From learning to pack raft in the Alaskan wilderness to perfecting the basics of backcountry skiing in Chamonix, we present the ultimate course catalog for a continuing education in the outdoors. Plus, four electives for crafting your own gear.

Kayaking 101

Instructor:
Tuition: $2,390

There may be no better place to learn how to whitewater kayak than this 37-year-old institution, hemmed in by 8,000-foot peaks on the shores of California鈥檚 remote Salmon River. Newbies taking the weeklong Beginner Kayaking class will learn to roll on the property鈥檚 ponds before progressing to the Class II鈥揑V Salmon or the mellower Klamath River. With one instructor for every three paddlers, you鈥檒l be on the water several hours a day (interrupted only by sushi lunches), learning strokes, river safety, and how to move downriver with the control of a water spider, as founder Peter Sturges says. By week鈥檚 end, attentive students should be able to handle themselves in Class III rapids.

Wilderness Survival 101

Instructor:
Tuition: $1,725

Carrying little more than a knife, clothes, and a water bottle, you鈥檒l move fast and light from the 11,000-foot alpine forest on Utah鈥檚 south-central Boulder Mountain down to the slickrock and slot canyons of Escalante country during BOSS鈥檚 seven-day Field Course. Along the way, seasoned guides will teach you how to make fire from friction, build shelter, and find water. BOSS offers classes ranging from three to 28 days, so you can go as deep as you want. Perhaps the most lasting lesson you鈥檒l learn isn鈥檛 a skill at all, but a deeper connection to the earth. 鈥淢any people come out of it feeling a shift in themselves,鈥� says Eli Loomis, the school鈥檚 executive director.

Mountain Biking 102

Instructor:
Tuition: $385

This two-day, women鈥檚-only mountain-biking skills camp combines top-notch instruction, a supportive atmosphere, and marquee locations such as Bend, Oregon, and Grand Targhee, Wyoming, without the macho competitive atmosphere. At its Lyndonville, Vermont, course, for instance, each morning begins with a few hours of small-group skills and drills. Novices might practice dropping off low boxes or learn how to drive the bike forward with their arms as well as their feet. One afternoon concludes with sessions on topics like flat repair, chain breaks, nutrition, and stretching, and the next day participants ride with instructors on the Kingdom Trails, which stretch 100 flowing miles through the state鈥檚 northeast corner.

Elective: Build Your Own Bike

After five days of instruction from famed frame builder Steve Garn, who鈥檚 been teaching the art for more than a decade, cyclists will leave in Boone, North Carolina, with a frame shaped completely by their own hands. Class size maxes out at two, and students can craft any style, no welding experience required. $1,675, materials included 鈥擜bbie Barronian

Wilderness Photography 200

Instructor:
Tuition: $900

Jackson, Wyoming, in late spring is the outdoor photographer鈥檚听Disneyland. Think wildflowers, majestic bison, and clouds exploding behind the snowcapped Tetons. You鈥檒l want a big lens and a tripod to capture it all at the workshops led by Cody Downard, a former photo editor and photographer for National Geographic 国产吃瓜黑料, Ski, and Bicycling. Exhaustive and demanding, the course will see you log about 20 hours of field time in two days, starting with predawn wake-up calls to shoot the sunrise at iconic spots such as Schwabacher鈥檚 Landing. A onetime Yellowstone park ranger, Downard knows some secret spots, too: 鈥淚n the spring, there鈥檚 a good chance we鈥檒l see grizzly bears.鈥�

Barbecue 201

Instructor:
Tuition: $495

If you want to learn the secret to Texas 鈥檆ue, you can鈥檛 do better than the Barbecue Summer Camp in College Station. It鈥檚 the most comprehensive hands-on hog-to-table study of the style. Over three days, university meat-science professors team up with stars from the Lone Star State鈥檚 barbecue scene to discuss everything from designing pits and learning 鈥渢he art of the smoke鈥� to brining basics, meat selection, marinades, and wood choice. Expect field trips to such locales as the smokehouse at in nearby Bryan for a chat and a meal with the pit master. Camp finishes with a poultry session that becomes your farewell lunch. You鈥檒l head home full.

Sailing 210 听听听

Instructor:
Tuition: $4,260

In just a week, Fast Track to Cruising gives landlubbers the knowledge to handle sailboats up to 50 feet in length in most weather conditions. The British Virgin Islands are an ideal classroom, with consistent winds pushing across clear, uncomplicated, and gorgeous waters. You鈥檒l learn the ropes, quite literally, at the tiller of a Colgate 26, a virtually unsinkable boat designed by school founder Steve Colgate that鈥檚 used to train midshipmen at the U.S. Naval Academy. Next, you and your instructor cast off in a much larger vessel for several days at sea. The week concludes with an overnight unsupervised sail. Pass muster and you get your bareboat certification, which allows you to skipper the big ones yourself.

Elective: Build Your Own Boat

The 12-foot Passagemaker dinghy offers a spirited sail and a straightforward build. First-timers can put it together in only five and a half days under the expert guidance of the instructors at , a floating museum and community space on Lake Union. Plus, there鈥檚 plenty of room to take it out for a spin. $2,175, materials included 鈥擜.B.

Bicycle Maintenance 200

Instructor:
Tuition: $1,050 听

Sure, you know how to change a flat, but what about repairing anything greasier? UBI鈥檚 weeklong Introduction to Bicycle Maintenance course gives you the chance to unleash your inner wrench without permanently screwing up your $3,000 Specialized in the process. The institute offers classes throughout the year in Portland and Ashland, Oregon. Each day students tackle the anatomy and repair of a different bike system. One day is devoted to wheels (tires, tubes, and hubs); the next focuses on the drivetrain (cranks, chain, bottom bracket, and pedals). Bring your battered Surly, and by Friday you鈥檒l have given it a complete overhaul. Pick Portland for the food and amazing craft brews, or take your full squish to Ashland鈥檚 clinic, where, when the final bell rings, flow tracks and chunky natural descents await just five minutes away.

Tiny-House Construction 201

Instructor:
Tuition: $400

Intrigued by the idea of retreating to your own hand-built tiny home, but don鈥檛 know where to start? At Tiny Home Builders鈥� two-day workshop, you鈥檒l learn all the essentials from Dan Louche, author of , while nailing together a portable Thoreauvian cabin in the woods. Topics include roofing, how to frame soundly enough to haul your house down the highway, and smart roofing. (鈥淲ater is the number-one destroyer of homes,鈥� says Louche.) Classes take place across the Southeast, but book the Asheville, North Carolina, session next summer and you can cast to rising brook trout on nearby Mills River, then talk about where you might fit a kegerator in your new home over a pint at one of the city鈥檚 32 breweries.
听

Surfing 220

Instructor:
Tuition: $1,220 听

Each day at this school in the small town of El Zonte, El Salvador, includes yoga and stretching, a breathing seminar, exercise routines, and a two-hour taped surf session with International Surfing Association鈥揷ertified coaches. Video analysis helps instructors tailor on-land training for students of all levels before honing their techniques in the skate park and lap pool. In three days, you鈥檒l master the sport鈥檚 seven essential maneuvers: bottom turns, carves, cutbacks, reentries, floaters, barrels, and airs. When school鈥檚 out, relax in the clifftop infinity pool at Puro鈥檚 13-room boutique hotel, grab some world-class ceviche at Beto鈥檚 Restaurante, or enjoy the backpacker bar scene and live music at La Guitarra in neighboring El Tunco. 鈥擜lexandra Talty

Elective: Build Your Own Surfboard

Coastal Maine breeds hardcore, weather-be-damned surfers, which is exactly why you should trust the folks at in York to help you shape a ride that鈥檚 up for anything. The company鈥檚 hollow boards are made from locally sourced wood and sport classic lines. At Grain鈥檚 four-day workshop, students can shape anything from a four-and-a-half-foot shortboard to a ten-foot longboard. $1,750, materials included 鈥擜.B.

Mountaineering and Pack Rafting 300

Instructor:
Tuition: $4,100

The only Alaskan adventure skills you won鈥檛 learn in this 12-day course are catching halibut and flying a bush plane. After meeting in tiny Talkeetna, you鈥檒l take a ski plane to the spectacular southern section of Denali National Park and set up camp on a glacier in an area climbers named Little Switzerland for its 8,000-foot peaks. You鈥檒l spend the first few days brushing up on your climbing skills and learning glacier travel, ropework, and crevasse rescue. Midweek you鈥檒l ascend 7,510-foot Italy鈥檚 Boot and burro your 50-pound pack to the Class II Tokositna River. Once there you鈥檒l tug on a paddling suit, inflate your pack raft, and bob 55 miles downstream until Talkeetna comes into view again.

Ski Touring 301

Instructor:
Tuition: $1,000

Ski touring can be daunting鈥�snow pits, probe poles, emergency beacons鈥攂ut during High Mountain Guides鈥� five-day intro course in the Alps, you鈥檒l learn the basics of safe and efficient backcountry travel. The week begins in Chamonix, France, with lift-accessed outings during which you鈥檒l work on fundamentals like managing transitions and laying an efficient skin track beneath the Mont Blanc massif. As your confidence grows, you鈥檒l ski Val Ferret, on the Italian side of the mountain, and spend a night at Rifugio Bonatti. There your guide will drip-feed information as you traverse a glacier before finishing with a classic Chamonix ski tour, such as the Col du Tour Noir on the Swiss border. If your time is limited, the company offers shorter clinics as well.

Saltwater Fly-Fishing 310

Instructor:
Tuition: $1,445 听

Sight-casting for tailing tarpon is fly-fishing鈥檚 ne plus ultra. It鈥檚 also fiendishly challenging. Head down to Islamorada, where Orvis and Florida Keys Outfitters demystify the art of stalking the saltwater shallows. After checking in to the stunning and historic Cheeca Lodge, you鈥檒l polish your technique with Truel Myers, one of the top casting instructors in the nation. The next two days, your guide will pole you into the bay surrounding the Everglades in a 20-foot flats skiff, teaching you the art of fly selection and how to sight and quickfire to the redfish and snook tucked among the mangroves and the ferocious tarpon in water no deeper than a backyard pool.

Elective: Build Your Own Fly Rod

Some of the most pristine water in Virginia flows through in the town of Syria. During the farm鈥檚 five-day course, students stay in cabins on the property, share meals, and spend their days learning from a master bamboo-rod builder. There鈥檚 also ample time to angle for the wild rainbow, brown, and brook trout that call the river home. $2,500, all-inclusive 鈥擜.B.

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The perfect summer cabin has plenty to do outside, like rock climbing, sea kayaking, or hiking straight from the door. But when the cabin itself is as cool as these鈥攖iny homes with secret locations or sleek huts on wheels in the high desert鈥攜ou may never want to leave. So pack a couple good books, turn off your phone, and enjoy a little time inside.

Snowbird Hut

Talkeetna Range, Alaska

Operated by the American Alpine Club and located deep in Alaska鈥檚 Talkeetna Mountains on Snowbird Glacier, the is a rustic backcountry cabin that sleeps听12 on basic wooden bunks. The AAC relocated and revamped the hut in 2010, but there鈥檚 still nothing fancy about it鈥攜ou鈥檒l cook on a two-burner stove and melt snow for drinking water. The nearby multipitch rock climbing, high-alpine peaks, and hut-to-hut traverses more than make up for the cabin鈥檚 simplicity. It鈥檚 free to stay here, but to reach the hut, you鈥檒l have to climb about five miles and 3,000 vertical feet.

Captain Whidbey Inn

Whidbey Island, Washington

Built in 1907, the historic , accessible via an 90 minute听drive and听30 minutes ferry ride from downtown Seattle, was purchased last year by the brothers behind California鈥檚 hip . They plan to revamp Captain Whidbey in a similar fashion, with a focus on turning the lodge into a gathering spot for locals and visitors. Book one of 12 rooms in the main building, or better yet, reserve one of four one-bedroom cabins with wood-burning fireplaces and private decks on the shores of Penn Cove (from $245). After a day of harvesting oysters or hiking the 100-plus miles of trails that wind around Whidbey Island, dig into a bowl of Penn Cove mussels in the inn鈥檚 dining room.

Blue Sky Center

New Cuyama, California

The is a nonprofit working to regenerate the land and communities in California鈥檚 rural Cuyama Valley, two hours from Los Angeles between the Sierra Madre and Caliente ranges. Part of that plan? Bring tourists to the area by offering five stunning architect-designed mobile huts听built with waterproof canvas walls that you can rent for a weekend in the high desert ($100 a night). There鈥檚 hiking in nearby Aliso Park and wildflower spotting at Carrizo Plain National Monument. The huts circle a shared fire pit and kitchen.

Getaway

Various Locations Around Boston, New York, and Washington, D.C.

The idea behind is magic. To give you the feel of an impromptu escape, the company will tell you where your cabin is located only after you鈥檝e booked it (from $125). Once you get there, you can lock your cellphone in a designated box and enjoy puzzles, board games, books, and activity guides for knot tying, stargazing, and more. The micro-cabins, from 140 to 200 square feet, come stocked with basic supplies like firewood, s鈥檓ores fixings, and a hot shower. Getaway recently opened new cabins in Virginia鈥檚 Shenandoah Valley.

Sierra Meadows

Ahwahnee, California

Located 20 miles from the south entrance to Yosemite National Park, this was recently converted into an event space with cabins and live music throughout summer. Choose from two-bedroom cabins with queen beds and bunks or the raindrop-shaped shelters with听queen beds and just 120 square feet (from $129). It鈥檚 hardly camping鈥攜ou鈥檒l get electricity and air conditioning inside your abode鈥攂ut it feels remote and wild. A shared bathhouse is a short walk away, and your cabin comes equipped with a shower tote, towel, and bathrobes.

Campera Hotel

Valle de Guadalupe, Baja

If you want to sleep under the stars without dealing with bugs, rain, or heat, then , just two hours south of San Diego, is for you. The ten French-designed clear bubbles, located on a vineyard in one of Mexico鈥檚 top wine-growing regions, come with air conditioning and a protective sphere听to keep the elements at bay without interrupting your view of the night sky (from $165). Taste wine from grapes grown right outside your bubble.

Tops鈥檒 Farm

Waldoboro, Maine

At , choose from a luxury canvas tent, a charming A-frame cabin, or a two-bedroom cottage, all nestled on 83 acres of farmland on the shores of Maine鈥檚 Medomak River (from $125). By day, paddleboard or kayak along the state's Mid-Coast, forage for blueberries, hike to a secret swimming hole, or barbecue on the sand at nearby Pemaquid Beach. Book ahead and you can request French press coffee, homemade doughnuts, eggs, local potatoes, farm veggies, and a cast-iron skillet delivered to your site for breakfast each morning.

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In the July issue of 国产吃瓜黑料, Stephanie Pearson lays out the ultimate Alaskan road trip, from the jagged peaks of the Talkeetna Mountains to the moose-laden beauty of Denali National Park. To help you along the way, we’ve put together some step-by-step directions, laid out in the map below. Just remember to look at the road every once in a while.

View in a larger map

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One of the reasons I love Alaska is that almost every conversation between skiers, hunters, whitewater enthusiasts, fishermen, or mountaineers ends up being a discussion about the state. If you start out talking about kayaking the Everglades, you’ll soon be discussing a paddling trip up through the Inside Passage of Southeast Alaska. And if you’re chatting about striped bass in Montauk, it won’t be long before the conversation progresses to the salmon runs of the Yukon River. It’s like a law of nature: Alaska is the final word on everything outdoors, the exclamation point at the end of every adventurous sentence.

Map

Alaska

Maybe it has something to do with its size. I keep a large topographical map of the state pinned to the wall of my bedroom. A lot of times I’ll be in the middle of some mundane task, like picking up clothes or making the bed, and I’ll catch myself just staring at it. My eyes will drift westward to Umnak Island, way out toward the tip of the Aleutian archipelago, in the Bering Sea. Then they’ll move across the map in an upward diagonal direction to where the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge takes in the Romanzof Mountains. The distance between those points is about 1,400 miles, roughly the distance from New York City to Houston. When staring at the map, I’m often visited by an overwhelming sense of bewilderment and lust. Before I can go back to whatever I was doing, I select some point on the map and make myself a promise: Someday I’m going to visit that spot.

Fulfilling these promises is not always easy. A few years ago, I had a chance to visit one of the most remote points in the state (and, therefore, one of the most remote points in North America). First I caught a commercial flight from Anchorage to Fairbanks. There I climbed into the co-pilot’s seat of a single-engine propellor plane hauling geological supplies to a camp on the Arctic tundra. Three hours after flying over the Yukon River, we landed on a gravel airstrip next to a helicopter pad and a tent. I was now 160 miles from the nearest road, which was dirt. Then I took a half-hour helicopter flight, and after flying over three of the state’s approximately 10,000 wolves and two of its 30,000 grizzlies, we reached our destination. I thought about how we usually travel in order to become intimate with new places. But when traveling in Alaska, any sense of physical intimacy is counterbalanced by a landscape that is gloriously incomprehensible.

I’ve been hanging around in Alaska since my brother took a position as an ecologist at the University of Alaska Anchorage in 2000. During the past decade of adventures, I’ve experienced a litany of things that constitute my own personal biggest, best, and baddest. I had my closest brush with death while floating down the Chetaslina River in a leaky drysuit after a buffalo hunt, hanging from the side of an inflatable pack raft loaded with more than 300 pounds of meat in the sub-freezing temperatures of an October night. I had my most startling moment in the Chugach Mountains when my partner came rolling and screaming downhill after getting zapped in the shoulder by a porcupine that was hidden in an alder. I had my most nerve-racking moment at sea while motoring a small skiff with my brother through the current-ripped passages of Southeast Alaska last December; it was perfectly dark at 4 p.m., and we hit a submerged log that knocked out the engine and caused a surge of water to crash over the bow. And I was most blown away by the beauty of the earth when I crested a divide in the Alaska Range and looked out over a corrugated landscape of rock and ice that had turned freakishly red in the sunlit smoke of a distant tundra fire.

There’s no need to be intimidated by such tales. Believe it or not, you can ease into Alaska. The first step is to name your desire. Start with something specific: You want to gawk upward at Denali, North America’s highest peak; or you want to watch beluga whales gorge on migrating salmon during the high tide in Turnagain Arm, near Anchorage; or you want to hear the eerie, catlike meow of a rutting moose on the Kenai Peninsula.

From there, one thing will lead to another. A few years ago, I went on a fishing trip to Prince of Wales Island, in Southeast Alaska. The labyrinthine coasts of the islands and fjords continued to haunt my imagination when I got home. Before I could return, I’d become the proud owner of a cabin on the island. It sits on pilings over the confluence of a mountain stream and the ocean. It is accessible only by boat or floatplane. The creek has a salmon run. Needless to say: If you start talking to me about cabins, you can see where the discussion will lead.

鈥擲teven Rinella

Denali National Park and Preserve

The Sell: Climbing the tall one; hiking in solitude
Rumor has it that on an Alaska Airlines flyby of 20,320-foot Denali, one Texas passenger asked a flight attendant why the mountain had superhighways leading up to it. The glacial moraines do look a little like an interstate on the massive peak, which dwarfs all others in the 600-mile Alaska Range. But there’s a lot more to this six-million-acre park than a big hunk of granite. It’s one of the only spots in the world where you can ride a bus, get off, hike a few miles in, and have a 20-square-mile swath of wilderness to yourself. Few cars are allowed on the single 91-mile gravel artery, so campers and mountaineers have to hoof it, bike it, or watch the rutting moose from the comfort of the bus.

Outfitted: On ‘s ten-day, entry-level Alaska Seminar, there’s a three-to-one client-to-guide ratio, ensuring that you’ll always have an expert on hand to help you with the basics of mountaineering: knot tying, crevasse rescue, ice climbing, route finding, and deciphering big-mountain weather. Complete this mid-May course on Denali’s Kahiltna Glacier and you’ll be prepared for a guided summit bid ($2,400).

DIY: Denali has six designated along the park road, most of which you can reserve in advance ($9 per night). For backcountry campers, there are no designated sites and no advance reservations. Just show up at the , at the park’s north entrance, and a ranger will help you plot your course, give you a free permit, assign you a bear container, and give you the mandatory safety talk about food storage, river crossings, and how to avoid hypothermia ($10 park entrance fee per person). If hot meals and a bed sound better, reserve a cabin at Camp Denali. Built in 1951 and sitting on 67 acres with views to 11 major peaks in the Alaska Range, predates the existing park. The 18 hand-built cabins, with homemade quilts, fireplaces, and meticulously kept outhouses, are like a Hollywood version of frontier life. Hike with one of the expert naturalists, borrow one of the camp’s bikes and ride the park road, or wet your fly line in a pretty creek. Wind down with a meal from the camp’s organic greenhouse and on-site bakery (three nights, $1,515).

Wild Card: It’s technically south of the park, but if you want a blowout high-alpine adventure in sight of Denali, head to . Customize all sorts of adventure using this luxurious lodge on the shores of Judd Lake as your base camp: Heli-fish for trophy trout, heli-hike near active volcanoes, climb granite crags, or paddleboard among icebergs near Strandline Glacier ($1,300 for two days/one night, including internal air from Anchorage; plus guided activity fees).

Yukon-Charley Rivers National Preserve

The Sell: Paddling the frontier
Jack London, the 1880s Klondike gold rush, the Yukon Quest dogsled race鈥攆ew wild spaces hold more historical cachet than this wide-open, undulating, 2.5-millon-acre hunk of tundra 125 miles east of Fairbanks. In August, when the mosquitoes die off and the temperatures drop from 90-degree highs, the mighty Yukon River (which is a relatively easy float as long as you stay upright in your canoe) turns into an Alaska-style freeway. History and river buffs paddle the silty, 50-degree water from the historic town of Eagle to see abandoned gold dredges, endangered peregrine falcons in the limestone bluffs, and caribou from the Fortymile herd on the hillside.

Outfitted: You’re in for a wild ride on the Charley, the most under-the-radar whitewater trip in Alaska鈥攊t’s so off the map that this Yukon-tributary river feels almost exploratory. Raft it in a 16-foot SOAR inflatable canoe with . The first two days you’ll ride the Charley’s Class III water, with time to spin-cast for grayling (bring your own fishing gear) and eat delicious camp grub like chorizo-scramble burritos. After the Charley spits you into the Yukon, you’ll paddle the wide river for two to three days, the first night bellying up to the stove at Slaven’s Roadhouse, a pit stop on the Yukon Quest ($3,650, including transportation to/from Fairbanks; $300 discount for 国产吃瓜黑料 readers).

DIY: Fly 90 minutes from Fairbanks to Eagle on ($170 each way), then rent a sturdy Old Town canoe from for a five-to-six-day, 165-mile paddle on the Yukon ($195, plus $20 return fee). You’ll see fox, moose, and grizzlies (or at least their scat). Camp on gravel bars or islands, or stay in one of five free National Park Service public-use cabins, equipped with bunks, stoves, and outhouses (first come, first served; no fee). The in Eagle can help you with logistics. Warbelow’s will fly you back to Fairbanks from Circle, the end of the line ($99 each way).

Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Preserve

The Sell: Wilderness on steroids
The largest national park in the U.S., 200 miles east of Anchorage, is six times the size of Yellowstone and has 14,185 square miles of designated wilderness and a glacier the size of Rhode Island. It also contains four mountain ranges鈥攖he Chugach, Wrangell, St. Elias, and the eastern part of the Alaska Range鈥攏ine of the 16 highest peaks in the country, and most of the largest mammals in the U.S., including grizzlies and black bears, woodland bison, mountain goats, caribou, and moose. If you’re a competent backcountry traveler and love to explore in a kayak or hike with a fully loaded 5,000-cubic-inch pack, this park’s for you.

Outfitted: Go where no man has gone before on ‘s eight-day St. Elias kayaking expedition. This unique itinerary, designed for experienced kayakers and campers, starts in Yakutat. From there you’ll fly to a spot near the Malaspina Glacier and get dropped off in the middle of nowhere for an eight-day tour of the fjords and mountain valleys of the St. Elias Mountains, the highest coastal range in the world. Route conditions change from year to year, so there is no set course. Trust your guides and the fact that they’ve packed enough chocolate to get you through any hardship, but don’t expect them to schlep your boat鈥攁 folding Klepper kayak鈥攊n and out of the water ($2,945, including internal air).

DIY: If testing your backcountry know-how hundreds of miles from humanity sounds like your idea of a vacation, consider Wrangell Mountain Air’s Southern Park Traverse. A single-engine Beaver plane will drop you off near Iceberg Lake (elevation 3,200 feet), the start of a 12-to-14-day, 90-some-mile self-guided odyssey鈥攖here are no trails in these parts. You’ll cross a glacier or trek up to the snow line at 7,000 feet. No matter where you go, the territory is untracked. will arrange for a mid-trip food drop and will pick you up at the end, but otherwise you’re on your own ($430 per person; optional food drop, $420).

Southeast Alaska

The Sell: Paddling the wet wilds
A short 2.5-hour hop from Seattle, Juneau averages 54 inches of rain per year. All that precip makes this a nutrient-rich haven for whales, dolphins, sea otters, porpoises, sharks, and other marine life. Southeast Alaska is an ideal spot for families, fishermen, and aspiring marine biologists. There are few roads leading out of Juneau, so an outgoing Cessna is your access pass. Your likely fellow passengers: a bearded commercial fisherman wearing a Deadliest Catch cap, an expedition kayaker, or a thrill-seeking retiree looking to ditch the “newlyweds, overfeds, and almost-deads” on the cruise ships.

Outfitted: , an 84-foot sweetheart of a yacht, ranks high in the most-luxurious-way-to-see-Alaska category. With in-suite showers, an aft cockpit with a teak dining table, a top sundeck, and a swim and fishing platform, there’s not a chance you’ll get claustrophobic. Weather depending, Captain Michael Mills recommends one of eight weeklong routes between Juneau and Sitka, all of which allow you to kayak, get close to bears and marine life, watch glaciers calve, and catch your own dinner when the fishing’s good ($10,000 per two-person cabin, all-inclusive).

DIY: For a self-guided Alaskan initiation, paddle . Rent a kayak from park concessionaire , then launch from the beach in front of Glacier Bay Lodge for a 55-plus-mile paddle up the bay to the Carroll, Rendu, Margerie, or Johns Hopkins glaciers ($45 per day). Or get among the ice and wildlife鈥攂ears, coyotes, wolves, sea lions, porpoises, humpback whales, and myriad fish and bird species鈥攂y hopping aboard ‘s high-speed catamaran, which will transport you and your kayak to a designated drop-off site, then pick you up a week or so later at another designated site across the bay ($115.50 each way). For your final night in the park, save enough cash to splurge on a room with a hot shower and a view, followed by a feast of the freshest salmon you’ll ever eat, at (doubles from $199).

Wild Card: Surfing in Alaska? Nominally sane surfers head to Yakutat. Within 15 minutes of stepping off Alaska Airlines Flight 61 from Seattle, you’ll be trolling the coastline for the perfect break. May, June, and September are the best months to find rideable waves, but be prepared for water temps in the upper forties. Jack Endicott, at , rents boards ($20 for fiberglass; $30 for a stand-up paddleboard).

Lake Clark and Katmai National Parks

The Sell: Safari northern style
Ask an Alaskan what the most underrated national park in the state is and he’ll likely answer Lake Clark, just an hour’s flight west of Anchorage. The four-million-acre park’s active volcanoes, abundant salmon, healthy brown bear population, and frothing rivers and waterfalls make it the perfect spot for folks who want to hunker down in a lodge to fish or just plain gawk at the mind-blowing scenery. Tack on an hourlong flight from Anchorage to KatmaiNational Park, home to over 1,000 brown bears (one of the world’s largest protected populations), and your eyes will be popping out of their sockets.

Outfitted: Called the “Cadillac of bear trips,” ‘ Alaska-centric trip is the voyage of choice for BBC, Discovery Channel, and Imax cameramen who want four days of intense bear interaction. From mid-June to late August, guests fly from Kodiak to the Shelikof Strait to board a converted tugboat equipped with simple bunk rooms. You’ll cruise 50 to 60 miles along the Katmai coast for an average of 20 bear sightings per day. This trip isn’t for the fainthearted; you’ll land on the beach and get alarmingly close to the big guys ($3,750, flight from Kodiak included).

DIY: Lake Clark National Park’s is a surprisingly easy way to immerse yourself in wildest Alaska for a weekend. An hourlong flight from Anchorage’s Lake Hood drops you at the lodge, on nine-mile-long Crescent Lake, which sits at the base of active, 10,197-foot Redoubt Volcano. Spend your days casting for silver or sockeye salmon, staring down a 600-pound brown bear, or enjoying a glass of wine from a hot tub that overlooks the lake. As appealing as the surroundings: chef and co-manager Heather Richards’s cooking, guide Andrew Sells’s encyclopedic knowledge of fishing, and your own cozy cabin ($1,245 for one-night stay, $1,845 for two, including round-trip bush flight with Rust’s Flying Service and food).

Wild Card: Twitchers go nuts for ‘ eight-day Adak Trip, in the Aleutian Islands, the volcanic arm that extends west into the Bering Sea from Katmai National Park. The reason: You’re technically in North America, but can still tick numerous vagrants from Asia that blow off-course鈥攍ike the whooper swan, the falcated duck, and the black-tailed godwit鈥攐ff your life list. Your unconventional digs: converted condos on a decommissioned World War II military base ($4,400).

Anchorage

The Sell: Easy-access wilderness
There’s a reason the phrase “I [heart] the Chugach National Forest” adorns the bumpers of so many cars in Anchorage. With this 5.4-million-acre playground (the least-roaded national forest in the nation) in their backyard, trophy king salmon fishing on the Kenai Peninsula’s Russian River, just a few hours south (watch out; it’s a zoo in July), and some of the best skiing on the planet just a 35-minute heli-flight away, the 60 percent of Alaskans who live in this “urban” area are happy to leave the rest of the state to the bears.

Outfitted: have been making ski-porn fantasies come true for 17 years. The season is short鈥攍ate February through early May鈥攂ut if you’re an advanced-to-expert skier and want to ski like the pros, this trip’s for you. Guests are guaranteed 30 heli-accessed runs in the heart of the Chugach Mountains, each one averaging 4,000 feet of vertical. All of this is just a 35-minute flight or a five-hour drive from Anchorage. At $7,640, it’s not cheap, but the price tag includes seven nights at the waterfront Valdez Harbor Inn, breakfast, lunch, a four-to-one client-to-guide ratio, and avalanche safety gear. There are three-day trips for $3,310.

DIY: Hop on the Alaska Railroad’s brand-new, low-emission, diesel-propelled rail car in downtown Anchorage and ride the train a few hours south along the Turnagain Arm to a new hike-in campground, with a close-up view of Spencer Glacier. Paddle a native-style dugout canoe out to the calving ice or take a whitewater raft ride down the Placer River with ($202, train tickets and picnic lunch included). Back in town, crash at the (doubles from $119).

Wild Card: In July and August, close to 50,000 salmon sharks swarm to Prince William Sound, near Valdez, in search of kings, silvers, and pinks. Seven to eleven feet long, weighing up to 400 pounds, and with the ability to swim up to 50 miles per hour, the salmon shark is in the same family as the great white, fights like a marlin, and tastes like swordfish. Go catch one with , whose $600 daily rate includes lodging at the only B&B in Valdez, meals, and your guide.

The Brooks Range

The Sell: Unmitigated solitude. And caribou.
If you haven’t read John McPhee’s , go get it. McPhee captures the remarkable remoteness of this pristine region, one of the least-visited places in the state, where massive caribou herds roam, six Wild and Scenic rivers flow, and there are no trails or roads. It’s a place where you’re likely to see a wolf stalking a line of caribou ten miles long. At the heart of this eight-million-acre protected area is Gates of the Arctic National Park, one of the crown jewels of the NPS system, perfect for river trips and backpacking. It’s so out there that it can be difficult to navigate on your own, so we recommend plugging into one of the following expert outfitters.

Outfitted: In August, spends ten days trying to catch up with the 400,000-strong Western Arctic caribou herd on the Nigu River. You may not see a half-million caribou at once, but there’s almost always a steady flow of between ten and 100 animals feeding on the willows along the river or roaming the hills, nose to butt. Riddled with Eskimo ruins dating back thousands of years, the Class II鈥損lus Nigu starts in Gates of the Arctic, then leaves the park and flows through glacial moraines. The gravelly ridges are ideal for all-day hikes into the Arctic landscape. At the end of the day, you’ll enjoy a good glass of boxed wine with chili and homemade cornbread鈥攁 warming antidote to the massive terrain ($4,400, including internal air from Fairbanks).

Outfitted: Photographers who want to skip the float and focus on the caribou herds and blazing fall tundra should plan on ‘ Fall Caribou Basecamp trip, August 24鈥�30. You’ll set up camp at a high lake in the Endicott Mountains, in the northwest corner of the park, then fan out along the tundra to watch the caribou (and likely grizzlies, black bears, and wolves) stream by as the Northern Lights eventually flare up the Indian summer sky. The trip is as out there as it gets, but you’re in good hands: Owner Jim Campbell and his partner, Carol Kasza, have been guiding here for more than 30 years ($3,575, including internal air from Fairbanks).

Arctic National Wildlife Refuge

The Sell: Inupiat culture and wildlife
An increasingly threatened 19.2 million acres of solitude covering seven ecological zones, this region spans 250 miles north to south, entirely above the Arctic Circle. Pro-oil interests are always itching to drill the estimated 5.7 to 16 billion barrels of oil here. Yes, that’s a lot of crude, but this largest roadless refuge in the U.S. is also a haven for the centuries-old Inupiat culture, grizzlies, polar bears, moose, musk oxen, and caribou. With just one Inupiat village, 125 miles of Arctic Ocean coastline, and the remaining refuge one big wide-open space for large beasts to roam, there are plenty of ways to get into the wild here鈥攕o long as you have access to a plane and are comfortable navigating rivers by canoe and trail-less tundra on foot.

Outfitted: Think African-style river safari through frozen tundra. ‘s ANWR trip takes you up and over the jagged 9,000-plus-foot Brooks Range to the treeless North Slope, where you’ll start a ten-day journey toward the Arctic Ocean via the silty Canning River, one of the most remote river systems in North America. In the dead heat of an Alaskan summer (which means T-shirt and shorts during the day and 24 hours of daylight), you’ll watch the thousands-strong Porcupine caribou herd migrate across the water, while ospreys and other predator birds circle above. You’ll likely see a few musk oxen, grizzlies, and moose, too, but the line of sight is so endless, there’s no need for fear. The A&K guides won’t have linen tablecloths, but you will have bacon-filled omelets for breakfast and fine wines with dinner. Still hungry? Get your fly rod out and fish for grayling, trout, and arctic char ($7,000, including round-trip flight to Arctic Village from Fairbanks).

DIY: For a sweeping overview of this solitary, wide-open space, start your backpacking trip at Spring Creek, a tributary of the Junjik River on the southern flank of the Brooks Range, then trek on caribou trails over the Continental Divide on Carter Pass to the Marsh Fork of the Canning River, on the north side of the Brooks Range. You’ll ford snowy creekbeds and camp in sites with 50-mile views, which will likely include a lot of caribou, moose, and grizzlies. Dirk Nickisch and Danielle Tirrell, owners of , will help you fine-tune your plans and fly you from Coldfoot to the dropoff in their DeHavilland Beaver, which fits five people with backpacking gear. They’ll pick you up five days later ($3,788 round-trip). In Coldfoot, camp at the , five miles north of town ($9).

Wild Card: Travel out of time and fully immerse yourself in a subsistence wayof life with ‘ overnight polar-bear-viewing trip to Kaktovik. The only village in ANWR, 260 miles above the Arctic Circle, Kakto颅vik is the ultimate spot to view how the Inupiat and polar bears have relied on whale for thousands of years ($2,299).

Pack Heavy

The four topics Alaskans are most tired of discussing? ANWR, Sarah Palin, Christopher McCandless, and Timothy Treadwell. You’d be wise to avoid them. You’d also be wise to pack these essentials:Five more pairs of socks than you think you need, because most of the time your feet will be damp, wet, or drenched. We like ‘s PhD Outdoor Medium Crew ($22).Alaskans wear rubber boots. Pick up a pair of 100 percent waterproof, insulated, plain-toe rubber XTRA TUF boots ($98). Buy an additional pair of felt liners.If you’re heading deep into the backcountry, rent an Iridium Satellite Phone for $50 per week through .听听($6) covers every critter you’ll find.Four nine-ounce, 15 percent deet spray bottles per person. Like everything in Alaska, mosquitoes are outsize.Even if you don’t mean for your gear to get wet, it will. ‘ SealLine Black Canyon drybags are watertight, extra-tough, and PVC-free. Available in five-to-55-liter sizes ($20 to $55).If you still haven’t found your Alaska trip, visit . The former concierge can custom-fit any trip down to the species of fish you want to catch.

Stories of the North

Tales of Alaskan adventure.

The High Way
There is more to a bush flight than a glimpse of granite and glacier. It’s the company. The best pilots won’t just shock you with yaw and sway you with pitch; they’ll also weave you a story of aviators, explorers, wilderness, and geology. I started flying onto Denali in 1986. By ’88 I was guiding on the mountain and was catching rides out of Talkeetna with a living legend. Cliff Hudson, who’d gone into the business in 1946, was the quintessential Alaskan bush pilot, and I felt fortunate to see him at work. My luck continued as I formed a friendship with his son, Jay, who took over chief pilot duties at Hudson Air Service. In December, Jay died at age 52 from cancer. He and I had spent 20 years building genuine respect for one another. My preference has always been to go at the very end of the normal climbing season, in July. But by then, most Talkeetna pilots have switched to freshly showered tourists who don’t require landings on skis uphill in the snow. I figured Jay would quit climbers altogether at some point, but he said that such awkward flights鈥攂e they for climbers, fishermen, or folks in the bush needing their mail鈥攚ere the guts of his family business and always would be. Some years, I’d conspire to get that last flight off the mountain all by myself with Jay. I wouldn’t require a big tour on the trip back, and he wouldn’t require a blow-by-blow of the three-week climb. Sure, I’d ask him what it had been like controlling a plane at age eight or getting his pilot’s license at 16. And I’d nibble politely about how he could live so far from everything. But often I’d just shut up and enjoy the company, the amazing Alaskan summer sun, and the world spinning oh-so smoothly beneath Jay Hudson’s trusty Cessna 206 Turbo.

鈥�Dave Hahn听

Kings of All That
Fishermen are a foolhardy bunch鈥攏owhere more so than in Alaska. With good reason: Alaska is the piscatory promised land. Piggish rainbows, overeager grayling, freight-train-like salmon鈥攖hey’re all here. And they’re all equally fun to catch. That is, of course, with one exception: king salmon. In Alaska, kings are king, and landing one on a fly, possible in only a few places, is the pinnacle of sport. Last June, at Deneki Outdoors’ Alaska West tent camp ($4,900 per person, includes lodging, food, and guided fishing;http:// ), a remote fly-in camp on the banks of the Kanektok River, in western Alaska, the kings were running, and so was I. In three days, I hooked two but landed neither. Another fisherman in camp, an 85-year-old named John, had been trying to catch a king for 12 straight days, coming within an arm’s length of success. In the course of his pursuit, John’s face had become sunburnt, and by the 12th day, when he announced he’d had enough, his skin was peeling like a snake’s. But the next morning, John got up, lathered himself in sunscreen, and hit the water again. He hooked two kings…and landed both. After returning home, he planned a four-week trip for the following summer.

鈥�Ryan Krogh听听

Travel Advisory
Little-known fact: Along with grizzlies and moose, Alaska’s wilderness teems with another highly specialized charismatic megafauna: Polaris romanticus, more commonly known as the Alaska Romeo. An exquisitely adapted bipedal mammal, Romeos survive by latching on to lower-48ers for a single summer at a time, sustaining themselves on wide-eyed dreams of wilderness living. In our small town, for instance, there’s one storied female Romeo whose cabin was built entirely by lower-48ers: First she hooked up with a visiting carpenter, then an electrician, and so forth. Then there’s the Romeo whose annual hookups comprise his fishing crew. A sure sign of summer: the sight of his boat headed out with a freshly minted girlfriend (or, some years, two) perched on the bow. It’s possible for visitors to safely interact with P. romanticus, provided they use common sense and follow a few simple rules.

What to look for: Sun-bleached, wind-whipped hair, horizon-gazing eyes, rosy complexion, ripped Carhartts. Other identifying marks: a devil-may-care smile, a mid-1980s Subaru. Habitat: Fishing boats, saunas, and cabins in need of constant upkeep (often provided by willing lower-48ers). Both males and females reach peak maturity in their mid-forties; a few have even stayed active into their sixties. They gravitate to vague, seasonal jobs such as “fish counter” or “volunteer fireman.”

What to do: Be aware that late-summer evenings are P. romanticus’s prime hunting time. Twenty daily hours of sunlight frequently leaves lower-48ers dazed, blissful, and vulnerable. Avoid displaying bright, shiny objects, like rental cars, credit cards, and hotel-room keys. Also avoid demonstrating potentially useful skills, like wood splitting or clam digging. If a Romeo should display over颅aggressive behavior, it’s recommended to employ either pepper spray or a sentence beginning with the phrase “When we’re married…” Both work equally well.

鈥�Daniel Coyle

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1. Havasu Falls, Supai, Arizona Hike two miles to this perfect turquoise pool, with year-round 72-degree water, in Havasu Canyon.

2. Johnson’s Shut-Ins, Reynolds County, Missouri Rock towers create dozens of small pools on the East Fork of the Black River.
3. Bass Lake, Point Reyes National Seashore, California Follow the Coast Trail two and a half miles to a freshwater dunk hole that stays sunny even on the foggiest days.
4. Calf Creek Falls, Utah The perfect desert oasis: a perennial waterfall and round, shaded pool.
5. Redfish Lake, Stanley, Idaho Laze on the south-shore beach and enjoy huge views of the Sawtooth Range.
6. Barton Springs, Austin, Texas A chilly 1,000-foot-long spring-fed pool in Austin’s Zilker Park.
7. Walden Pond, Concord, Massachusetts After an impressive preservation effort, our most literary pond is definitely worth a dip.
8. Big Bend, Petersburg, West Virginia Try a lazy float on this hour-long river loop, on the South Branch of the Potomac.
9. Oregon Creek, California A stair-stepping series of pools in the Sierra, north of Nevada City, with plenty of natural, water-carved Jacuzzis.
10. Peekamoose Blue Hole, Sundown, New York Rondout Creek rushes through a gap in the rock to form this refreshing forest pond.

The Wild-Water Life List

We know you want your fair share of life’s peak moments—and you want to get good and wet along the way—so we’ve thoughtfully prioritized our ten favorite liquid adventures in the United States

It’s number one! The Grand Canyon of the Colorado

1. Raft the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, Arizona Plunge into 277 miles of Class I-V whitewater and spectacular red rocks. Get on the 12-year waiting list for individual permits (800-959-9164, ) or sign up with an outfitter like Canyoneers Inc. (800-525-0924, ).
2. Paddle the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, Minnesota Nearly a thousand interconnected lakes and streams dot this million-acre north-woods wilderness. For maps and permits, contact the BWCAW (877-550-6777, ).
3. Snorkel in Dry Tortugas National Park, Florida Set sail for seven white-sand islets and miles of coral reefs in the Gulf of Mexico. Go with Ocean Voyages (800-299-4444, ).
4. Learn to Surf at Waikiki Beach, Hawaii It’s a kitschy and overdeveloped beach, yes, but punch your surf ticket on the slow rollers off Oahu’s leeward shore before braving Pipeline. Check out Hans Hedemann Surf School (808-924-7778, ).
5. Sea-kayak the San Juan Islands, Washington Island-hop among the orcas. Call Outdoor Odysseys (800-647-4621, ).
6. Paddle the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, Idaho Float 100 miles through the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness. Check out Middle Fork Wilderness Outfitters (800-726-0575, ).
7. Sail the Maine Island Trail, Maine Explore spruce-shaded islands and craggy coastline on this 325-mile route from Portland to the Canadian border. For details, contact the Maine Windjammer Association (800-807-9463, ).
8. Raft and Fly-fish the Talkeetna River, Alaska Fish for king salmon, then hunker down for a 14-mile Class IV ride. Go with Keystone Raft and Kayak 国产吃瓜黑料s (907-835-2606, ).
9. Canoe the Okefenokee Swamp, Georgia Float between gators in southeastern Georgia’s lush 400,000-acre wilderness. The Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge (912-496-7836, ) can provide details.
10. Kayak the Apostle Islands, Wisconsin Paddle around 21 unspoiled Lake Superior islands. Try Piragis Northwoods Outfitting (800-223-6565, ).

The Sweetest Beaches

1. Shi Shi Beach, Olympic National Park, Washington One of the most remote wilderness beaches in the lower 48—it’s a 13-mile hike from Olympic’s Ozette River trailhead—these two miles of sand are studded with sea stacks, giant driftwood, and tidepools teeming with starfish.
2. Coronado Beach, San Diego, California Running along Ocean Boulevard, this wide, palm-lined strand is a great spot to set up a lawn chair, pop a lime in your Pacifico, and watch the pink-and-purple sun sink slowly into the sea.
3. Sanibel Island, Florida Periwinkles, whelks, calico scallops, and cockles abound on Sanibel, one of the best shelling grounds in the world.
4. Poipu Beach, Kauai, Hawaii Watch for monk seals, sea turtles, and loads of flashy fish at Hawaii’s premier snorkeling spot.
5. Cape Hatteras, North Carolina Some of the best windsurfing, fishing, crabbing, clamming, and sand dunes on the East Coast can be found here.
6. Jasper Beach, Machiasport, Maine You’ll find bald eagles, sandpipers, and puffins at this bird-watching hot spot. 7. Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, Michigan Enormous sand dunes hundreds of feet high provide spectacular views across Lake Michigan.
8. Agate Beach, Patrick’s Point State Park, California Search for petrified wood, agates, coastal jade, and other semiprecious stones.
9. Bandon Beach, Oregon Rent a cabin for the night and watch the clouds gather at the storm-watching capital of the United States.
10. Barking Sands Beach, Kauai, Hawaii Welcome to the world’s noisiest beach, where the sand squeaks with every step you take.

Pure Perfection

Purity done the Oregon way

Trying to determine which U.S. lake is the cleanest is a nearly impossible task—there are hundreds of variables and no official databases. But we decided to give it a shot. And the crown goes to Oregon’s CRATER LAKE. Our reasons? For one thing, there’s the water clarity. On its best days, 1,943-foot-deep Crater is as clear as a shot of Tanqueray: You can peer down 142 feet into its blue depths. And since there are no tributaries flowing into or out of the 13,760-acre basin—which is fed almost exclusively by the 533 inches of snow caught by its namesake crater each year—little sediment or contamination gets in. Added bonus: The lake’s remote location, in southwest Oregon, keeps weekend warriors away from this national park. You won’t find jet skis here; only six boats—four tour ferries and two research vessels—are allowed on the water. Visitors can hike down from the crater rim to the shore for an icy dip (the lake hovers around 50 degrees in the summer), but the best way to experience the lake is to find a warm rock overlooking the water and let the view clear your mind.

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“Bear!” yells Tommy Moe. The downhill skier who won Olympic gold in 1994 in Lillehammer sounds the alarm from his safety kayak as he leads our paddle raft down a particularly narrow stretch of winding creek deep in the bush of south-central Alaska. We’re on a Talkeetna River tributary called Prairie Creek, and it’s so slim here that the overhanging thicket of alders, fireweed, and devil’s club on the banks scrapes our raft on both sides. A grizzly lurking in this tangle could smack any of the four of us——lead guide Mike Overcast, Overcast’s girlfriend Abbie, me, and a gym teacher from Ohio—out of the boat with one easy swipe.

But Ursus horribilis, it turns out, is straight ahead downriver—a hulking male fishing on all fours. Moe throws his kayak sideways across the current and shouts “Hyeah! Get out of here, Bear! Hyeah!” But the six-and-a-half-foot-tall griz doesn’t flinch. From the raft we join Moe’s bellowing as Overcast furiously backpaddles. We hover close enough that I can see the matted clumps in the bear’s shaggy, pale brown coat. Then, in one smooth motion, the bear lopes easily into the brush and is gone from sight.
Moe, 30, who has been a part-time Alaskan and kayaker since he was 11, and childhood pal Overcast have owned and operated Class V Whitewater, a rafting business in Girdwood, Alaska, that specializes in high-voltage river runs, since 1992. The Talkeetna—which, wildlife willing, our group plans to run—is one of their favorites among the countless Alaskan rivers they’ve paddled. Named “River of Plenty” by the Tanaina Indians because of its bountiful salmon runs, its bracingly cold water flows from the Talkeetna Glacier (100 miles southeast of Mount McKinley and 75 miles northeast of Anchorage) to its confluence with the Susitna River at the town of Talkeetna, some 85 miles to the southwest. It’s famous among river rats for its 22 miles of nearly continuous, burly whitewater, but Moe and Overcast are drawn just as much to the beautifully remote landscape and the monster-size king salmon that throng its depths from late June to mid-August. The serious whitewater will last only one day of our four-day, 80-mile trip; the rest will be spent floating downriver, slapping lures into the mouths of 40-pound salmon, catching glimpses of bald eagles, more bears, and porcupines, and plain old hanging out amidst the low hills covered in wild iris, roses, sitka spruce, cottonwoods, and giant Alaskan ferns at their summertime peak.

When we reach the Talkeetna late that first afternoon, the water is characteristically milky with glacial silt, and we stop and make camp on a spacious sandbar. We had put in at the head of Prairie Creek, rafted and portaged its entire eight-mile length, and now had 72 miles of river to tackle before taking out at the town of Talkeetna. But day two is devoted to fishing, not floating. Landing a 30-, 40-, or 45-pound salmon while standing on a riverbank is a particularly rowdy kind of angling. Moe (with a sweat-stained visor and a spinning rig) and Overcast (his fly rod in hand) duel to see who will be king of the kings—whoever catches the most wins—tirelessly fighting, losing, catching, and releasing long after the rest of the group stops. Most anglers are thrilled to catch one or two, but Moe is on fish 17 and the day is still bright under the ceaseless midnight sun when Overcast lands his 20th and calls it quits. “Victory is sweet,” Overcast says as he pops open a beer the size of an oil can, “especially when it’s over Moe.”


We break camp the following morning and set off for the whitewater, seven miles downriver, wearing life vests, helmets, full wetsuits, and drytops as buffers against the 50-degree water. Overcast lectures us on how to stay alive should we come out of the raft. “Keep your feet downriver,” he says. “And don’t just float there waiting to be rescued. Swim like hell to save your own ass. Better yet, stay in the raft.”
The Tal’s 22 miles of Class IV and V whitewater—the longest run in Alaska—surges at an average of 15,000 to 20,000 cubic feet per second, comparable to Idaho’s Snake, through the sharp granite walls of a deep gauntlet of a gorge. As we approach, the wide, steady river narrows and churns. The first few waves gape like Jaws and then break hard against a sheer rock face. “Forward!” hollers Overcast. The nose of the raft dives eight feet into the maw of a whitewater hole. The gorge walls heave close. “Right back!” commands Overcast. “Pull! Pull!” But the paddler next to me can’t distinguish forward from back. “Back!” I scream. “Back!” The raft slams up against the canyon wall, standing nearly on end. We high-side, recover, dig our paddles into the water, jog right, swirl into a rapid called Toilet Bowl, miss the next canyon wall by inches, cut left, and slip through to the other side. The challenge now is the marathon of Sluice Box, a 14-mile nonstop stretch of waves and holes that slithers through the curvilinear canyon like a snake on crack. We shout and paddle as Moe, downriver, keeps a protective eye on us while he bobs and plays in the waves.


That night—the last one before we float back to civilization—a rustling comes through camp, followed by the stench of old fish. But no one shouts bear and the odor passes, and all that’s left is the burbling of the river, the thrumming of raindrops on tent tarps, and the deep, deep sleep that only the wilds can bring.

The best time to head to the Talkeetna—and Alaska—is June, July, and August, when temperatures climb into the seventies and eighties, the salmon are ripping, and glacial runoff keeps the river surging with plenty of frigid water to paddle.


GETTING THERE

Fly into Anchorage. Guides from Class V will pick you up in a van for the 75-mile drive north to Lake Kashwitna. From there it’s a 45-minute floatplane trip to the put-in on Murder Lake (allegedly named by miners who found bones in the water), just above Prairie Creek. Eighty miles later you’ll take out in the town of Talkeetna, a summertime hub for river enthusiasts and Mount McKinley–bound mountaineers. Class V will shuttle you back to Anchorage at trip’s end or you can take the Alaskan Railroad from Talkeetna 120 miles north to Denali National Park (the Talkeetna-Denali-Anchorage fare is $170; 800.544.0552).
WHERE TO STAY

Talkeetna’s Historic Fairview Inn (907.733.2423), built in 1921, has six cozy rooms and a plank-floored bar surrounded by historic paraphernalia such as a photo of President Harding visiting the inn.


OUTFITTERS

Class V Whitewater (907.783.2004; www.alaskanrafting.com) guides summer rafting and kayaking adventures on the Talkeetna, plus customized trips on many of Alaska’s other 3,000 rivers all summer long. Four-day Talkeetna trips, including meals and all transportation from Anchorage, go for $1,000 per person; add two extra days of bear watching for an additional $300. Other Talkeetna River rafting outfitters include Flagstaff, Arizona–based Northstar (800-258-8434; www.adventuretrip.com), which leads four-day trips for $1,150 per person, and NOVA (800-746-5753; www.novalaska), based in Chicakaloon, which charges $950 for three-day trips.

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