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Authors: Elaine Burnes
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she was using the bathroom. Denny helped the guests settle
in then glanced around and spotted Alice with Walt just as he pointed her way.
Alice apologized but Denny shrugged and patted her brown leather jacket. “We
all look alike,” she joked as she opened the copilot’s door and helped her in.
Denny took her own seat, made sure everyone
was buckled in, and showed them how to use the headsets and mics, the only way
to hear each other once airborne. Alice twisted around to snap pictures of the
controls, of Denny, the other passengers, and the view outside. The plane
filled with restless excitement as Denny started the engine.
“We’re next,” she said into her mic as Dave
took off.
She taxied to the end of the runway then turned. The engine roared
and the plane picked up speed, racing along the dirt strip. Denny’s neck hairs
prickled. This part never failed to thrill her.
Alice put her camera down and stared at Denny. “Oh my, that feels
wonderful,” she said, her voice tinny in the headphone.
Denny smiled. “Takeoff is my favorite part.” The G forces pushed
her back into the seat. Alice grinned as they left the bumpy ground and the
ride smoothed out. Someone whooped from the back.
For the next hour Denny played tour guide, pointing out the peaks
of the Alaska Range that formed a wall eighteen thousand feet up from a flat
plain threaded by shallow streams of glacier runoff and dotted with small
ponds. Denali gleamed proudly, covered in bright snow against a deep blue sky.
Below, glaciers formed frozen rivers pouring down the face of the mountain.
She ran through her script, describing how the mountain’s
elevation gain was greater than Everest’s, rising as it did from a plain only
two thousand feet above sea level. What she couldn’t describe was how this
massive uplift of planet, rising higher than her plane could fly, grounded her.
It served as her guidepost, a pivot point around which she oriented herself.
Denali comforted her, despite its dangers. Treat the mountain with respect,
Josh had said during orientation, and she’ll treat you fairly in return. There
weren’t many women you could say that about.
Oohs and ahhs from Alice and the others penetrated the engine’s
buzz as they soared over sharp, snow-covered ridges and past jagged rock.
Heading up Peters Glacier, the plane began to buck. Denny concentrated on
maintaining control as the small craft dropped and tilted then rose, as though
riding an invisible roller coaster.
She pulled away and turned back. “Sorry
folks, a bit too windy to make it around to the south side.”
She headed back across the north face and glanced over at Alice,
who looked a bit pale and was clinging to her seat. But she was grinning.
After landing back at the airstrip, Denny
posed for pictures and let the kids sit in the pilot’s seat. When she looked
around for Alice, she had vanished.
BY THE NEXT morning clouds had moved in, obscuring the summit and
grounding the pilots. Rather than do nothing, Denny offered to co-lead a hike
up a nearby ridge. Erin, one of the college kids on staff, tended to leave the
older hikers in her dust, so Denny diplomatically offered to serve as sweep,
staying at the back of the pack, and telling herself it wasn’t just because
Alice had signed up.
They climbed steeply through dense alder thickets then out onto
dry tundra—knee-high blueberry shrubs, small wildflowers, mosses, and lichens.
Erin stopped often to talk about the plants and animals while Alice took notes
and photos with the studiousness of a reporter.
Twice, after they’d stopped, Alice had left her daypack behind.
The first time, Denny called to her and Alice thanked her. The second time, her
face clouded over in an expression Denny found hard to analyze. Maybe
embarrassment or even anger. Happens to everyone, Denny assured her.
At lunch, when people got to talking about themselves, Denny learned
Alice had recently retired after teaching high school biology
in then glanced around and spotted Alice with Walt just as he pointed her way.
Alice apologized but Denny shrugged and patted her brown leather jacket. “We
all look alike,” she joked as she opened the copilot’s door and helped her in.
Denny took her own seat, made sure everyone
was buckled in, and showed them how to use the headsets and mics, the only way
to hear each other once airborne. Alice twisted around to snap pictures of the
controls, of Denny, the other passengers, and the view outside. The plane
filled with restless excitement as Denny started the engine.
“We’re next,” she said into her mic as Dave
took off.
She taxied to the end of the runway then turned. The engine roared
and the plane picked up speed, racing along the dirt strip. Denny’s neck hairs
prickled. This part never failed to thrill her.
Alice put her camera down and stared at Denny. “Oh my, that feels
wonderful,” she said, her voice tinny in the headphone.
Denny smiled. “Takeoff is my favorite part.” The G forces pushed
her back into the seat. Alice grinned as they left the bumpy ground and the
ride smoothed out. Someone whooped from the back.
For the next hour Denny played tour guide, pointing out the peaks
of the Alaska Range that formed a wall eighteen thousand feet up from a flat
plain threaded by shallow streams of glacier runoff and dotted with small
ponds. Denali gleamed proudly, covered in bright snow against a deep blue sky.
Below, glaciers formed frozen rivers pouring down the face of the mountain.
She ran through her script, describing how the mountain’s
elevation gain was greater than Everest’s, rising as it did from a plain only
two thousand feet above sea level. What she couldn’t describe was how this
massive uplift of planet, rising higher than her plane could fly, grounded her.
It served as her guidepost, a pivot point around which she oriented herself.
Denali comforted her, despite its dangers. Treat the mountain with respect,
Josh had said during orientation, and she’ll treat you fairly in return. There
weren’t many women you could say that about.
Oohs and ahhs from Alice and the others penetrated the engine’s
buzz as they soared over sharp, snow-covered ridges and past jagged rock.
Heading up Peters Glacier, the plane began to buck. Denny concentrated on
maintaining control as the small craft dropped and tilted then rose, as though
riding an invisible roller coaster.
She pulled away and turned back. “Sorry
folks, a bit too windy to make it around to the south side.”
She headed back across the north face and glanced over at Alice,
who looked a bit pale and was clinging to her seat. But she was grinning.
After landing back at the airstrip, Denny
posed for pictures and let the kids sit in the pilot’s seat. When she looked
around for Alice, she had vanished.
BY THE NEXT morning clouds had moved in, obscuring the summit and
grounding the pilots. Rather than do nothing, Denny offered to co-lead a hike
up a nearby ridge. Erin, one of the college kids on staff, tended to leave the
older hikers in her dust, so Denny diplomatically offered to serve as sweep,
staying at the back of the pack, and telling herself it wasn’t just because
Alice had signed up.
They climbed steeply through dense alder thickets then out onto
dry tundra—knee-high blueberry shrubs, small wildflowers, mosses, and lichens.
Erin stopped often to talk about the plants and animals while Alice took notes
and photos with the studiousness of a reporter.
Twice, after they’d stopped, Alice had left her daypack behind.
The first time, Denny called to her and Alice thanked her. The second time, her
face clouded over in an expression Denny found hard to analyze. Maybe
embarrassment or even anger. Happens to everyone, Denny assured her.
At lunch, when people got to talking about themselves, Denny learned
Alice had recently retired after teaching high school biology
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