Last summer’s trip to Yellowstone and Glacier prompted me to think about seasonal jobs. Remembering a conversation with an employee in Denali Park a few years ago, I decided to apply. So today I sit in Anchorage, getting ready to leave for Denali. This will be the record of my summer adventure.
First, it isn’t summer here. I left Phoenix three days ago after a couple of 100 degree days, and arrived here to mid-50s. Although I spent a lot of my childhood in Anchorage and graduated from high school here, I find the city barely recognizable. Controlled-access roads where there used to be gravel trails. Hotels where I used to live. And my favorite bar, which started out in the late 60s as a log cabin with soft chairs and a fireplace, is now a two-story giant sports bar.
Some things don’t change, though. Heading out to pick up some items from the store yesterday, I first encountered hills that seemed out of place. Turned out they are the leftover snow from winter that got dumped there after they cleared the roads. It had to go somewhere, you know. And on the way back to the hotel, traffic slowed to a crawl to allow a moose to cross the road.
And the light. It’s different here than in the desert. Most of the time since I arrived it’s been overcast, which I remember to be a pretty common state of affairs. But then late in the day, as the sun gets lower, it peeks under the clouds and hits the mountains. Anchorage is surrounded by mountains, still covered with snow at this time of the year. They light up and glow with the sunset, blue and white and jagged against the sky. It brings so many memories of my younger years, when the mountains were the backdrop to my life.
Travels with Billie 