over d Wonder Lake, the plane finally stopped in an old mining town called Kantishna. Once there, I hiked uphill to a old mine 2.5 miles away. Whew! Meanwhile, the pilot was returmomg to pick up my wife. So, I have three hours of solitude for quiet and peace in the hills above Kantishna. Here, in a dry land of beautiful tundra, of unforested hills,and bare ridges that run for long empty miles, the sense of unhurried time settles over everything. But still, I can't drink the water; it seems the locals have to use a spring nearby. It must be the arsenic and other metals in this gold mine area where the hills have colors of iron oxide and white quartz. Between all this, the ravines are filled with willows, barely leafed out. As I walk, I also see a few song birds I'm not familiar with . The good thing is that no mosquitoes or tourists are out yet; I have it all to myself. Further up the hill on the dry rocky hills, I find beautiful clusters of moss campion in bright pinks. This is arid country, still transitioning into summer, so I can imagine it's harshness in a few weeks to come. Meanwhile, most of the shrubbery and lower tree stands are just budding. Further up and around, I find a dip in the road and go down to the mine buildings. As I approach the location, a few thunder heads peek over the rise and start to boom. This means rain. I turn down an old trail to the dilapidated houses, pushing aside the alder, and finally make shelter as the rain starts to pelt the earth. With sun and rain, the shimmering effects of light, both from sun and cloud, I wait in the darkness of an old house, once the home to gold seekers. Finally the rain stops. I walk on...then comes another shower, and I run to the lower part of the mine building and wait again. Inside, partially collapsed, roof propped by timbers, I stay near the door frame just in case. Not much inside. Seems like most of the equipment is now gone. The afternoon passes in the flaming brightness over the rolling hills. Below is a steep valley that feeds into the main valley of Kantishna. The plane returns, flying above me, heading for the air strip. Time to return and rejoin everyone. Once again, into the cockpit, back across the length of the Park, where the thin line of the road heads east, to the beginning, to Cantwell. Once back in Cantwell, we say our goodbyes and drive through the late afternoon light. My wife just snores away. I am one of the few drivers on the road but the hours of daylight have grown and the light barely fades. Far off, the delicate shape of Mt. Mckinley, and the smaller hills about it's base, form a long stretch on the west side of Broad Pass. It's five hours to home, and signs of sleep are digging into my thoughts, but I keep moving, stopping in places to take pictures along the way. Then, when I feel the fatigue, I stop and rest, sinking into reverie, where layers of consciousness slide and slip sideways in my mind. The day settles into a twilight of slow crawling miles ,while the highway curves and climbs and straightens, on and on until morning, until I reach home.