I've just finished reading Cheryl Strayed's Wild. In case you're a hiker who has been living under a rock, the book is about a troubled young woman's attempt to hike a thousand miles of the Pacific Crest Trail, which runs, in its entirety, nearly
A region along the Pacific Ocean comprising the farthest northwest corner of the United States - the states of Alaska, Oregon, and Washington - and the Canadian province of British Columbia.
Superlatives lose their meaning in Alaska. So it only seems fitting that the Iditarod, called "the toughest race on earth," should take place in the state with North America's highest peak, largest expanses of wilderness, biggest uninhabited forests,
I’m no stranger to ice and snow. I’ve lived all my life in the Upper Midwest. But walking up a 60-degree slope of sheer ice? Well, that’s just something we don’t do in Michigan. Yet here I was, strapping crampons on my feet and making my way
What I find myself doing in Alaska is looking for words: big, superlative words: Words for snowier, and larger, and colder, and more infinite (which by definition can't exist, but I find myself needing a word for it, anyway). Everything is bigger
It's been more than ten years since the last time I rock climbed and my adrenaline is pumping enough to make my knees feel wobbly. I stare up at the vertical, granite rock face in front of me that appears to be about 100 feet high. Although age and
The bush plane is tiny, just two rows of seats, sized for people who like each other a lot. It's equipped with winter survival equipment, and before we take off, we get instructions on using the emergency radio and the survival gear. I know that
The harness around my waist seems tight. I feel a tug from in front of me, and glance up: The guide is looking at me, and I may be imagining things as I peer through my hat and balaclava and glacier glasses, but he seems annoyed. He wants to go