After the loss of the Packers and my beloved Steelers two weeks before *my* dreams of another Super Bowl ring were dashed and I no longer cared about the outcome of the Super Bowl. When the local meteorologists began promising bluebird days for that weekend it became clear to me that a drive north was a better option than staying in to watch a football game I had nothing vested in. So when the rest of the country was settling down in front of the tv with a cold beer and a plate of hot wings I was standing on a cliff and heating up a JetBoil full of Ivar’s clam chowder, staring across a frozen river to see the alpenglow of sunset to hit North America’s tallest mountain just right.
Movements below would periodically caught my eye. A lone wolf crossing the frozen river took his time a he meandered across. Some time later a solitary moose appeared out of the brush. He seemed to check out the area then disappeared back the way he came. Hours later two bull moose appeared from the same brush, but these two slowly made their way across the same way the wolf had earlier.

I kept warm and passed the hours by breaking trail in the thigh deep snow in the nearby woods and throwing snow for Kratos to attack mid air. The hours ticked by with few visitors other than my occasional furry friends crossing the frozen river below.
Finally the golden hour arrived and although it was not the alpenglow I had planned and hoped for, I would never complain about watching the sun set over Denali in all her glory.