It was the first week of April, the dawn of spring in most of the Northern Hemisphere, but it still felt very much like winter in Anchorage. Snow was everywhere: piled high on rooftops and cars, framing the pavements in colossal embankments, floating in clumps in the Cook Inlet. It covered the nearby Chugach Mountains, which form a fierce and jagged amphitheater on the city’s eastern edge. I’d come to Alaska, in large part, to ski those mountains, thanks to a chance encounter I’d had the previous year. While visiting the state for the first time during midsummer, I met someone from Anchorage at a bar. After recounting how I’d fallen for the state following a day spent hiking through stunning landscapes, I made a naive remark about how the winters must be brutal. “Oh no,” he said. “Winter here is the absolute best.”
He described trips to a ski resort with surreal terrain and no crowds; weekends spent holed up in cabins reachable only by bush planes that land on frozen lakes; and weather that, at least around Anchorage, is less punishing than you might think. Go after February, he advised, when the sunlight is back but the snow is still deep.
Exploring Anchorage
I began my first day by exploring Anchorage, mainly because I’ve long been intrigued by cities that seem overlooked – or, in the case of this one, tend to be cast more as entry points than desired destinations. Alaska’s largest city, home to nearly half of the state’s 730,000 inhabitants, has a fascinating history and heritage. Indigenous cultures here date back to long before it became a tent encampment of frontiersmen. An earthquake leveled the place in 1964, four years before oil was discovered and opened a spigot of money that shaped today’s mini metropolis. Anchorage feels somehow both brand-new and dated, consisting primarily of a downtown filled with utilitarian towers and a sprawl of strip malls. Everyone in the state knows the quip about Anchorage’s best feature: “You can see Alaska from there.”
“We are definitely due for a revamp,” joked Rachel Pennington, part of the family that owns Fire Island Rustic Bakeshop, a local staple where I stopped for breakfast. “But that’s part of the fun. So much here is hidden that you have to be willing to look for it.”
Dining and Nightlife
Take, for instance, the James Beard-nominated bakery itself. It occupies a former medical clinic and now houses an artisanal liquor store, a produce stand, and a coffee shop. After a flaky house croissant, I drove around the city at random, eventually settling in for a tasty lunch at Midnight Sun Brewing Co, one of the many craft beer spots in the industrial area of town. By evening, my apprehension had morphed into fondness, helped by the martini I nursed at Club Paris, an old-school haunt that is one of the few establishments remaining from before the earthquake. Around the corner, I discovered excellent whisky cocktails and ramen at a place aptly named Whisky & Ramen. Newly opened in a sleek two-level space, it would not have been out of place in my Los Angeles neighborhood. But by then, I was feeling wonderfully far from home.
Adventure on the Seward Highway
The next morning, I steered my rented four-by-four out of the city and onto the Seward Highway, where the full magnitude of Alaska’s wilderness hit me. Hugging the Turnagain Arm, a narrow saltwater inlet where pods of beluga whales congregate in summer, the road is framed by mountains that soar skywards from the sea. It is the kind of natural majesty you absorb not so much with your eyes but with every cell of your being.
Girdwood and Skiing
My destination was Girdwood, a former mining colony 45 minutes from Anchorage. Today, it is centered around Alyeska, the state’s premier ski resort, which rises with imposing elegance in a forest of evergreens. I planned to stay for the next few days at the resort’s on-mountain hotel. Having not skied in a year, I intended to start by enjoying some downhill hours on the mountain’s 2,500 feet of vertical terrain before attempting something I’d long been both intrigued and intimidated by: backcountry skiing, which Alaskans speak of with religious fervor.
However, the weather turned out to be so right – bright sun and a bluebird sky – that it would have been a mistake to miss the opportunity for a backcountry outing. Thus, with considerable nerves, I chose to meet up with Mike Welch, operator of Sundog Ski Guides, who had offered to take me out for a tutorial. Tall and limber, with the crow’s feet that come from spending most of the year squinting into alpine sun, he projected an easy confidence that calmed my jitters. “The only thing I love more than skiing in this part of the world is introducing it to people for the first time,” he said. After a brief lesson on how to use avalanche beacons, we put skins over the skis and began walking up into a valley framed by soft slopes.
Backcountry Skiing Experience
We covered about 2,000 feet of elevation over four miles. Halfway up, as a precaution against avalanches, Welch had us separate by about 100 yards for the remainder of the hike. Following the path carved by Welch’s skis and poles, which resembled a seam stitched through an otherworldly white landscape, I felt impossibly tiny, overwhelmed by the stillness. Time and space took on dreamlike properties, and by the time I reached Welch at the summit, I could barely remember my own name. “Weird things happen out there, don’t they?” he said with a sage grin.
The Spectacular View
We stood at the top of a mountain known as Tincan Peak, with the vast expanse of Alaska’s famed backcountry stretching before us, range after range interlocking like an M.C. Escher woodcut. Because the tree line ends at 1,500 feet, the view consisted only of icy cornices, peaks, and gullies blanketed in snow. After admiring the panorama over sandwiches, we removed the skins from our skis and began our descent, slaloming down a steep section that leveled off in a small saucer-shaped valley.
I thought I’d skied powder before. I thought wrong. This snow was chest-deep, challenging, and initially generated foul language rather than euphoria. However, once I got the hang of it, I had as much fun as I’d ever experienced on skis. Carving our way back down felt not so much like skiing but floating through an alternate reality.
Alyeska Resort: A Local Gem
Returning to Alyeska, I wondered whether I would ever again enjoy resort skiing. The next three days dispelled this concern while presenting another: would I ever want to ski anywhere else? First conceived in 1959, Alyeska does not possess the size or frills of its glossier counterparts in the Rockies. However, it offers the luxuries of transcendent days on the slopes: terrain to satisfy any skier or snowboarder, with no lift lines or crowds vying for that afternoon beer. The experience is as close to backcountry skiing as you can get while still enjoying the convenience of lifts, with the added surreal bonus of views of ocean water from the Turnagain Arm visible on every descent.
Community Vibes in Girdwood
The vibe in Girdwood, a quaint little hamlet, was much like that on the mountain: unfussy, imbued with rustic charm, ticking all the essential aprés ski boxes without the inauthenticity of many North American ski towns. One evening, I relaxed with a pint at Girdwood Brewing Company, which features an airy taproom, outdoor fire pits, and rotating food trucks. Another night, I dined on weathervane scallops from the Gulf of Alaska at Jack Sprat, a beloved establishment run by a couple from Michigan. There’s also Chair 5, a low-key restaurant-bar serving gourmet burgers that have become a local cult favorite among skiers. I was pleasantly surprised to encounter only locals. During a casual conversation about the incoming “bore tide”, a phenomenon in the Turnagain Arm that creates a wave breaking for miles, one local skier casually invited me to join in their plans to surf it the next morning.
Discovering the Backcountry
It all adds up to a world-class ski destination that remains largely within the realm of locals. However, this may be changing. In 2018, Alyeska was purchased by Pomeroy Lodging, a Canadian company that aims to introduce the property to more people across the USA. This season marks Alyeska’s first as part of the Ikon Pass, which covers over 50 ski areas. The hotel has made upgrades, notably a new 50,000-square-foot Nordic spa that debuted in 2022. This facility is a tranquil oasis featuring outdoor hot tubs, steam rooms, exfoliation cabins, and barrel saunas tucked into a forest glade. This experience contrasts the traditional Alaska of frostbite and frontier lore, while offering a no-phone policy to retain a serene atmosphere. After three days of exhilarating skiing, it provided a welcomed respite that readied me for more adventures.
Adventures Beyond the Slopes
Leaving Alyeska, I drove through light flurries back toward Anchorage, then headed northeast along the foothills of the Chugach Mountains and deeper into the wilderness. After about three hours, I found myself far from civilization but still immersed in the sprawling expanse of Alaska. My destination was Sheep Mountain Lodge, a cozy haven consisting of log cabins positioned at the foot of a mountain, conveniently reachable by car and close to the Matanuska Glacier, a magnificent 27-mile-long river of ancient ice.
Upon arrival, I was greeted by Mark Fleenor, who runs the property with his wife, Ruthann. After years of flying planes for NGOs in Afghanistan, he settled in Alaska to satiate his thirst for adventure. Inside the lodge’s main building, I saw photos of him ice climbing the glacier and scuba diving within it. “People think we’re bundled up in this inhospitable land half the year, when really we’re just having an incredible amount of fun,” he shared. With inviting enthusiasm, he asked, “You ready to get intimate with the glacier?”
Snowmobiling Adventure
Mark introduced me to Ryan Cote, who facilitates snowmobile tours from the lodge. Soon, I was steering a snowmobile along a frozen creek toward the glacier’s base. After 30 minutes, we arrived at what I initially failed to recognize as a wall of ice, appearing nearly soot-stained. However, the exceptional view clarified my surprise: the surface shone like a cut diamond, with black being projected by stones suspended within. It was a frozen testament to a seismic shift from thousands of years ago. “It’s called basal ice,” explained Cote. “It’s essentially the glacier’s base, the part that moves along the ground until it reaches this point.” As the weather warmed in weeks to come, this icy spectacle would transform into water, forever vanishing.
Helicopter Tour of the Glacier
The next morning, my final before returning home, I awoke from a deep slumber after an amazing snowmobile tour, a delightful dinner of local salmon at the lodge, and bourbon that Mark graciously provided as a nightcap. Mark was whipping up espressos for us in preparation for seeing the glacier from a new perspective: the seat of his cherry-red helicopter. Minutes later, we hovered above its expansive lines, revealing sections that resembled vertebrae and others appearing like waves crashing into one another. The scale of the glacier only grew more incomprehensible the more I stared. Eventually, Mark landed atop the glacier and handed me a pair of ice cleats to slide over my boots. “Ready to go inside?” he prompted.
Every summer, Mark explained, he spends hours flying over the glacier to locate specific areas: caves formed by meltwater moving through cracks in the ice. In late autumn, when freezing temperatures halt the melting, he explores these formations for potential guest visits. “You know the slot canyons in Utah? This is similar,” he remarked. “However, rather than requiring aeons to form, here we generate new ones every year that last only a few months. Pretty rad, right?”
I trailed behind him down a narrow passage leading to a sublime world of ethereal beauty, with curving ice walls reflecting sunlight in vivid aquamarine and cobalt hues. The atmosphere was still, somehow feeling alive, as if it was breathing. As we ventured further inside, the cave darkened, tapering toward a point where silk-like ice crystals dangled and seemed to dance. We stood as the only humans inside a glacier twice the size of Manhattan, our feet resting upon 900 feet of solid ice. A flicker of gratitude welled up in my mind for the man I’d met the year before and the few simple words that had compelled me to experience Alaska in the winter.
Where to Stay
Alyeska Resort
Essentially a single-property resort at the base of a mountain with 76 named trails, Alyeska offers family-friendly accommodations. With its wholesome hunting château feel and a new Scandinavian-style spa featuring hot pools and barrel saunas nestled in the forest, you will find relaxation after a day of skiing. The five restaurants include offerings like handcrafted sushi and delightful views of the stunning glaciers.
Sheep Mountain Lodge
Situated northeast of Anchorage, Sheep Mountain Lodge features cozy log cabins and offers an ideal Alaskan escape experience. Run by adventurous owners, this lodge serves as a base for snowmobile and helicopter rides over ice caves and glacial landscapes, along with the chance to spot wildlife.
Guided Trips
For those eager to explore the backcountry further, local guides from Sundog Ski Guides facilitate trips into the Chugach and Talkeetna ranges, accommodating groups and individuals whether or not they have prior skiing experience.
