Mount Healy on a cool morning that didn't lastCopyright 2007 Lydia Hinshaw
DENALI NATIONAL PARK, AK -- Wildflowers bloom even as the leaves turn.
Gloomy misting rains and low clouds hide the landscape for days on end.
Then came Friday, born in fog, then broiled in sunshine. A day when the inevitable winter wasn't charging like an angry grizzly after all.
This morning I fired up our portable electric heater to battle the chill as I pulled on heavy jeans, a fleece pullover and a windbreaker for the walk to breakfast.
This evening, in shorts, T-shirt and sandals, I have taken refuge in the un-airconditioned but tolerably cool lobby of one of Denali's modern hotels. Our cabin, which faces west and has only one window that can be opened, is a sweatbox.
Plus, our wi-fi is out, which means we have to roam elsewhere to get on the Internet.
We are hired help and proud of it, and probably not supposed to be hanging out in the comfy chairs intended for paying customers. But in our age group, we can pull it off.
It was 79 degrees here at 4 p.m., according to one of the Internet sites that are our only source of weather information. Not that we pay much attention. You take the weather as it comes here; you prepare for the worst and count yourself blessed for every hour you don't need the coat and warm hat and gloves you keep close at hand, in the car, in the backpack, on the bus.
Each bus in our fleet has a set of chains in an underbelly compartment, dutifully checked each morning to make sure they haven't escaped. I've had an hour's instruction in installing the things, but it is my dream to finish the summer without every having to wrestle with them for real.
Friday that actually felt possible.
Gloomy misting rains and low clouds hide the landscape for days on end.
Then came Friday, born in fog, then broiled in sunshine. A day when the inevitable winter wasn't charging like an angry grizzly after all.
This morning I fired up our portable electric heater to battle the chill as I pulled on heavy jeans, a fleece pullover and a windbreaker for the walk to breakfast.
This evening, in shorts, T-shirt and sandals, I have taken refuge in the un-airconditioned but tolerably cool lobby of one of Denali's modern hotels. Our cabin, which faces west and has only one window that can be opened, is a sweatbox.
Plus, our wi-fi is out, which means we have to roam elsewhere to get on the Internet.
We are hired help and proud of it, and probably not supposed to be hanging out in the comfy chairs intended for paying customers. But in our age group, we can pull it off.
It was 79 degrees here at 4 p.m., according to one of the Internet sites that are our only source of weather information. Not that we pay much attention. You take the weather as it comes here; you prepare for the worst and count yourself blessed for every hour you don't need the coat and warm hat and gloves you keep close at hand, in the car, in the backpack, on the bus.
Each bus in our fleet has a set of chains in an underbelly compartment, dutifully checked each morning to make sure they haven't escaped. I've had an hour's instruction in installing the things, but it is my dream to finish the summer without every having to wrestle with them for real.
Friday that actually felt possible.
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