7.28

7.20.05


We kept watch of the bear, lumbering past us on the hillside above the valley floor. He was close enough to be cautious of, but far enough away to enjoy his presence. The bear having distracted us in one direction, we failed to catch sight of, right in front of us, a caribou, now not more than a two hundred feet ahead, with a set of antlers nearly as high as he is tall. His gray colors had melted into the background of the rocky braided stream bed until, suddenly, his silhouette became apparent and unmistakable. Then his spouse and child followed not far behind, all three walking straight towards us. So, in that moment we we were between bear and caribou, predator and prey, neither yet aware of the others’ presence, a moment of pure wonder, mixed with a tinge of healthy fear and awareness. I felt completely frozen in time, as if this scene might have occurred five thousand years ago, with only us having the concept of past and future, for these animals live in the moment, and rather precariously at that....
These are the moments and scenes which make backpacking in Denali National Park special. This scene was certainly a great highlight of my overnight jaunt with T.R., a close friend from college who came up to visit Simon and I for several days. I met T.R. on the park road at the confluence of the east and west forks of the Toklat river, a braided highway of gray glacial melt water loaded with silt. We carefully forded the many braids, navigating around particularly deep or strong sections. River crossings are one of the many challenges to hiking up here, and require the proper mix of patience and tact, and an extra pair of sneakers and socks as well. That numb, spongy feel of cold wet feet is something you want to purge right away when back on dry land.
T.R. and and tracked several miles up the east fork of the Toklat river valley, where we had our encounter with the caribous. They just detoured some twenty feet around us, seemingly quite accustomed to humans. After our brush with wildlife, we scaled the river bank to gain access on to a bench to find a place to set up camp. We followed the bench for perhaps another mile then carved out a little spot, not far from the valley floor. Naturally it began to rain just as we began to set up the tent, but the brief shower was hardly an inconvenience as it rewarded us with gorgeous rainbow just down the stream bed from our campsite, the color spectrum falling out of the sky all the way to the valley floor.
I had one of my best nights of sleep that night all summer, passing out in my bag for nine hours without interruption. The following morning T.R. and I proceeded upwards a bit ascending the tundra slope to gain access into a saddle behind Divide Mountain. The slow deliberate process of climbing up tundra slopes is drudgery and simplicity that is wonderful . I enjoy making switch backs, creating angles to walk up slopes, and cherish the view getting grander and grander. Of course I was feeling quite sprite that day thanks to the cherished aforementioned sleep. We gained access to the rim a grand cirque, a circular bowl cut into the mountainside by a former glacier, and snacked perched above the bowl.
We hiked up over the saddle, passing a picturesque pond and proceeded down the back side of the saddle to the west fork of the river. Getting down involved some bush whacking through willow plants well above our heads, so picking and line and sticking to it was important. We made it through fine and trekked back to the road along the river bed. Our last obstacle was crossing the same Toklat river we crossed the day before, but with the bus we wanted to catch to to depart in ten minutes, we gritted our teeth, charged right through, and jogged quickly, packs bouncing to make our bus back to reach camp in time for that night’s dinner.
I worked the rest of the 3 days T.R. stayed at camp, though I was able to sequester him for an afternoon to assist with a staff dinner. It’s always the best to cook with friends, it’s where my love of cooking really matured. We made tamales, mole enchiladas, and more. It was sad to see T.R. go so soon, as always with friends these days we spend just enough time together to get back into the old rhythms then depart again, then it’s back to life as usual.
Work has gotten a bit easier after a hard first six, seven weeks of the season, and I’m settling more into a relaxing pattern, making more time for hikes and exercise in my week. We’re now experimenting with the menus here a bit, which is fun. It’s also about the time we feel the need to begin to add new kinks to the guest menus to keep the creative juices flowing. We run the same proteins on a weekly basis, for instance, tuesday is bison tenderloin and wednesday is halibut and so on. The starch and vegetable to accompany may change depending on availability. I prefer to make the same plate several times to tweak it and refine it before I try other combinations. I will now try Osso Buco (cow shanks) this week, a meat that is braised, a cooking process which involves slowly cooking the meat in a broth, half submerged, for several hours to achieve a fall-off-the-bone tenderness. I enjoy that process of slowly nurturing flavor and texture, one which was widely used at Savoy, the restaurant I spent the winter. There is a pasta maker here at camp which I may experiment with to make fresh pasta to accompany the Osso Buco. Over all, its very different coming here after cooking with other professionals all winter and spring and having to adjust to teaching the basics and stepping back a bit. All the while trying to apply my knowledge and skills to the menu in a way that’s realistic and plausible given the limitations in skill and time. At times I feel restless and wish I was at a restaurant where I could focus on learning, absorb less responsibility. Though the appreciation of what we do here is high, and it means so much to my life to be spending the time in this magical place.
Simon and I went for a fantastic flight a bit over a week ago one evening. The weather was very calm so we flew south from camp right towards the Alaska Range. Simon let me fly for about five or so minutes which was great fun. His newly acquired Cessna is bigger and more powerful than the Taylorcraft of last year, and a wee bit more stable. Once the plane is well up in the air and has a bit of altitude the flying is quite easy, and the plane needs little help. The still weather gave Simon the confidence to fly up to ten thousand feet and further into the range than he had previously. We flew over McGonegall Pass and out over the Muldrow Glacier, one of Mt. Mckinley’s grand glaciers. the views were spectacular, With the glacier below us, we were just below or at eye level with several ice covered peaks in the 10-13,000 ft. range, with Mckinley behind us, towering at 20,000 ft. I felt as if I could reach out of the plane and touch the immense glaciers and rock walls. We used the Muldrow as a bit of a highway, heading east, away from Mckinley, traversing the range a bit before heading back north towards Kantishna and Camp. The sunset was setting behind Wonder Lake, and we were treated to a gorgeous pink horizon, as we made our slow descent from 10,000 ft.
Blueberries have arrived, earlier than last year, but certainly another indicator of time passing and the season flying by, only about eight weeks left. I’m hoping to get out camping at least twice more before it’s time go. Most of you are still in the full swing of summer, sweltering temperatures still the norm, while here in Alaska daylight lessens seven minutes a day, and the sun has less power over this lands’ inclination to cold. I still expect more warm, beautiful days, but nippy nights now are giving the indication of fall around the corner...

reemergence of kenny!

6/16-7/4

Empty camp dining room, too late

Sorry all followers of the blog, I got b(l)ogged down a bit with work and life here, making it hard for me to find the space both time wise and mentally to gather thoughts and write. It’s been a whirlwind of training, guest arrival, helping people learn on the fly, and improvising a bit too. So I’ll just catch you up a bit on what’s happening here with me and some of the highlights of the last several weeks.

The visit of mom ruth and aunt Joan, which is where I’ll start:

After hearing about the beauty of Alaska and the serenity of the spot I spent last summer, my mother’s curiosity about Alaska, her inclination to the outdoors, and I’m sure, her interest to visit and see me in action spurred a week long northern adventure and four day stay at Camp. And my aunt Joan’s adventurous spirit, traveling nature, and more than passing interest in photography made her a natural partner in my mother’s adventure. Their trip began with a stopover in Seattle to view the sights, followed by a day in Anchorage, where they enjoyed a local craft market, But, certainly, the nuts and bolts of it all was the trip up into Denali Park and their three days at Camp.
I was a bit nervous, as the combination of poor weather and mosquito assaults could easily last for three days without interruption. Fortunately, the weather was glorious, they had fantastic views in the ride in, and saw an abundance of wildlife in their ride in . Jeff, one of our guides here, drove them and the other guests the ninety miles into Camp from the park entrance in our big Denali school bus, identified wildlife, gave Denali natural history lessons, as well as specific park history. Education is considered a key component in what we give our guests, and all guides know the park so well, and are talented educators to boot. My mother, ever the chronicler, kept a small journal and took notes of their sightings along the way. She and Joan arrived at camp, tired but incredibly enthusiastic from their ride. The clouds cleared from the Alaska range just soon after their arrival, and the three of us all enjoyed the magnificent view of Denali and its sister peaks. My mother duly noted that Denali was only out 20% of the time, as guides often note as a consolation to travelers, so she was humbled and excited to enjoy its appearance.
The first full day of their stay was to spend the day with Pete, one of our more senior and knowledgeable guides, with an encyclopedia of the tundra and taiga ecosystems buried into his consciousness from several decades of experience in Alaska. Pete’s been involved in preservation and educational causes in Alaska for many years, and really just thoroughly enjoys sharing his enthusiasm with visitors of the park. So Mom and Joan got a nice workout while I toiled in the kitchen preparing dinner for them and all the other guests. So they dined on some fantastic, lean bison tenderloin, a hearty refueling for the next’s days hiking regimen.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to work every day they were here, and got to spend the following day with them which included some fantastic highlights of my summer thus far. The first was a canoe in Wonder Lake, our brilliant body of water located just two miles from the base of camp. Wonder Lake stretches three miles and basks completely in the shadow of the Alaska Range. The water was nearly still that day, and the reflection of the peaks on the wasters’ surface accentuated the scope of the range, sitting behind the rolling hillsides dotted with spruce trees. We spent a good two hours out on the lake, took legnthy breaks to recline in the canoe, and chat. Joan took many pictures, hoping to capture the beauty and stillness of the moment, and did so quite successfully as one of her photos now provides the background on my laptop as I write these pages.
My mother, whose energy seems endless, then joined me for a bike ride up several long hills to see a bit more of Kantishna. We really enjoyed taking it slow, cresting the rolling hills on the park road. It was the perfect pre-feast exercise, since I had the rare pleasure of eating guest dinner with my mom and aunt that evening, and savored Matt’s cooking. It sure was great to be served the three course dinner I usually find myself the creator of most days. It certainly felt good to see from the other side how professional the food looks and how appreciative the guests are of our efforts in the kitchen.
It was sad to say goodbye to them, the three days they were here seemed to fly by, and I’m sure they felt the same way. The whole aura of the state of Alaska, with its sense of wildness, pioneer spirit, and plain beauty touched and interested them greatly, and I felt very happy and proud to have been a reason for them to have that experience.
The last three weeks since mom and Joan left have been packed with work, as usual. I’ve been picking up dinners, a breakfast shift on occasion, endless cleaning, and teaching. Much of the stress I generate comes from the drive to not only provide top notch guest dinners, but also unique and varied staff meals, elegant hors d’oeurves, and quality vegetarian food. The combination of my ambition and perfectionist nature seem to collude to eliminate the break that is supposedly fit into my daily routine, and also requires me to work at a fast pace which leaves little left in the tank at the end of the day. In that way, I certainly take after my parents, brother, and just about all my family! There have been good rewards to the hard work, as guest feedback has been tremendous, and staff appreciate the special touch on their meals as well. Truly a labor of love...
Despite the hard work, there have been some fun, spontaneous evening hikes, fishing on the lake, pickup games on our makeshift basketball court, where I show people my New York “skills”, and some fun social evenings, and, of course, my lovely porch.
One fantastic highlight last week was the visit, in the evening of a cow moose and her two young calves up out our little pond in the middle of camp. Mom and her two calves just strolled on in at about 9:00 pm, and proceeded to wade and chew grasses for close to an hour, attracting the majority of our guests and staff. For all involved it can only be described as a peak experience to be so close to the personification of innocence, as those two calves were, both in their appearance, and behavior as they fed and played, never far from their mom, somehow equal parts stiffness and grace. All three were relatively ambivalent to the throng of people viewing them, and eventually just strolled up from the pond, right past the dining room, not more them ten feet from our faces behind the glass. Everyone was touched, and the collective awe from the experience was quite palpable.
I’m finally going to get out into the park to do some camping next week, as mine and Simon’s friend T.R. will be visiting us next week. So I’m gearing up, getting my camping stuff together, and studying the maps to find that perfect spot to hopefully enjoy the wildflowers, snow fields, and see some bears, hopefully from afar.
So I promise to get out my next report sooner than later, and I’m still trying to get to get pictures up on the web! no promises as the connection is quite inconsistent. So adieu friends, send news, Kenny

Settling into mosquito alley...

5.28.05
Motherlode Cabin, Camp denali

My ankles are itchy from mosquito bites, the back of my neck is sunburned, and I’ve got a bit of a headache, and it’s 10:39 pm and looks like afternoon right now. The are a small network of ridges just in front of my cabin in the forefront of the view, a slice of Arctic tundra, with shrubby plants and the occasional lone spruce, growth stunted by the weather... AND a hint of a rainbow cresting just above this first horizon. The backdrop of the view has clouds sitting at about 10,000 ft. the afternoon light reflecting off the west ends of the plumes, darkness on the bottoms, giving a unique perception of their depth and grandeur. Sitting underneath the clouds are the bottom slopes of the Alaska range, snow and glacier and rock, a different world just twenty miles away. This view changes everyday, it could stay the same, but still wouldn’t get old.
Hard to believe a week has gone by already, time truly is relative, and perception changes as we adjust to the daylight, new work schedule, and life in this little wild undeveloped slice of Alaska. The insular sense of this community and ecosystem erodes the attachment to country, state as other distinctions become more important. All staff have finally arrived at camp, and we’re in full preparation mode for guests to arrive, while at the same time catching up with friends from last summer and acquainting ourselves with new faces. The specialness of the community is apparent in witnessing the connections and friendships that are built here and last over the winter. We seem to be relating to each other as if we just left a couple of weeks ago. Also the conflicts and frustration that come hand in hand with those deep connections! I have the pleasure this summer of sharing a cabin with Luc, a returning naturalist from Gaspe, Quebec whose sense of humor, and quirky nature has combined well with my personality to give our cabin a relaxed and easy feel. We live one of the uppermost cabins here at camp, out of the way, with a homey porch, and a little wood stove.
Us old hands in the kitchen has been busy getting our kitchen ready to go for guests, feeding staff delectable meals, and training a new fleet of cooks. Right now, honestly it’s not such interesting stuff, as we’ve haven’t reached the stage of planning our menus and getting down to the fun and inspiring cooking. The pleasantness of just being here, and enjoying the natural setting is so joyfully overwhelming my senses that cooking is secondary. Today was my first day off since arriving, and I hooked up with four other staff on a day off to hike the ridge just southeast of camp, and inspiring six hour hike, mostly off trail. As is typical of Denali hikes, we navigated several drainages, thick brush, swampy tundra and a plethora of newly hatched mosquitolings eager to have their first meal. We combined climbing and contouring the features to eventually gain access to our desired peak, some 1200 ft. above camp, where we lunched atop a small promontory above a patch of snow destined to soon melt. The views were spectacular as the Alaska range launched out of the tundra to the south. The view of Camp Denali was a great perspective of it’s position just tucked in the hillside, just a spattering of buildings dwarfed by the immensity of mountains, valleys and rivers which seem endless here. Our hike down back to Camp was enjoyable, though a bit rushed as the desire to flee from the bugs spurred us on to reach Camp, the showers, and the late afternoon nap providing that vital bridge of time to reach dinner.
That’s all done and I’m in bed, dinner was super, and tomorrow it will be my turn to conjure up the flavors for the evening repast, so therefore I must acquire the necessary rest. So adieu, your friend ,
Kenny

Ken returns to the great north!

Kantishna, Denali National Park, AK 5.23.05

Welcome to my little Denali blog, musings on a slice of life up here in Denali National Park.
Most of you may know a bit about what I do up here since this my second summer up in the Park. A quick refresher: I’m the dinner cook for Camp Denali, a wilderness lodge located in Denali National Park. Camp Denali hosts guests for 3-4 days at a time, and is focused on providing an outdoor rustic vacation which includes hiking, canoeing, and bird watching, along with educational evening programs intended to give guests an increased appreciation and knowledge of the ecosystem as well as the cultural history of the region, which is quite rich. Between all these activities guests have to eat, well that is, and that’s where I come in, employing my culinary expertise along with the help of others to provide three course dinners, with perhaps, the best dining room view anywhere, overlooking Mt. Mckinley, North America’s biggest mountain.
I arrived to Anchorage, AK’s biggest city, three days ago, where I spent one evening, had one last restaurant meal, stocked up on those last supplies, and said my goodbyes to civilization for four months. The following morning we headed north from Anchorage up to the east side entrance to Denali National Park, the launching point for entering the park. The four hour drive includes several miles of strip malls with wal-marts then eventually gets more an more remote as you climb up out of the mixed deciduous forest up into the boreal forest, a landscape dotted with deep green midsize conifers. The transition is special , as one begins to feel the impact, and the sense of excitement and adventure that one gets in the north, as you see the adaptation of plants to equip themselves for the harsh cold.
There is a small community just outside the park entrance which is all hustle and bustle in the summer tourist months with visitors from all over the world, though primarily tourist buses full of retirees, and the nomadic workers which follow them around to cook their meals and clean their rooms. The year- round community is an odd mix of native Alaskans and transplants whose brain somehow was rewired to allow them to endure the winter season in the Alaskan interior glued to a wood stove waiting for those four hours of daylight to materialize.
The drive out to Camp Denali is ninety miles of the Park road, which goes over several mountain passes, and crosses many small rivers, as it winds it way just north of the awesome Alaska range range. The road elevation is only as high as four thousand feet above sea level, dwarfed by the mountain range just to the south which get as high as 20,320 ft. on the summit of McKinley. One must know though that tree line in the park is at four thousand feet, so the road has incredible alpine feel, along with some harrowing drops as it contours along the mountainsides at several spots. The road is one perhaps one of the most scenic in the world, and despite having drove it many times, it never ceases to awe with its incredible vistas and wildlife sightings. Our highlight this time was coming across a small grizzly bear, quite young and far from full grown as it was just down the road embankment , not more than seven feet from the van, busily eating some grasses. Typical of the bears in the park, it just took a brief glance up at our van, and continued it’s business. Bears, fortunately are quite indifferent to humans, making them quite easy to observe and enjoy their grace, size, and magnificence. Just don’t get between a momma bear and her cubs. The sky was overcast and a bit rainy, so the large mountains weren’t in view that day, though the grey light cast along the alpine tundra gave its own deep, cloaking aura not experienced in bright light. So three hours of driving, and finally we arrive at Wonder lake, at the foot of the hill, leading up to Camp Denali, where our friends from last year eagerly greeted us, a reminder of the incredible group camaraderie experienced here amongst staff members.
So, the first few days up here have been busily filled with reacquainting myself to the kitchens, getting everything stocked up, working on menus, and of course, getting situated with in my cabin, the Motherlode, one of the highest at camp, a timber frame wood beauty with a porch just perfect for writing, and sipping some delicious alaskan brewed beer, while soaking in the gorgeous Alaska range, just twenty miles away. In fact i’m enjoying said porch at this very moment. And i’ll also being be signing off, as afternoon daylight often hides the fact that breakfast is only eight hours! cheers and many hellos,
kenny