Life in Alaska is nothing like living in the lower 48 where one has the option of commuting to work across state lines, visiting Four Corners and planting an appendage in four states at once, or taking for granted the privilege of “free shipping within the Continental U.S.” Alaska is a long way from anywhere. Some residents may feel as if they live on an island, but there is no need to feel trapped in our own home state. Those who desire a change of scenery need only choose a direction and hop on a main highway or catch a charter plane to escape to regions of pristine wilderness, geological wonders, and world famous hunting, fishing, and hiking. Alaska’s beauty is almost incomprehensible in its size and diversity. 

Cecil and I felt the itch to go on a road trip and decided to head north towards the Denali Highway, which I had never driven before. The highway runs through interior Alaska paralleling the southern face of the Alaska Range with the town of Cantwell on its western end and the town of Paxson marking its end to the east. The drive affords stellar views of mountains, glaciers, a scattering of lakes, and other natural scars left behind by glaciers that occupied the land thousands of years ago.  

It amazes me how ignorant I can be of my own home state. Especially of an important highway that used to be the only roadway access to the famed Denali National Park and Preserve (originally named Mount McKinley National Park in 1917 and renamed in 1980). When we first set off with Cantwell in our sights, it wasn’t until I looked at our Milepost guide that I realized, “Oh, the highway is 85% gravel!” Most seasoned Alaskans will scoff and say, “Of course it’s gravel.” However, considering there is nothing on the Denali Highway besides hunting grounds, a few seasonal lodges, and paved highways on either side of it providing more convenient routes to destinations of import, I can hardly be blamed for my lack of knowledge, can I? In truth, the Denali Highway lives a rather neglected existence, except when visited by those who wish to travel on one of the most untouched areas of Alaska accessible by road. The Dalton Highway, to the north, probably holds first place in that category, but the Denali Highway is a close second.  

Our goal was to make a large loop by driving north on the Parks Highway to Cantwell, turning east and driving the Denali Highway to Paxson, heading south on the Richardson Highway to Glennallen, and then turning west on the Glenn Highway back home to Palmer. The trip altogether was 526 miles, but our primary objective was taking it slow through the alpine tundra of the 135 mile long Denali Highway. On a gravel road strewn with potholes, the taking it slow part was easy. 

We arrived in Cantwell after dark and drove up the Denali highway a few miles till we found a large gravel turnout. We folded down the back seats of our small SUV, laid out a couple foam pads and snuggled into our sleeping bags for the night. It sure beat sleeping outside where there would have been the hassle of a wet tent and less of a barrier between us and unwanted attention from wildlife.  

The next morning we woke early and didn’t make it two miles down the road before we pulled over for a “picture worthy” sliver of tundra. The early morning fog hadn’t burned off yet and was drifting lazily along the tops of the hills and mountains. It gave a stark contrast to the yellows and reds of the brush around us. It was then I remembered the rumors that Cantwell was a good place for blueberry picking this year. Our usual picking spot was void of blueberries due to a very dry, warm summer, so we were hopeful for a good alternative. Everyone in Alaska interested in blueberry picking has their own secret spot and their own opinion of what “a lot of berries” means. According to Cecil and me “a lot of berries” means at least three or four gallons after a few hours of picking. Unfortunately, when we came through Cantwell there weren’t very many left on the bushes and those few were past their prime.

In the first fifty miles we hardly saw anyone, but as we traveled further, the hunting camps appeared more and more frequently. Most of the vehicles we passed were hauling trailers loaded with four-wheelers, side-by-sides, and bundles of gear. 

We stopped for lunch at Brushkana campground, the namesake of Brushkana Creek, a tributary of the Nenana River. The creek flows directly next to the campground. The day use area we used was a covered picnic table with a stone cooking area situated within ten feet of the creek. After a lunch of eggs, sausage, some strong coffee, and oreos with milk, we hiked along the creek a ways and found a dilapidated cabin sitting precariously on a high ridge along the shore. It made me wonder who lived in this pioneer cabin, and what caused them to abandon their shelter. What did they fry up for lunch while gazing at the same wilderness vista?

At mile 82 we stopped at Gracious House, a handy resource for those seeking some gas, a place to stay with amenities, or, like us, a couple of ice cream bars. What impressed me the most was their neatly organized rows of tires. It made me wonder just how often they have motorists come through in dire need of a spare. We were lucky enough to make it home before one of our tires completely deflated from a small puncture. 

The weather throughout the drive was a mixture of fog in one direction, blue skies in another, and dark veils of rain sweeping down through the valleys ahead of us. We stopped on a rise overlooking the Susitna River and it was pouring down rain. Cecil wanted a picture so we just sat there waiting … and waiting. Just when I began to doubt the likelihood of the rain ever stopping, a break in the clouds began to appear, and in a matter of minutes rays of sunshine were peaking through the clouds. The rain stopped so we rushed around getting pictures of the broad river flowing down the valley below us and of mountain peaks in the background that had just received a fresh dusting of snow. A few miles down the road it started hailing. Just another example of how futile checking the weather forecast in Alaska can sometimes be.

At that point, to the north, we could view the Clearwater Mountains, the source of Valdez Creek, a tributary of the Susitna River. The area is well known for it’s rich history of highly productive gold mines. Before gold was discovered in the area, the route of the Denali Highway was a sled-dog trail used for access to hunting grounds by Athabaskan Native Alaskans. Even with a trail, hauling supplies to the mining claims was a serious endeavor, made easier when the highway was opened in 1957. But for most, the real prize of an automobile friendly spur heading into the interior was gaining access to the tallest mountain in North America, Mount McKinley, or Denali as most Alaskans prefer to call it.

The flushed array of colors makes the month of September a great time to drive the Denali Highway, except for one minor hindrance. If your desire is to see wildlife, then it would be best to go before hunting season opens. Aside from a stray bald eagle, and distant pairs of swans floating around the numerous lakes, there wasn’t a trace of big game in sight. But don’t wait too long. The highway is seasonal and closes around the middle of October. The high elevations and large amounts of snowfall would make clearing the road throughout the winter months costly and unnecessary considering the small amount of people who would actually use it. Some of the lodges stay open year round and can be accessed by snow machine. They provide warm beds for those who choose to brave negative degree temperatures for a chance to see the northern lights in unpolluted skies. 

Cecil and I gave ourselves a day and a half to drive through the highway, and as usual, it wasn’t enough time. That’s how most of our excursions end, with us planning to return for a longer visit. If you have a sturdy vehicle, a couple days of freedom, and a longing for vast stretches of solitary landscapes, the Denali Highway is the road for you.