Heavy rucksacks hurled to the roadside, we stood, panting from their weight, with arms and thumbs outstretched. We had caught a bus from downtown Fairbanks to a junction near the university and the Parks Highway. Here my friend James and I intended to hitch a ride to Healy, a small town twenty minutes from the Denali National Park. The air was thick with the smell of hot tarmac and the fumes from monstrous freight trucks which screamed down the nearby road. After some time, I sat down disgruntledly upon my discarded bag. In the same moment a small blue car pulled up sharply before us; “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” blared loudly from open windows. A car door flung open and a woman, short in stature with loosely cropped hair, hopped out. “Where you headed?” she called over, “I’ll take you forty minutes down the highway before I have to turn off. But I warn you, I’m in a foul mood today.” Thanking her profusely, we tumbled into her car and introduced ourselves. “Nice to meet you. The name’s Susan”–she smiled, slipping off her sunglasses–“Susan Black.” We never found out what had caused her 'foul mood' that day but it was soon dissipated by an ease of conversation akin to that shared between old friends. Despite our protests, Susan demanded to drive us the full 74 miles down to Healy. Upon arrival and the harrowing discovery that the phone number for our contact there was a digit short, she took us directly to the Park’s entrance. We embraced warmly and she disappeared. The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan faded into silence behind her. Thankfully, I had scribbled down some directions from a Couchsurfing profile just before leaving Fairbanks; these would, we hoped, lead us to a man called Yarrow and the encampment for the Savage River trail crew. Despite the gravel road that crunched beneath our feet, the awareness never left us that we were in wild territory. With its labyrinthine forests and vast mountainous terrain, this was truly a mysterious world: one fraught with many dangers. We pressed on with trepidation. A thread of turquoise pierced the muted tones of stone and lichen that sprawled before me. The coursing waters of the Savage River tore through the landscape, devouring the brittle limbs of fallen trees that lay across its bank. A distant howl of a wolf chilled my blood. The woodland grew sparser as it encroached upon the formidable mountains that loomed over the horizon. Thick permafrost stunted the roots of the pines. Their usually towering statures were dwarfed, shrunken, growing smaller the closer they stood to the Alaska Range. Cowering. As if in reverence to the colossal giant, Mt. Denali. Shrouded in cloud and seldom seen, I had–by some fluke–managed to glimpse Denali’s elusive outline twice. Yarrow commended my luck as he rolled me a cigarette not of tobacco but a blend of Sage and Mugwort. Its taste was perfumed, the aroma heady. A peculiar calm washed over me as I relaxed into my chair. Fragrant smoke mingled with the earthy scent of the early morning dew which moistened the soil beneath our feet. The rich smell of coffee rose from the mug clamped between my thighs, its familiarity and heat warming me from within. The stifled roar of the river met the echo of “Angie” by Bert Jansch ringing out from the nearby cabin. James was awake. I could imagine him slumped over his cheap guitar, the half light of morning trickling through wooden slats; his loose brown curls flowing over his face as long fingernails expertly plucked plastic strings, coaxing from them an exceptional clarity of tone. A bittersweet smile stretched the corner of my mouth as this familiar sound intertwined with the marvellous oddities surrounding us. It seemed like only yesterday that James and I had nervously called into the darkening twilight of the encampment. But a week had passed and tomorrow we would hitchhike south to Talkeetna. The thrill of the unknown beckoned to us. Its call uniquely terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Although I longed to discover what lay ahead, I could not help lamenting the wonders which would soon be left behind.