Denali is not my favorite national park. It isn’t even in my top ten. That is probably not the best way to lead a blog post about Denali, but it is the truth.

Denali protects six million acres of pristine sub-arctic wilderness. And it is wild. Unfortunately, in all that space, there is only one road. It is 92 miles of gravel and you can only drive the first 15 on your own. So, I never really feel like I have experienced Denali.

Last time, we had a car to drive the first 15 miles and we stopped and hiked along the way. It was beautiful and vast. There weren’t a lot of places to hike but we found some good trails and saw lots of wildlife.

We also got into a bus and rode the entire bumpy road to Kantishna in an old school bus. I saw some interesting things and got up close and personal at Denali Eielson Visitor Center. We hiked across Mountain Meadows with breathtaking views of the mountain. It was grueling but worth it. Even so, it is hard under those conditions to feel like you are experiencing Denali.

This time, we have a guided visit with a park naturalist. I am hoping to have a hiking experience. Instead, it is four hours of my life that I will never get back. We get on the bus ( admittedly a much better seat than the converted school buses of yesteryear) and find a seat. The naturalist introduces herself and drives us across a parking lot to an old train depot to see a film about the park. Ok. I could have done that without the tour. I am paying for a guided experience, but I learn a little history. Maybe in the next 3.5 hours we can get into the park ecosystem.

Next we drive around the visitor center lot to another parking lot. We all get out, along with about six other tour buses and stand on the asphalt while the naturalists (I swear I am not making this up) read us poetry. I can’t even describe the feeling of being crammed into a small area with that many tour bus tourists. Most have oxygen tanks, there are wheel chairs and no one can hear. Everyone is taking loudly to repeat what was said. People are fighting each other to see into a small demonstration cabin. The guides must think it is a good idea to combine seven bus loads of people into one huddled mass, but I do not. It is too much.

I move as quickly as I can to the side paths and wander around the fringes taking aimless photos of the grasses and trees. This is, after all, supposed to be a naturalist tour. Here I am naively thinking I signed up for a hike to learn about the flora and fauna of Alaska and instead get the poetry and parking lots tour. There are only so many angles of the same ten trees I can shoot…. I am hanging on by a thread.

We eventually fight our way through the tour bus crowd and get back to our small group. I must not be the only one feeling confused because people are now asking our guide questions about the area. Her answers in no particular order: “I love this place so much. It is really special.” “I hope you love this place.” “It’s special and should be protected.” “I like to forage.” “We have black berries, raspberries, choke berries, gooseberries, boisen berries, I like berry berries, berries, berries, blah, blah, blah….”

At no point do I learn much or hear interesting history of the park. But I now know she loves the park, likes to forage and has a Forrest Gump-like obsession with berries. I also learn a little about fireweed, but only because someone asks a lot of questions for fear that she is getting ready to break out more poetry if someone doesn’t distract her.

We drive about three miles and she pulls over. We are not allowed out of the bus. It is a hiking trail head and not a secluded parking lot. On a clear day, she tells us, you can see Denali from here. Unfortunately there are clouds. Instead, she sends around a wrinkled photograph of what is supposed to be Denali. She obviously took the photograph in winter. Grey sky, snow, and a blurry image of what might have been Denali…. This the only glimpse of the mountain I will get, while sitting on a bus I am not aloud to exit at a trail head.

I am starting to feel like I am on candid camera. Surely this is an elaborate ruse…..except it is not. It is happening. After we dutifully look at the blurry photo, we drive another three miles into the park.

We slow down near a large parking lot that I remember has a great hike along both sides of the river. There is a good chance of caribou sighting here. I relax. Finally, I am going to experience the park.

Nope. We drive right on by. You guessed it….we turn into another parking lot up the road where there is absolutely nothing to see. We just left the only interesting stop in our dust to come into a parking lot.

We are asked to trudge up a hill to hear a talk on the Native American perspective on Denali. Maybe we can salvage this tour. I am interested in First Nations history.

Here is the summary of the talk we received in no particular order: “I love my grandma. My grandma named me. You should love your grandma. I had a rough childhood. My brother also works here. I don’t know what else to say”.

As we drive out of the park after our seven mile, four hour parking lot tour I am speechless. This day was nothing like I had hoped or planned. What can I even say? At least I got a few decent photos while standing on the edges of parking lots. I don’t even have the energy to get out at the crowded visitor center to explore the area. I am just going back to the lodge and walking along the river. I will have a better chance of communing with nature. Denali, while never my favorite, has been a huge disappointment.