The first time I saw the mountain called Denali was from the Parks Highway. It was our first trip to Alaska. In retrospect, it was a spectacular view, the white summit bright and sharp against a blue sky. We watched the scene unfold in front of us as we eagerly awaited the next possible view of the tallest mountain on the North American continent. I loved it from the start. I couldn’t get enough of the beauty, the unfathomable size of this thing, the pull toward adventure.

Our assignment as campground hosts placed us near the first spot on the park road where the mountain is visible. It is also visible from several places in Savage River Campground when not shrouded with clouds. Visitors to Alaska are interested in seeing moose, caribou, sheep, wolves, lynx, and grizzly bears. They also want to see Denali.

I took pictures of the mountain each time I saw it. It never got old because it seemed to be different with each scene. I loved the bright blue sky as a backdrop for the massive white summit. There were times when it looked like a watermark on stationery. Grey sky with an outline of the mountain presented an ethereal view. I was in love with the mountain.

Like all love affairs, you have to learn to take the bad with the good, and one day we learned about some lost climbers. There was a search party trying to rescue the summit seekers. Then we learned that they called off the search. The climbers were presumed dead. Beautiful and majestic quickly became cold and dangerous.

The lure of the mountain remains with me. It’s like some kind of primordial pull from the past. I can’t wait to go back.