Alaska Animal Watch

DENALI NATIONAL PARK, Alaska —  “Dall sheep, caribou, grizzlies, moose. Those are the Big Four--the hand we want to draw.”

This was Alaska. The speaker was Barbara, our pony-tailed bus driver. It was her seventh summer in Denali National Park, a wild expanse of peaks and tundra that is roughly the size of Massachusetts. Her enthusiasm for the adventure was as fresh as year one.

Barbara picked us up at Harper Lodge, a rustic log beauty on the Nenana River just a mile from the park entrance.

“First thing, fasten your seat belts,” she announced.

We did. The park road is graded dirt, 1 1/2 lanes wide. Buses ease past each other on rugged turns.

Barbara brakes for animals. She also brakes for rocks, which is what you see more of than animals in Denali. That is the main lesson in looking for wildlife in this seemingly empty park: look for rocks. When the rocks move, pull out your field glasses.

It is not like viewing the large herds of East Africa. The land is vast. Vegetation is sparse because of harsh winters, 200 miles south of the Arctic Circle. Animal populations are relatively small. Sightings become a game.

Counting Grizzlies

In Denali, a park of 6 million acres, rangers estimate there are 200 grizzlies. “But that’s give or take 50,” Barbara said. “It’s difficult to count grizzlies because they roam over large territories in a 24-hour period. It’s hard to know if it’s the same one you counted earlier.”

And they resemble bleached rocks.

The grizzlies of Kodiak Island are more obviously bears. They are dark brown and weigh 1,200 pounds. The grizzlies in Denali are smaller, maybe 600 pounds. And they are as blond as straw.

Barbara, whose college major was philosophy, preached gently to us as we ate box lunches and waited for the animals to appear. She talked of the 17 types of willows that grow in the park, and spun tales of glacial streams. She waxed on about moons and Northern Lights and the beauty of dwarf rhododendron.

Before our first rest stop she gave a short warning:

“Encounters with bears are rare, but never run from a grizzly. They’ll chase anything that runs. Remember, they can smell you before they see you. So stand still and look as tall as you can, and then raise your arms over your head and out to the side and wiggle them fast. Hold your ground. Speak to them. Say, ‘Hi, I’m Joe. How’s it going?’ ”

Baffled, Then Bored

Barbara’s theory is that such behavior will baffle the beasts and they will lose interest. She said she’s never heard of a moose or caribou acting like that, so the bear should not mistake you for prey.

She insisted that a Denali grizzly’s diet is about 70% vegetarian. They have no salmon, unlike their Kodiak cousins. They gorge on roots and berries.

“Sure, they play chase with ground squirrels,” she added, “and when they catch one it’s like a vitamin tablet. There’s a two-week chance for protein in the spring when the moose drop their young. But that’s it. Grizzlies don’t really go for people, unless you startle them and run.”

I practiced saying, “Hi, I’m Joe.”

Three hours into the park, Barbara eased the bus to a halt. She thought she saw a grizzly. It was far down a slope, near a kettle pond. I pulled out binoculars.

While we were debating whether it was a bear or a boulder, the road was suddenly wrapped in a rainbow, a gaudy arch against the tan, raw land. That is part of the wonder of Denali, the counterpoint of grand and comic: the lone caribou on a bald knoll who pretends he’s not there; the feisty young gull who poses by the road, the flocks of Dall sheep that cling to sheer slopes like wet sheets blown into a wall.

It was, indeed, a grizzly. He lumbered off into the woods. Vegetation shrinks as the mountains grow. Spruce turn into pygmy forests, and finally disappear.

Mt. McKinley--Sometimes

Above it all, or so I was told, rises Mt. McKinley, at 20,320 feet.

“If we could see it today it would be right there,” Barbara said softly, pointing at a majestic, cloud-filled gap. “Only 20% of our visitors are lucky enough to see the mountain from the road. It’s shrouded 75% of the time.

“But did you know that it has the greatest vertical free-rise in the world? Mt. Everest is about 10,000 feet straight up, but McKinley is over 18,000 feet from base to summit. We’re talking a big mountain. On a clear day you can see it from Anchorage.”

Denali, meaning “high one,” is the name given McKinley by Alaska Indians. This was Mt. McKinley National Park before its enlargement and name change in 1980.

After seven hours on the lone loop road we returned to Harper Lodge. We’d seen two grizzlies, some caribou and sheep.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see a moose,” Barbara said, “but you did get a grizzly. If we get skunked on one of the Big Four, it’s usually a grizzly.”

I walked out on the sun-dappled deck where backpackers were soaking in hot tubs at 10 p.m. They said their helicopter flight around McKinley was spectacular. I stared at the golden ribbon of the Nenana River, with its green banks of birch and spruce.

Far off, something moved. It was a moose. He raised his antlers, as if to be counted.