Alaska, the State That Actually Does Live Up to the Hype

Acaressing is one of the most difficult places to plan a vacation. It’s not because of safety or how wild it is, although these two things are important. Instead, it’s hard because it’s so amazing and there are so many choices.

Do you go to the Kenai Peninsula, which is a place full of forests and wildlife where whales can be found? Or go to Junau and Southeast Sitka – lands full of glaciers and culture? Do you choose a more rugged experience in the interior, or a more return experience on a trip?

But here’s the thing about Alaska: there are no wrong decisions, only decisions to be made. No matter where you go, it will amaze, inspire, and inspire you – after staying there for about two weeks, I want to guarantee it.

On my first voyage in the state, standing on top of Angel Landing, a path north of Fairbanks, I looked at the vast land in front of me, almost completely alone, that it was Alaska. This is what I came here for.

With a smile on my face, I went back to the western city of Buccaneer and went to a concert (my first concert in a year). Scheduled for 8pm at the Botanic Garden, I think it would be a good way to watch the sunset, but of course, remembering the sun didn’t set until north in July, I sunk into the evening sun and like watched the Alaskan barefoot work -si-doed and the kids in front of the Blues Band stripped wildly, naked.

Alaska continued my expectations throughout the trip in this way. I was excited from Denali National Park – I was planning a full day of sitting and chatting about how big the mountain is. However, it is a mountain impossible to see from the entrance of the garden. But that doesn’t mean the garden isn’t worth watching.

While I couldn’t see the mountain from inside the garden, the garden itself is horrible. I boarded a minibus that took me about 15 miles to the park and when I left it was the only thing I could hear a few minutes later. I was alone, surrounded by mountains, streams and wildlife.

If it’s a little wild, then there are more accessible places that are equally beautiful and a little less intense. Or the 8-hour bus ride to the park (which I’ve only heard of wonderful things) where experts note wildlife and places of interest. However, I chose a gel-hiccup.

The walk is technically located outside the park (helicopters are rarely allowed in national parks). The helicopter took us to the sky and threw us straight into the mountains. The guide told us the facts about the scene and led us around the sheep, in a safe distance to the gray bear, and finally to the rest area, where the helicopter was to save us from the terrain I never wanted to leave.

From Denali, I boarded the Alaska Railroad, which was the only way to get inside the building until the road system was built. The train is a modern remnant – its belt dome allows for a 360-degree view of the landscape, and when we headed for Anchorage, the trees grew bigger from the lack of permafrost, the mountains got taller, then got smaller, and the wildlife like musk swam in the seas. Best of all, about 100 miles away from Denali, Denali appeared again, this time. Both peaks were visible as the huge mountain rose toward the top of the sky.

After we entered the station, I took a rental car and headed east towards Chitnia, on Alaska Highway 1, and my journey really began.

As I rolled over the mountains, glacial currents engulfed the valleys around the trees and rocks, weaving themselves proudly into the whole landscape, with the Wrangell Mountains sitting on the horizon. Arriving at Chitina Airport – a single strip of gravel – I turned my eyes to the shore and watched the Misa River flow, along with the locals dipping their nets and drowning their nets as the samaks roared in the current.

Getting to Wrangell St. Elias National Park, the largest national park in the world, is no easy task. One can drive a McCarthy Road, once known as the most dangerous road in America (and although this has become much better, many rental companies won’t let you), or fly a bush plane.

Naturally, I chose the bush plane.

The small 6-propeller plane, it seems, was built around World War II, flew into the sky, and circled in the mountains, over the Miss River, and the surrounding glaciers. This made me feel both giant and insignificant at the same time, as if I was looking at a model train set and at the same time as a reminder that I was / am in that small train model set.

Upon entering the town of McCarthy, things just got weird. The city was once a culprit town bordering Kennecott, and it was a large copper-mining town that was arguably one of America’s most advanced cities for a short time in the early 1900s. However, these days, McCarthy is something else. There is a small hotel, Ma Johnson, with shared bathrooms and no electricity (at least in the rooms), a restaurant and a bar – a local lounge, New The Golden Salon, where the local dogs roamed happily on the porch, while I celebrated the beer amid the constant attacks of mosquitoes.

When I ordered a burger there, the waitress anxiously asked me, “Do you want pink or not?” It just got more fun when my burger arrived and it wasn’t the pink I asked for.

But that, I realized the other day, is the attraction of the city, and perhaps of Alaska itself: you think you’re getting something, you’re thinking what you want – but the state seems like you’re actually after it.

For example, after walking a few miles from McCarthy and walking to the park, I was able to try the Root Glacier. I asked the guide if we could climb instead, but he said the ride was much better – and he was right. Walking along the glacier with crepton in boots, our guide led us to the waterfalls, the streams of freshly melted water that we filled and drank from the bottles of water, and the moulins (pools of glaciers) that were bluer than the sky above us. we did.

From McCarthy, I took the plane back to Chittagong and headed to the port town of Valdez, famous for its Valdez Exxon oil rig, from which it basically came into its own. As I climbed over the Chugach Range, waterfalls suddenly appeared, bordering on my vehicle, and a stream broke out of its gorge just a mile and a half away. Soon I was in a foggy, sleepy town bordering the Pacific Ocean and in the beautiful backdrop of the mountains in one hand.

Valdés is often known as a good place to go fishing if this is your sport, so when I entered the hotel, I was told to sign a contract stating that “I don’t process fish in the bath”. Apparently this had happened before and the smell was so bad that they had to remove and replace the entire appliance.

Unfortunately, I didn’t go fishing, but I passed the dock and saw large halibut hanging on the hangers and gave them fresh local halibut in burrito, po boys and just a simple film with lemon juice.

Instead of fishing, I spent my time on the Valdez kayak – first at sea. We paddled along the shore and watched the waterfalls line up in the neighboring mountains. Soon, two sea camels kindly swam past our kayaks and pointed at us, and a sea lion from the shore gave us a roaring look. The bald eagles circled over the fresh blue water, which was only visible when I dipped my shovel and walked a little faster.

My second kayak trip in the city took me to a lake far from the interior, which borders the Valdez Glacier Square. We paddled around the icebergs (Celine Dion was always in my head) and then rode our bikes to a local fish farm where sea lions played happily among the fresh salmon grazing upstairs. .

The next morning I boarded the ferry, which changed all the time of the trip, I think it might have been necessary. As we wandered around Prince William Sound, we saw plenty of glaciers swirling out of the water and on top of the mountains, and before I realized it, I was in Whittier, a town that was strangely located in one of the great apartment buildings. lives – the tunnel I was sure would fall on top of me and then back to Anchorage.

The largest city in Alaska is Anchorage as a reminder of where I was and where I went, i.e. home. While there is a city, there are still beautiful escape opportunities – a walk around the Alesca resort and a bike ride along the beach. There is also the Anchorage Museum, which is a must on the first or last day. The museum provides a well-thought-out history that is easily accessible to the state and showcases both 20th-century and contemporary art against each other, contrasting Alaska’s past and its connection to the Manifesto of Destiny and present ideas around the state, such as the importance of domestic cultures. land.

Alaska, I’ve been told before, and now I remember it’s a state of mind – only when your feet hit the ground hard, part of it gets lost. Because this connection with the land is shared by every inhabitant of the state. And if you spend enough time there, you’ll feel the same way – recognizing the evidence that locals love, like wildflowers, the meaning of tree signs, the flow of floods in a similar way to anyone else’s where I started. experienced. The connection is deeper than the surface if you want to sink it. And if you allow it, like me, you never want to leave.