Ice climbing, bear spray – and the glacier that made the earth tremble.
By Rasa Dregva.
Alaska hit the headlines last month due to a certain political meeting at an air base, but what is the rest of this amazing Arctic US state like? I also went to Alaska last month, and when people ask me about it I want to say: Imagine icebergs the size of cathedrals, mountains scraping the sky, and a frog that literally freezes itself solid for winter then comes back to life in the spring. And yet, that still doesn’t cover it!
I spent 11 days exploring America’s final frontier, and from climbing glaciers to dodging accidental bear spray it was in equal parts majestic, humbling and wildly hilarious.
Small group, big adventures
Our group was small – just 11 people, including three Brits (myself included) and a lively mix from California, New Jersey and beyond. The age range stretched from 18 to 70, and despite our differences we quickly became a little expedition family.
Our journey began with sea kayaking in Prince William Sound, threading silently between glacial icebergs while seals bobbed around us. One moment that still makes me laugh? While white-water rafting, all adrenaline and crashing rapids, we witnessed the ‘grandness’ of a moose standing regally on the riverbank like a scene out of a documentary – utterly unfazed by our shouts and paddling. In Alaska, the wildlife has presence!
Kennecott: Where the magic lives
A highlight of the trip was Kennecott, a remote, historic village tucked inside Wrangell-St Elias National Park – the largest in the US. Only a few locals are permitted to drive into the village. The rest of us must park outside and walk across a long footbridge into another world. And, let me tell you, this is where the magic happened.
From Kennecott we explored Root Glacier, where our group was scheduled for a glacier walk tour. But, lucky me, I managed to switch to ice climbing instead. And that changed everything…
Ice climbing: Beautiful. Brutal. Unforgettable
This was a true test of strength… and stubbornness. I (naively) thought I was fairly fit, but ice climbing humbled me fast.
I discovered that it’s not your arms doing the work – it’s your legs. You have to kick your crampons into the hard, glassy ice with serious force. And, I can tell you, it takes a lot of effort to get them to stick!
At one point, clinging awkwardly to the frozen wall, I shouted down: “I’m done! I can’t do this any more!”
The guide just waited in silence. No pep talk. No fuss. Just letting me deal with it myself. And it worked – I gathered myself, kicked harder and climbed to the top.
I’ll never forget the feeling of finally standing on that ledge, breathless and triumphant. It turns out the strength was in me all along – it was just buried under a layer of self-doubt (and sore calves).
Glacier protection
And here’s something I had no idea about – glaciers are extremely protected environments. Everything you bring in, you take out. After our guide washed our equipment using melted glacier water, she carefully poured the water into a special bag – the same bag that’s used for emergency number twos.
Yes, really. If a tourist suddenly finds themselves in urgent need of a loo on the glacier, it must be collected and carried out in that container. Nothing gets left behind – not even human dignity, apparently.
Walking through rust and riches: The copper mining
Kennecott isn’t just a charming village surrounded by glaciers, it’s also home to one of the most fascinating pieces of Alaskan industrial history: The Kennecott Copper Mine.
Back in the early 1900s, this was the beating heart of a booming mining operation that pulled millions of dollars’ worth of copper from the earth and shipped it out to the rest of the world. And to do that, they built something truly impressive – a dedicated railway line winding through the wild Alaskan landscape to connect this remote site with the port in Cordova. Imagine the scale of commitment – and the ambition.
The remains of that bold era are still here. You can walk through the original mill building, which climbs dramatically up the hillside in a towering cascade of weathered red wood and rusted machinery, and here’s the extraordinary part – it’s all wide open. No glass cases. No velvet ropes. No ‘do not touch’ signs.
There’s even a copper mining museum right on site – but calling it a museum almost feels too polished. This is more like a living ruin where history breathes through every creaky floorboard and dust-coated bolt.
You walk through the same rooms where workers once sweated and shouted over the roar of crushers and conveyors. You’re free to touch, to lean in close, to imagine…
Of course, there’s one rule – keep safe. The buildings are ageing and precarious, with some parts quite literally on the edge of collapse.
If this were in Europe, everything would be behind glass with long paragraphs of descriptive text and security barriers.
But this is Alaska. The experience is raw, real and totally unforgettable.
Loud locals, carb heaven (or hell?) and a frog that freezes
The people of Alaska? Let’s just say they don’t do ‘quiet’. They are LOUD – really loud and, honestly, it became one of the funniest parts of the trip. That and the fact that everyone is huge. Maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s survival genetics – or maybe it’s all the bread, potatoes and pizza.
Alaskan menus aren’t exactly veggie-forward. Carb-lovers rejoice. Personally, I found myself dreaming of salad. But the upside? I came home a few pounds lighter!
And here’s a random, incredible fact that I picked up: In Denali National Park there’s a wood frog that freezes solid in winter, heart stopped, no heartbeat, no breath. Then, come spring, it thaws out and hops away like nothing happened.
How does one compete with that level of resilience?
The grand finale: Sea lions, bears and the glacier that roared
Our trip ended in Valdez, a small coastal town surrounded by towering mountains and thick forests, where the wilderness felt as close as ever. We were lucky enough to spot sea lions lounging on the shore, and then – just to make sure Alaska had the last word – a grizzly bear mum with two cubs ambling surprisingly close to us. A proper Alaskan farewell.
But the true finale was one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life – a sea kayaking expedition to Columbia Glacier in Prince William Sound.
This was a full-on day – nine to ten hours, with four to five hours of paddling, and it began with a metal water taxi that felt more like a military boat than a leisure cruise.
Two hours of bouncing and rattling later, we reached the drop-off point. From there we climbed into kayaks and began our one-and-a-half-hour paddle towards Columbia Glacier.
As we glided through calm, icy waters surrounded by a cathedral of snow-draped peaks, the silence was breathtaking – until it wasn’t… At one point I heard a loud thunderous boom in the distance. I casually remarked that we might be in for a storm, but our guide just looked at me and asked, deadpan: “Do you think that’s thunder?”
Nope. It was the glacier!
As we got closer, I heard it – and saw it – with my own ears and eyes – enormous slabs of ice cracking, breaking and crashing into the sea. It was like watching nature exhale, slowly and powerfully, with zero regard for our tiny boats floating half a mile away.
Over the course of two hours we witnessed five massive ice falls, some of them the size of cars, plunging into the water with a deafening roar. Even at a distance, you feel how small you really are. It’s beautiful, it’s humbling and, honestly, it’s a little terrifying.
One part of your brain is going: “Wow, this is magical,” and another part is going: “Should I be paddling away right now?”
It was yet another reminder that Alaska is not just scenery – it’s an active, living force, and when it moves you feel it in your bones.
Alaska: The wild reset
This trip reminded me that there’s a different kind of strength you discover when you are out in the wild.
Whether you’re climbing glaciers, dodging bear spray, or just sharing a cramped lodge with strangers, Alaska strips you down and builds you back up – louder, tougher and maybe hungrier, but definitely more alive.
Would I do it all again? In a heartbeat. Next time, I’ll bring earplugs… and kale.
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