Alaska

July 2019

  1. Anchorage
  2. Whittier
  3. Homer
  4. Brooks Camp
  5. Seward
  6. Talkeetna
  7. Mount Denali
  8. Cantwell
  9. Gakona

Day 1: The last frontier

We arrived in Anchorage in the evening and settled into our hotel. Even though it was late, the sun was still up — this takes some getting used to. Alaska in July means nearly 20 hours of daylight, which already felt disorienting in the best possible way. The air was cool and crisp, the mountains were visible from practically everywhere, and we could immediately feel the vastness of this place. Everything here is on a different scale. We’re in the Last Frontier, and we can already tell this is going to be an adventure.

Day 2: Fin whales and calving glaciers

We’re excited to be in Alaska. Today we went on a boat trip on Prince William Sound, and within the first hour we understood why people rave about this place. The variety and amount of wildlife in this part of the world is incredible! We saw otters lounging on their backs, seals hauled out on ice floes, bald eagles perched in impossibly photogenic poses, and much more. But the highlight was spotting three fin whales, which we had never seen before. We learned that they’re the second largest species of whale in the world — they’re certainly much larger than the gray whales and humpback whales that we’re used to seeing in the Pacific Northwest. Watching them surface and blow was humbling.

We also saw several glaciers calving — enormous chunks of ice breaking off and crashing into the water. The sound was deafening, like thunder echoing across the sound. Each time it happened, everyone on the boat fell silent for a moment, then erupted in excitement. It’s one thing to read about glaciers retreating, and another thing entirely to watch it happen in real time.

We really enjoyed staying in log cabins on this trip.

Day 3: A bear-y old joke

We’re suckers for bears, and today was a bear day. We visited the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center, where we got to see the two main species of bears up close: black and brown/grizzly. Black bears are smaller, and they’re the kind that we see on occasion when hiking in Washington state — usually from a comfortable distance, and usually as they’re running away from us. Brown/grizzly bears are larger, more powerful, and the kind that we definitely don’t want to surprise while hiking. We learned that people refer to the larger coastal bears as brown, and the ones that live inland as grizzlies, but they’re really the same species. The coastal bears tend to be bigger because of their protein-rich salmon diet, which is basically the bear equivalent of a bodybuilding program.

We also learned how to distinguish the two species from their droppings… Black bear droppings contain remnants of twigs and berries. Grizzly bear droppings contain bear whistles! (We’ll let that joke sink in for a moment.)

The drive from Whittier to Homer took us along the stunning Kenai Peninsula — a winding route with views of glacial valleys, turquoise rivers, and snow-capped peaks that made it impossible to keep our eyes on the road. Homer itself sits at the end of a long, narrow spit jutting into Kachemak Bay, and the views from there are extraordinary.

Black bear.

Brown (grizzly) bear.

Day 4: Brooks Falls bears, leaping salmon, and a bucket list moment

If you do one thing in Alaska, it should be this: go to Brooks Falls on the Katmai Peninsula to see the brown bears feasting on salmon. We added Alaska to our bucket list when we saw this on a nature show years ago, and being there in person felt just like we were in a National Geographic shoot — except we could smell it and hear it and feel the waterfall mist on our faces.

We timed our trip to coincide with the annual salmon run, when millions of salmon swim upstream to return to their spawning grounds, leaping up meter-high waterfalls on sheer determination and instinct. Katmai National Park is home to the world’s largest protected population of brown bears, and Brooks Falls is the nexus where bears and salmon converge. As salmon exert themselves swimming up Brooks River toward the falls, the bears congregate and wait for the opportunity to strike.

Typically, brown bears are solitary animals. But during the salmon run, they tolerate being around one another, making it one of the few occasions when you can see a dozen or more bears in one place. The social dynamics were fascinating. We could easily identify the dominant male by the way other bears abandoned their fishing spots whenever he approached. More than once, we were startled by grunting and growling as two bears stood up on their hind legs — displaying giant claws, massive muscles, and bared teeth — and wrestled until one gave in and backed away.

Large males get the prime spots right at the waterfall, where salmon are plentiful. Females teach their cubs to fish a bit further downstream, where they’re safer. At one point, we watched a young bear approach the falls, observing the large males from shore, trying to decide if it was safe to go in. Nope, he decided, and walked away. He came back two more times, each time edging a little closer. On his third attempt, he ventured briefly into the water, only to be scared off by the growling of the bigger bears. Probably a wise decision — we heard that a large male killed a young bear at the falls just the year before.

The different fishing techniques were endlessly entertaining. The experienced adults would sit motionless for a while, then a swift head-first plunge would reliably reward them with a whole fish. Some positioned themselves at the lip of the falls, mouths wide open, waiting for salmon to leap right in. The young cubs, on the other hand, ran through the shallows like little kids at a water park — jumping, pouncing, and splashing with their paws, which usually just scared the fish away but occasionally resulted in triumphant success. We could have watched them all day. It was mesmerizing, hilarious, and awe-inspiring all at once.

We flew to Katmai National Park on a float plane like this one.

We got spectacular views on the flight to Katmai.

Adult bears typically wait patiently for salmon.

Sometimes they’re challenged by other bears.

So close and yet so far!

Eventually, the hard work pays off.

Delicious!

“Look what I got, ma!”

We waited for these bear cubs to leave the trail before continuing our walk.

Waiting for mom.

Day 5: Safari in the fjord

Today we explored Kenai Fjords National Park by boat. The Kenai Peninsula coastline is dramatic — towering cliffs dropping into deep fjords, with tidewater glaciers spilling down from the mountains into the sea. We watched more glaciers calving, which never gets old. There’s something primal about hearing a crack echo across the water and then watching a house-sized chunk of ice crash into the fjord in slow motion.

But the real stars of the day were the animals. We spotted sea lions lounging on rocky outcroppings with the casual entitlement of sunbathers who got there first. Puffins bobbed in the water, looking like someone designed a bird specifically to be adorable. Two humpback whales surfaced close enough to the boat that we could hear them exhale — a deep, resonant whoosh that made everyone fall silent for a moment. And then there were the orcas. We lost count somewhere around fifteen or sixteen, which is not a sentence we ever expected to say. Pod after pod, dorsal fins cutting through the water, sometimes so close we could see the distinctive white patches behind their eyes. It was surreal.

The grand finale was a trio of Dall’s porpoises who decided our boat’s bow wake was the best entertainment around. They raced alongside us, weaving and leaping with the pure, unbridled joy of creatures who have figured out that surfing is fun. We could have watched them for hours, but they eventually got bored of us and peeled off to find something more interesting. Fair enough.

We visited several glaciers by boat, and saw them calving.

A humpback whale goes for a dive.

Sea lions.

Day 6: Fireworks by daylight

Happy 4th of July! In Seward, the town set off fireworks at midnight. It was still broad daylight. We’ve now been in Alaska for nearly a week and we genuinely have no idea what night looks like here — it might get dark for a few hours while we’re asleep, but we have no evidence to support that theory.

We drove the “long way” to the Denali area today, which is our polite way of saying we deliberately chose the remote, unpaved, middle-of-nowhere route over the perfectly good highway. The dirt roads wound through spectacular backcountry scenery — vast valleys with no other cars in sight, braided rivers threading through gravel flats, and mountains in every direction. We were very grateful for the “hill descent” mode in our SUV, which made some terrifyingly steep and rocky sections feel almost manageable. Almost.

Day 7: Windows open

Today we chartered a small plane to fly us over Denali National Park, and it was an incredible experience. Our pilot flew us right up to Mount Denali — the highest peak in North America at 20,310 feet (6,190 meters) — as well as neighboring Mount Foraker and Mount Hunter. We opened the windows of the plane for most of the trip and got so close that it felt like we could reach out and touch the rock face, while being perfectly aware that sticking an arm out of a moving plane is a spectacularly bad idea.

We flew over base camp, where climbers prepare for the brutal ascent, and followed the climbing route up the mountain along an impossibly jagged ridge. It looked like a single misplaced step at the crest would trigger a deadly avalanche. And yet the footprints in the snow proved that there are people brave — or perhaps just differently rational — enough to venture along that path and climb even higher than we flew. We’ll take our views from the comfort of a heated aircraft, thank you very much.

The mountain’s name, by the way, has its own dramatic story. “Denali” means “the high one” in the language of the native Athabaskan people, which is about as accurate as names get. But in 1897, a gold prospector decided to rename it “Mount McKinley” after a presidential candidate from Ohio, because apparently rediscovering a mountain that indigenous people had named thousands of years earlier still counted as a naming opportunity. Alaska spent decades trying to restore the original name, only to be blocked repeatedly by Ohio congressmen defending their state’s presidential honor. It took until 2015 — thirty years of effort — for “Denali” to become official again. The mountain, we suspect, was indifferent to the whole affair.

The name isn’t the only thing undergoing change up here, though. Our pilot told us that the glaciers have visibly retreated over the years he’s been flying this route. Not surprising, given that Anchorage hit 90°F (32°C) the day before — its highest temperature ever recorded. We did not expect Alaska to be warmer than Seattle, and yet here we are, sweating in the last frontier.

Our pilot, ready to fly us around Denali.

Days 8 and 9: Off the grid

We’re back to having cell signal after two days of blissful disconnection on some of the most scenic roads in Alaska. Our route included the Denali Highway — an unpaved road that runs across a vast expanse of untamed wilderness with essentially zero infrastructure. We stopped every ten minutes to take in the ever-changing landscape, which meant a drive that should have taken a few hours took most of the day. No regrets.

We spent the night in a cabin on the shore of the Copper River, where the best salmon in the world come from. (If you’ve ever seen “Copper River salmon” on a menu and wondered why it costs more, this is why — it’s basically the champagne of fish.) Our hosts told us fascinating stories of growing up in a remote Inuit village and their largely self-sufficient lifestyle. They live off an impressive vegetable garden, the game they hunt and trap, and of course, unlimited Copper River salmon. We tried not to be too jealous.

We drove hundreds of miles through scenic wilderness on the unpaved Denali Highway.

We stayed in a cabin by the Copper River.

The hosts of our cabin have an amazing vegetable garden!

Day 10: A perfect last day

On our last day in Alaska, we visited the Alaska Native Heritage Center in Anchorage, and it turned out to be the perfect way to close out the trip. We got to interact with people from nine major groups of native tribes present in Alaska, and what struck us most was just how different their traditions are from one another. Northern peoples lived underground during winter, using whale bones and driftwood as structural supports for earthen roofs — an ingenious solution when trees are scarce and the weather is trying to kill you. Other tribes spent winters in log cabins. Southeastern tribes hollowed out massive tree trunks to make canoes, while others built kayaks from seal skin stretched over the bare minimum of wood. Every group had figured out its own elegant answer to the same question: how do you thrive in one of the most extreme environments on Earth?

We spent hours watching traditional dances and games, admiring local art, and generally being impressed by the depth and resilience of cultures that have called this place home for thousands of years. It was a humbling reminder that Alaska isn’t just spectacular scenery — it’s home to people who’ve been navigating these landscapes long before anyone thought to put them on a bucket list.