Alaska on the Fly

The actual town of Talkeetna, two miles away, is about three blocks long with a gold-rush-era feel about it.

From the lodge we booked our sightseeing flights around Denali. The boys opted for a single-engine DeHavilland Beaver built in 1960. Unpressurized, it was stuck at 12,000 feet, 8,000 short of the mountaintop but with a bird's-eye view of the mountainside and capable of swooping much closer than larger planes. My 11-year-old daughter opted out altogether, but I took a more modern twin-engine, pressurized turboprop that could buzz near the top of the mountain. Flights that land on a glacier can also be arranged.

The flights are expensive, about $500 per person. But there's nothing like it, not the Hindu Kush mountains of Afghanistan, not the Alps of Switzerland. Flying so close to the ice-blue paths of 4,000-foot-deep glaciers is like being on the moon, in technicolor.

Denali National Park and Reserve is yet another place that it's hard to imagine actually exists as unspoiled and untraveled as we found it. Individual cars can go only 14 miles inside, to the Savage River campground. Day-long bus trips are available, too. We opted for independence, saw the river and had our most memorable hike of the trip, up Mount Margaret. Denali also showed us elk, caribou and moose.

The Denali Princess Wilderness Lodge, where we stayed, is part of the Princess cruise/hotel/touring conglomerate. It looks like an amusement park. But tune out the blue-haired ladies (who get my vote because at least they're moving around!) and you will hear the rushing Nenana River just steps away. Some of us went horseback riding on the tundra, while others checked out the all-terrain vehicles. Our family gladly jumped into a raft, and our sporty guide sympathized with our opinion of the lodge and its packaged tours. "Newly wed and nearly dead, that's most of the business here," he laughed.

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From Denali we headed back south to Seward, 127 miles from Anchorage on the eastern side of the Kenai Peninsula. Founded in 1903 as the end of the line for the railway, Seward retains its role as the state's southernmost port of entry for people and freight. Ferry rides still connect it to Valdez, Kodiak, Port Lions, Homer, Seldovia and parts of the remote Aleutians.

Our otherwise adequate hotel, the Seward Windsong Lodge, fronted onto a river-dredging operation. Downtown was rather depressing, brightened by the two-room Seward Museum, which for $3 a pop displays the history of the famous Iditarod trail dog sled race. Down the street, like a surprise gift, is the magnificent Alaska SeaLife Center and boardwalk. Funded in part by the Exxon Valdez oil-spill settlement, it houses a marine research center and a fascinating oil-spill exhibit. The water bird exhibit is mesmerizing, with a glass enclosure that lets you discover the secrets of the birds' underwater life.

Seward also gave us our one cruise, an eight-hour ride into the Kenai Fjords National Park. The boat ride was fast and bumpy because the water was rough. But the day was unforgettable, with an entertaining guide who steered us close to thousands of horned and tufted puffins nesting on cliffs. We watched murres, football-shape birds that "fly" underwater to catch fish, and flocks of sandhill cranes in formation overhead. We also found Steller sea lions, harbor seals and otters, and pods of whales (orcas, fins and humpbacks) that seemed to move closer and "wave" when the captain turned down the engine and trolled.

We also had our first close-up look at a glacier, one of 10,000 in Alaska. From the deck, we watched it calve and heard the otherworldly, ear-splitting crackle of the piece splitting and plunging into the water. The sound's vibration was so strong it seemed the clouds should shatter like glass.

On the way back to Anchorage we decided to do a most Washington-type thing: stop in the resort town of Girdwood to take a photograph of the home of Sen. Ted Stevens (R-Alaska), who was on the front pages this time last year for possibly failing to disclose upgrades made to his home by contractors with whom he did senatorial business. As we approached the house, camera at the ready, my husband-driver shrieked with joy: "There he is! He's in the front yard!" Indeed, Stevens was standing in his driveway talking to what looked like . . . contractors! Or maybe gardeners. Or maybe neighbors. It was impossible to tell, but fun to imagine. The kids were thrilled. The vacation was almost complete. (One year later, Stevens is on the front page again, indicted for allegedly failing to disclose contractor favors.)

Our last evening in Alaska was spent on the rooftop of the Anchorage Hilton, surrounded by a glass wall that allowed another perfect view of an inspired sunset, and we plotted our return.

Dana Priest, an investigative reporter on The Post's National staff, last wrote for Travel about the Peruvian jungle.