Home to about three million lakes, the tallest peak in North America and the world’s largest temperate rainforest, Alaska is vast and enthralling. It has more glaciers and a longer coastline than the other US states combined and, at more than 1.7 million square kilometres, it dwarfs them all.
Setting sail from Seattle in high summer, NCL’s Norwegian Bliss cruise ship skirts the Pacific Northwest coast, docking several times along the way. For a few hours at a time, I dip into the state’s various cities, getting just a quick hit before being whisked away again.
This style of travel feels quite unlike the way I usually see the world, but there is something poetic about exploring destinations like so. Plus, even if you were to spend months exploring Alaska’s unique landscape, you’d still barely scratch the surface.
Instead, I move between Sitka, Juneau, Icy Strait Point and Ketchikan, piecing together a picture of life in the Last Frontier.
Setting the scene in Sitka
“One to eight.” That’s the ratio of brown bears to people in Sitka, our bus driver announces as we trundle towards the centre. The city, charming and compact, has fewer than 9,000 residents, yet it is still the 11th most populous in Alaska. By the time I’m dropped off at Harrigan Centennial Hall, with signs of human life all around, I’m not overly worried about running into a bear.
Soft clouds drift across blue skies above the green mountains that frame Sitka as I wander into town. My first stop is a quick detour off Lincoln Street – the bustling artery of downtown – at Highliner Coffee for something warm to sip. The pastries are baked fresh and the barista proudly notes that the beans are air-roasted locally.
Foamy flat white in hand, I tour the shops on foot – many selling art and jewellery made by Alaskan artisans, one specialising in soaps using local ingredients. There’s also Sitka Bazaar, dutifully luring in souvenir-seeking tourists with trinkets.
Down a side street, I pass St Michael’s Russian Orthodox Cathedral and make my way to Totem Square, where I settle on a patch of grass. In front of me rises a 12-metre totem pole, behind me stands the Russian Bishop’s House, now a museum. Within this small radius, Alaska’s layered history and indigenous traditions sit densely side by side.
Colonised by Russia in the 18th century, Alaska was later sold off to the US in 1867 for $7.2 million. But for thousands of years before that, it was inhabited by indigenous people – who still represent the highest percentage of the population anywhere in the country.
Finding my bear-ings
Several hours later, I find my way to my tour group’s meeting point, ready to get stuck into Alaska’s nature. We take a scenic boat ride – delightfully interrupted by sea lion spotting and bald eagle watching – to Camp Coogan Bay, stopping off at a historic 1920s float house to change into wellies before heading into the Tongass National Forest to follow an old logging road towards Eureka Falls. Logging was once key to the Alaskan economy, but has reduced drastically in the past few decades, in part due to environmental preservation.
As we arrive at camp, a trail leader asks us not to wander too far while he sets up a fire to roast marshmallows. I am still able to explore the surrounding flora relatively freely. It’s not until a few days later that I think about bear safety again.
“In 21 years leading tours, we’ve never had to shoot,” a new group leader tells me as we embark on a wilderness hike at Icy Strait Point. “But today might be the day.” Now I’m listening.
Fortunately for our group, he is recounting a hike from the week earlier. “I was walking backwards, grabbing spruce tips, when one woman said she’d spotted a bear. I turn around and it was just there, about a quarter of a football field away and no less than 500 kilograms. As I’m explaining how we’ve never had to use a shotgun on a coastal brown bear up here, I hear the clickety-clack of a shotgun bolt,” he says, recalling how the group’s armed sweep swooped up beside him.
“It stared at us all, then just kind of lost interest and went into the bushes,” he adds somewhat anticlimactically. For the rest of their hike, though, the group is told to sing loudly. I don’t spot any grizzlies during my trip, but I do learn that noise and travelling in numbers is one of the best ways to keep them at a distance. Also, making eye contact is a no-no and running away is possibly the worst thing you can do.
With the animals outnumbering the humans threefold here, it’s a reminder that we’re stepping into their territory as we hike to another abandoned logging road through the wilds of Chichagof Island – home to the densest population of bears in the world.
Beards, bonsai and blue skies
“It was used to make diapers in primitive times,” our guide tells a fresh mix of cruisers the next day in Ketchikan. “Nowadays, it’s mainly used as a fire starter.” He is referring to Old Man’s Beard – real name Usnea longissima, a lichen that earned its nickname thanks to its wispy white-beige shade and vinelike texture.
Although its absorbency and antibiotic properties are interesting, it’s more striking because of what its existence indicates. “You can only find it where the air quality is 95 per cent pure or more,” the guide tells us.
I’m not sure how his percentages translate on the official Air Quality Index, yet the point is conveyed all the same; Alaska’s unique environment makes for a fascinating ecological landscape, as I’m shown in snippets during my travels.
An hour earlier, I found myself at the bow of a 11-metre canoe with 19 others, oaring my way through a mountainside lake. At the group leader’s behest, we veer right towards a tiny island, where he enthusiastically jumps from the vessel as soon as it hits shallow water.
“You see these little plants? Well, they’re actually trees. You know, people spend many years making bonsai trees, but it happens naturally here just because of the resources,” he explains.
High rainfall and minimal soil creates a ground texture “like a huge sponge”, which makes for ideal conditions for the dwarfed trees to grow. Long daylight hours, 24 hours a day in some stretches, is another of Alaska’s quirks, which can result in the growth of giant vegetables around the state.
I don’t get to see any, but I do taste-test sweet salmonberries straight from the branches, named so for their light pink hue, which are native to the west coast of North America.
Watching out for whales
I’m not the only one interested in the fresh cuisine on offer. While bears and sea lions will be feasting on wild salmon, whales are on the hunt for herring. “The whales are migrating from Hawaii right now because it’s feeding season, and they haven’t eaten since October,” our captain tells us as we sail down Point Adolphus one early morning, on the quiet lookout for humpback whales.
“They eat about 3,000 pounds of food every single day – which is almost the same as what you guys are getting through back on your cruise ship, right?” he adds, the well-rehearsed line receiving its expected laughs. “Their throats are actually only about the size of a grapefruit, so they can’t eat other fish here.”
Waiting for telltale signs of a whale soon becomes a sport. Spot a puff of steam, reach for my binoculars and stay focused until they resurface to give punters a show. When somebody sees a tail flip, audible “ohhs” and “ahhs” echo across the boat.
I join one whale-watching experience on my whistle-stop tour, but it’s not the only time I see the magnificent mammals. I later find out that this is not down to my own good fortune – it’s almost impossible not to spot a whale in the area at this time of year.
Up close with glaciers
Glaciers feel like the main event, so I sign up for a double dose: a five-hour boat expedition and a 75-minute seaplane tour once we arrive in Alaska’s isolated capital Juneau.
First up is the seaplane, where we’re literally granted a bird’s-eye view of Juneau Icefield. We pass over the crystal waters and vibrant greenery, spotting mountain goats and flowing waterfalls. Beautiful as they are, there’s nothing quite like soaring over the glaciers, our pilot talking us through their unique characteristics.
We fly over the Taku Glacier, recognised as the deepest and thickest alpine and temperate glacier known in the world. We also tour several outlet glaciers, meaning they originated from an ice sheet, which look like frozen rivers from the skies.
Hints of blue tease through the surface cracks, but I’m surprised each glacier has a greyish tint from above. The pilot explains this hue can be due to ash from wildfire, algae on the surface or just dust and pollution settling on top.
Later that day, I come within metres of the Dawes Glacier, this time at sea level. From this angle, it’s bright white spliced with azure blue. Being so close to these natural formations, so essential to our ecosystems, and so telling of Earth’s history and future all at once, is mesmerising – even if it was the first and only time I needed an extra thermal jacket during my adventure.
In this moment, I feel both at the heart of the Last Frontier and just tapping at its edge. It’s a feeling that stays with me as my week comes to a close. While there’s more left to explore than I could manage in a lifetime, even this brief snapshot of Alaska is enough to keep me charmed for a long time.
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