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SPRING 2020 ISSUE 01 / VOL . 05
my knees . In a word , it was a good , old-fashioned whuppin '.
By the time I returned to Wiseman that evening at 5 p . m ., I had bargained with God , made improbable promises , sung hymns ( including Nearer , My God , To Thee ), panted , overheated in foggy 35-degree temperatures , and cussed and whined a blue streak .
Every road thereafter , paved or unpaved ( there are a few paved roads in Alaska ) seemed like a boulevard , including the unpaved trail to Manley Hot Springs . By the time we reached Cantwell east of Denali National Park , the rains had set in , obliterating any chance for a glimpse of Mount McKinley ' s summit . My wife Louise met us in
Anchorage , where we relaxed for a couple of days , sightseeing and loading up on yet more halibut and salmon before slogging southeastward for three days of 40-degree temperatures and
Fireweed in profusion with the Brooks Range along the Haul Road .