May 31, 2025

The summer wasn’t summering, and I was suffering from a bout of springtime depression that only sunshine and warm weather could cure. I dragged myself to the Klutina Trailhead to meet Jason. We left one vehicle there and carpooled up to our starting point at Stuckagain Heights—neither of us particularly excited to hike in the fog and rain. After a bit of complaining, we checked in on the JBER RecAccess website for the areas we’d be hiking and set off toward The Dome.

Within two miles, we had already passed a variety of freshly blossomed wildflowers and the Long Lake Trail. Not long after that, we were above the treeline and deep in the fog. As we trudged along in our respective gloomy stupors, craving warmth and sunlight, little glimpses of blue sky would peek out from behind the thick clouds, offering slivers of hope.

A solitary ptarmigan perched on a boulder welcomed us to the top of The Dome, where we paused for a quick bite before continuing up the ridge toward Knoya. The low ceiling of clouds persisted as we ascended the jagged ridge. From a distance, the ridgeline looks deceptively daunting, but once you’re on it, the walking is fairly straightforward with no scrambling required.

The true summit of Knoya is tucked away from the main ridgeline, so as we approached what seemed to be the peak at around mile 4.8, we veered just south of the intersection of the ridges leading to The Dome and Kanchee, traversing the south-facing slopes. There’s little risk here, aside from the jagged rocks—one of which managed to slice through my shoe when I misstepped. Thankfully, my Topos took the damage and my foot was fine.

Knoya’s actual summit came into view less than a quarter mile to the east, at the far end of the south-facing slope. Tikishla and the surrounding peaks were still hidden in clouds, and as we stepped onto the summit, it began to snow—typical for late May or early June, and far more tolerable than the rain we’d started in.

We snapped a few summit photos and turned northwest toward our next goal: Kanchee Peak. While many GPX tracks on Gaia and Peakbagger show a direct ridge route to Kanchee, we chose to retrace our steps about a quarter mile and follow a less exposed, less scrambly path along the north slope of Knoya’s false summit. The snow stopped suddenly, but the clouds lingered.

While walking the ridge toward Kanchee, I stopped to add snow to my water bladder—2 liters wouldn’t cut it for a 15-mile hike. I took a long swig of ice-cold water just as one final snow squall passed over us. We climbed over a small rock outcropping, and then the sky began to brighten. A patch of blue appeared, and the clouds below us rose, revealing all of Snow Hawk Valley. Peaks 1216 and Ship Creek Hill came into view, sparking fond memories of our recent hike there in gale-force winds.

The sky continued to open up, and the little blue patch grew. We spotted a small cabin down in Snow Hawk Valley. I’ve heard of people using it, but since it’s on JBER land where overnight stays aren’t permitted, I haven’t found any official resources explaining how to legally use the shelter. I wouldn’t recommend attempting an overnight trip there without written permission from JBER officials—you don’t want to lose access to military land hikes.

Kanchee’s grassy slopes made for an easy climb, and so far, we hadn’t faced any real challenges along the ridge. As the sky continued to clear, we reached the summit of our third peak of the day. The views into Snow Hawk Valley were magnificent—Temptation, Tikishla, and Knoya were now fully visible. Our crappy moods were finally cured. Although there were a couple of odd markers at the top, we didn’t find a summit register.

Now six miles in, with three summits and over 4,000 feet of gain behind us, we paused to put on our tall gaiters. Deep snow clung to the ridgeline and northwest face of Kanchee. I voiced concern about the ridge route due to unconsolidated snow and a sheer drop-off to the east (I’m always irrationally paranoid that my dog might leap off a cliff), so we descended via Kanchee’s west ridge to a point where crossing the snowfield felt safer.

Even 700 feet below the summit, we were still postholing through knee-deep snow. I eventually chose to slide down the final few patches to the base of Nunaka. Two hundred feet above us stood the summit of Nunaka, the last peak in the ridgeline series—seven miles into our hike now. The clouds returned as we walked up the grassy slopes, and by the time we reached the top, the views had vanished again.

One last summit selfie, and then we descended the ridge toward Snow Hawk Road. It was an uneventful descent—except for Jason finding a nice pocketknife and me discovering a great snow slide.

We were on the road within an hour, heading toward the Bulldog Trail and back to the Klutina Trailhead, only stopping to watch a good-sized porcupine climb a tree. The lower we got, the sunnier and hotter it became—a fine reward for a day that had started so dreary.

I took one last look back at the ridgeline I’d long wanted to hike, filled with that deeply satisfying feeling of truly knowing a place.

The Dome, Knoya, Kanchee, Nunaka Point Peakbagger Links:

Just the Tips:

1. There is very little exposure on this ridge walk, but the weather can change quickly. Be prepared.
2. Be bear aware.
3. Sign into JBER RecAccess before entering military land. Sign into all areas you plan to access. No overnights are permitted. These areas are closed between 11pm and 6am.
4. Knoya’s peak is set back from the U-shaped ridge, heading towards Tikishla. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re at the top when you are less than a quarter mile shy of the true summit.
5. Parking at Klutina and Stuckagain are limited. Get there early to grab a spot and respect the neighborhoods by not parking like an asshole and by carpooling, if possible.

Recent Trip REports:

May 25, 2025

This year’s annual mother/daughter camping trip in Denali National Park looked a little different from our normal stay at Riley Creek Campground. The Labor Day prior, we decided our next trip would be to Savage River Campground, 13 miles up the Park Road from the Parks Highway.  This was a great opportunity for me to take a day to bike and hike Mount Margaret, a broad mountain just beyond the Savage River.  

I had been eyeballing this summit since our first trip in 2019.  In 2020 I was still ignorant to doing route research and made an attempt from the east, via the Savage River Loop Trail, with my 9-year-old in tow.  The 40+ mph winds were so strong she could barely stand up, so we turned around, and although we didn’t make it even close to the top, we did have the amazing experience of finding ourselves within a stone’s throw to two big, handsome Dalls sheep.  A fine consolation prize. 

The weather all weekend was decent, but I waited for the day with the least chance of thunderstorms to head out on my adventure.   After looking back at the photos of my first steps on Mount Margaret six years prior, I am sure the off-trail route from the east would have gone, but this time I decided to approach from the south, giving me the opportunity for a nearly 15-mile RT bike and hike.

It was one of those overcast mornings that has potential to turn into a really nice day, so I ate breakfast and set off before 11am on my bike, headed west into the park.  Not even ten minutes into my ride, I saw one of the tour busses stopped with its hazards flashing; a sign that there was wildlife nearby.  Sure enough, three caribou were grazing along the Savage River, to the south of the road.

Two miles from Savage River Campground and the Savage River bridge where the road closes to public traffic and to go any further you must be human powered (bike or hike) or ride one of the park busses (during the winter you can ski and mush dogs, as well).  This was where, almost 5 years ago, my daughter and I turned off the Park Road for our first attempt on Mount Margaret.  This time I was by myself; my now 14-year-old wise to my claims that it would be “fun” and “not too hard.”

I stopped at the Ranger Station and the Park Rangers made sure that I had paid my entry fee and that I was familiar with protocols for allowing the busses to pass, as well as making sure I had bear spray with me.   They asked if I had ever used it before and I assured them that it had been effective in the few times I had used it in my 21 years in Alaska.  I advised them that I would be hiking Mt Margaret and if anyone reported a bike abandoned on the north side of the road near there, it was just me and I would be back down in a few hours.  They gave me a Denali Bike Safety Sticker to show they had done their spiel, and I was off!

But not for long.  As I began pedaling uphill, away from the Ranger station, I noticed two park busses moving very slowly towards me with their hazards on.  I saw something small and furry in front of them, also moving towards me, and for a second I thought it might be small bear… I jumped off my bike and grabbed my bear spray from the side pocket of my pack before realizing it was just a beautiful red fox.  It trotted right past me, the buses slowly rolling behind, and, looking into the windows, I felt immense gratitude that there wasn’t a pane of glass between me and Mr. (or Mrs.) Fox. 

I continued, now warm from the sun and the effort to ascend the 600 feet to where I would stash my bike and start my hike.  I passed by an overlook where busloads of tourists were using the bathroom and taking a break from sitting in the bus to stretch their legs.  I opted to avoid people and marked my territory in the woods right around the corner where I stashed my bike.

I didn’t see any trailhead, and hadn’t expected to, so I dragged my bike through the alders as far as I could off the road, hiding it as much as possible as the Rangers had asked of me.  Having firsthand experience, I knew bears have a penchant for chewing on rubber and plastic, and I took a last look at my bike and helmet with a wish that they would be in one piece when I returned. Turning uphill, I started bushwhacking through the tangled and leafless branches. 

Just when I was getting annoyed with the lack of bootpath (about 30’ in), I stumbled onto a path!  It looked like my great day was getting even better when it became obvious that the path would lead me right to where I wanted to go… up one of the south ridges.  I was passing by the last of the brush, when two ptarmigans, a female in her brown plumage, and a black-headed male still wearing most of his white suit.  They made their ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga clucking sounds, I’d assume pairing up for the season.

Now that I was above treelined, I took out my Three Bears Special walkie talkie and hoped that it would reach my “base camp,” about 4 or 5 miles away, as the crow flies.  The reply from my daughter was a monotone and apathetic response to my excitement over my ascension on such a beautiful day. 

I noticed that Denali was peeking out from the clouds, towering above the foothills below.

The bootpath continued on, up a gradual slope to an overlook, past patches of snow growing in size and frequency.   I had hiked 1.5 miles from just over 3100’ on the Park Road to 4500’ where I came to a wide plateau covered in white.  From any perspective below this point, it was not obvious that this half mile wide tableland exists.  At first the snow was patchy, so I pressed on in a direct line towards the base of the summit, the trail having disappeared into the marshy grass.  The wind had begun to pick up and I needed my warm jacket.

The snow patches became wider and more frequent, and I began postholing thigh or crotch deep. I looked to the west and the east to see if it would be worth my time to retreat and circumnavigate the snow, but I was on a mission now and had no time to waste.  There were ominous clouds all around, some forming into thunderheads, although I remained bathed in sunshine besides the infrequent passing of a cloud in front of the radiating sunshine.  I knew my time to safely retreat without getting struck by lightning was shrinking, so I pressed on as fast as I could, opting to crawl for the last 100 yards. 

My feet firmly back on the alpine tundra, I walked up a steep mini draw that, after only a short distance, brought me right to the summit block.  As I crested to the top of Mount Margaret, I gasped in awe at the flat-bottomed cumulonimbus clouds releasing shafts of rain called, “virga,” precipitation that falls from clouds as rain, but evaporates before it hits the ground.  The dry air of Interior Alaska was drinking all of the moisture before the ground got even a drop.

Mount Margaret has a long fin of a summit ridge, the summit proper being a natural pile of jagged rocks.  I hopped up on it and scanned the horizon for 360 degrees to take in the view before snapping a couple dozen photos and videos to save the memory of an incredible summit day.  As I radioed my “base camp,” I spotted two people approaching the summit from the southeast and although I was disappointed to not be the only person on the mountain that day, I was excited to get a perfect summit photo that wouldn’t have been possible without their help! 

We chatted for a few minutes about their backpacking trip; they had come from Savage River and were continuing towards Mt Wright in the west.  Although I wanted to ask if they had approached via the same route my daughter and I had attempted in 2020, the clouds were building, and I wanted to try to get back to camp before a deluge came down.  It was possible that none of us could afford to lose the time to a drawn-out conversation. Plus, the wind was not letting up and I was ready to descend towards dinner.

I snapped a few pictures for them and then headed down the mountain, this time following the southeast summit ridge.  I figured it would add a little bit of distance, but I would avoid the majority of the snow, saving me time.  I already had soaked feet, but have never been too bothered by that.  I sloshed along across the plateau and quickly met up with the trail I had ascended. 

A little over two miles later, at 330pm, on the dot, I broke out from the alders and onto the Park Road, having followed the trail all the way down.  Now that I knew where it was, I noticed the hidden entry, but I could see how I missed it.  I walked about 20 yards west on the road and then into the shrubs where my bike was hidden.  I was relieved when I saw that nothing had decided to take a taste of my tires or anything else I had stashed.

The 3 miles back to Savage River Bridge was cruiser as I clocked along at 25+ mph, trying not to ride my brakes knowing I had already waited too long to change my pads.  Two more miles up a gradual incline brought me back to Savage River Campground.

Before long, my wet socks and shoes were hanging up to dry and I was eating quesadillas made by K in a cast iron pan over the open flame of our firepit. 

Energized by the beauty and solitude of the day, I began packing up our camp while it was sunny, the forecast being not so great for the following morning (our departure day).  The sun stayed out long after I crawled into my nook of the camper and poured over maps to figure out what my next Denali adventure would be.

Mount Margaret Peakbagger Link:

Just the Tips:

1. Make sure you pay your Park entry fee. The best way to take care of this fee is to stop at Riley Creek Mercantile on the way into the Park.
2. In most circumstances, you cannot drive beyond mile 15 on the Park Road. To go beyond the gate, you can take a tour bus, flag stop bus, bike or hike. You can also drive beyond the gate if you have reservations at the campgrounds beyond Savage River.
3. Be bear aware. Always carry bear spray or other bear protection while traveling by foot or bike in DNP.
4. Do not harass wildlife. Respect the serene environment. Don’t approach or feed animals and leave the Bluetooth speaker at home.
5. Parking is available at Savage River at Mile 15, but it is a small parking lot that fills up quickly.
6. Unlike many other national parks, off-trail travel is allowed in DNP. Choose your own adventure!
7. Dogs are not allowed to travel off of the Park Road and must always be on a leash 6′ long or shorter.

Recent Trip REports: