Alaska Travel Guide: First Impressions of America's Last Frontier in Anchorage

Alaska comes from the Aleut word "Alyeska" — "The Great Land" — and I'd built the place up in my head for so long before finally visiting that I was half-afraid it couldn't possibly live up to the reputation I'd assigned it. It did anyway, and then some.

Of North America's twenty highest peaks, seventeen are in Alaska. Its coastline, stretched along the Pacific, the Bering Sea, and the Arctic Ocean, is longer than every other U.S. state's combined. It holds the country's two largest forests, and fewer than 750,000 people spread across all of it — the lowest population density in the country. It carries three nicknames worth knowing before you land: The Great Land, The Land of the Midnight Sun (a title it shares with Norway), and the one that actually stuck, The Last Frontier.

Anchorage, the state's largest city, sits on a peninsula the way San Francisco does, with one of the highest tidal ranges anywhere in the world — water levels here rise and fall more than 25 feet in a single day. Like Iceland, it's one of the rare places on Earth with both volcanoes and glaciers in view of the same skyline. Winters here, somewhat surprisingly, aren't even America's coldest: temperatures typically run between 5 and 30 degrees Fahrenheit, milder than parts of North Dakota, Michigan, or Minnesota.

A vintage trolley tour, nearly empty at that early hour, gave me the lay of the land, starting with the Alaska Railroad.

A private company began building it in 1903, went bankrupt six years and fifty miles later, and the U.S. government finished the job.

President Harding drove the ceremonial golden spike into the track at Nenana in 1923. A dome-car sightseeing train has run the route since 1984; I didn't have time for it on this trip, but it's already on the list for the next one.

Lake Hood

Lake Hood came next.

It is the busiest seaplane base in the world, over two hundred flights taking off and landing here daily, with another thousand seaplanes parked along its edges.

Captain Cook Monument

A bronze statue of Captain James Cook stands in Resolution Park, looking out over the inlet he sailed into in 1778 — ground the Dena'ina Athabascan people had already called home for at least a thousand years before he arrived.

Lunch was at Simon and Seafort's, open since 1978 and still regarded as some of the freshest Alaskan seafood in the city.

I ordered a cocktail called Rose Colored Lenses.

 Not that that filter was required for the view of Cook Inlet, Mount Susitna, and the Alaska Range it came with.

Then came a grilled seafood trio of scallops, shrimp, and salmon in beurre blanc that made a genuinely strong case for itself.

The salmon alone was on another level entirely from anything I'd had before — deeper in color, deeper in flavor, not a subtle difference.

The scallops were incredibly fresh and juicy. They were caught that very morning, like all of the seafood on the plate, and it came across in the flavor and texture.

The shrimp was plump and so very sweet.

From there, a bus ride to Seward traced the water and the railroad tracks in tandem.

Green hillsides were soon exchanged for snow-covered ones and made an equally strong case.

Yellowtail Roll

Kanpachi, Crab Yuzu, Truffle Oil, Green Soy Paper, Aonori Tempura Flakes

Then, I boarded a ship in Seward for the rest of the trip and dinner was served. Cruising isn't usually my preferred way to travel, but so much of what I wanted to see in Alaska sits along its Inside Passage that it made more sense here than anywhere else I've been.

Dragon Roll

Dinner that first night was sushi, a genuinely satisfying way to close out a day built entirely around Alaskan seafood.

Five Spice Chocolate Cake with Ginger Sauce

It was followed by a decadent chocolate cake topped with mousse.

I stood out on deck afterward and watched the coastline slide by as we set sail.