Dejected, but trying to stay optimistic we brainstorm alternatives as a group. Do we throw in the towel and head home early? Or do we wait the storm out indefinitely and hope for the best?

August 31–September 5, 2025

Do you remember that scene in Jurassic Park when Alan Grant rescues the kids after the car is stuck in the tree? They finally make it out of the precariously perched car down to the ground just as the car comes falling down on top of them. After the dust settles, Timmy sarcastically announces, “Well, we’re back in the car again.” That about sums up this specific Alaska tale. Read on.

No matter how meticulously you plan, trips can always spring sideways on you . . . especially in Alaska. To set the stage, my travel buddy, Ren, and I roll into Fairbanks, Alaska, from our rendezvous in Kobuk Valley National Park and check in to our AirBnB, excited for our 7-night backpacking trip in Gates of the Arctic National Park. We tediously pack our bags and head to bed for an early trip to Wright Air Service the next morning.

At 6:45 a.m. we hop in our Uber and take off for Wright Air, our flight service to Coldfoot, the launching point for our backcountry adventure in Gates. We meet our guide Marc outside the small airport and confirm gear together in the drizzly rain. Marisa, another traveler on this expedition, pulls up next to us and hops out of her hotel shuttle. We all shuffle into the airport, check our bags, and await our flight. Not long afterward, the airport staff announce our flight to Coldfoot has been canceled for the day. Heavy clouds and rain in Coldfoot are preventing their pilots from landing.

No problem. We have buffer. We make plans with Wright Air to reschedule our flight for tomorrow. Booking a suite in Fairbanks we all crash for the night and wake up to repeat the airport process. Again, we check our bags and sit in the lobby awaiting our flight to Coldfoot. It’s not looking good. The weather outside today is drearier than yesterday. . . but that’s here in Fairbanks. Perhaps things are lightening up in Coldfoot. An hour passes and no news of our rescheduled flight. 2 hours pass. Almost 3 hours of waiting and an announcement is made. Our flight to Coldfoot is canceled yet again. Yesterday’s storm system has parked itself over the Brooks Range. Coldfoot and Gates of the Arctic are receiving record levels of flooding. Not a great sign for a backpack trip.

Marc steps outside to make some calls, looking for any other way to Coldfoot. Buses are full, rental cars are expensive, and flight services are down. He comes back in and make the fateful decision. “I’m cancelling our trip, guys,” he says. It takes a minute for the news to sink in. An entire weeklong backpack trip to the Arctic Circle costing several thousand dollars just canceled in a single moment. Not only is it a disappointment to us all—including Marc—but it holds great weight for me. This is my one chance to immerse myself in Gates of the Arctic and capture photography for my quest. Visiting so late in the season has tied my hands. There’s no chance of postponing the excursion. I didn’t realize until now just how precarious this trip was.

Dejected, but trying to stay optimistic we brainstorm alternatives as a group. Do we throw in the towel and head home early? None of us purchased trip insurance so that would be a lot of money left on the table. Or do we wait the storm out indefinitely and hope for the best? That could be frustrating if conditions don’t improve. Not to mention expensive for lodging in Fairbanks. Well, it seems our only other option is to forego Gates and find another backpacking experience elsewhere in the state where the weather is better.

It’s not ideal, but we all agree that’s our best option. After a few more calls, Marc returns with a game plan. He suggests we hike the 29-mile Goat Trail in the backcountry of Wrangell-St. Elias. Oh, the irony. I was literally just in Wrangell last month. I imagine myself 4 weeks ago hiking the Wrangells, completely oblivious to the fact that I would later return in less than a month. It’s almost comical. This is my “back in the car again” scene. But trusting Marc and wanting to make the most of our time in Alaska, we commit to this direction.

After a day of planning, Marc has everything squared away. The plan is to meet in Anchorage, ride down to McCarthy—the hub of the Wrangells—and fly into the backcountry. We will spend 5 nights traversing the Goat Trail from Skolai to Wolverine, two landing strips for bush planes. At least we are exploring a new part of the park for me. Not to mention, the forecast is clear and sunny in the Wrangells meaning we could witness some of the best panoramic views Alaska has to offer. It’s not Gates, but it definitely sounds like a great alternative!

After a 7-hour roadtrip from Anchorage to McCarthy and a 20-minute flight to Skolai, we find ourselves in the backcountry of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. The pilot drops us off just before sunset and soars out of sight, leaving us alone in a vast wilderness of mountains, glaciers, and bears. This is the most remote I’ve ever been—the most independent and disconnected from civilization. The thought is both a bit concerning and exhilarating. In a matter of minutes we have camp set up alongside the airstrip ready for dinner and an early night’s sleep. The whiplash of changing plans the past 3 days has me emotionally and mentally exhausted. I hit the sleep pad hard.

The next morning we wake to spotty clouds and a bright sunrise. After making a quick breakfast of oatmeal we pack up camp and begin the long trek to Wolverine. Though there is no established trail, our route at first is flat and gentle, skirting along the valley of Skolai. We cross a couple creeks, and then without notice, we suddenly turn up and start ascending the valley side to Chitistone Pass high above us. We break for lunch at the top. By now, the clouds have dissipated and a bright blue sky hangs overhead. I’m pleasantly surprised by how warm the sun feels for September in Alaska. It must be 60ºF at least. A bit windy, but still warm, especially when we’re moving.

Up and over this first mountain pass we can see down the other side. Chitistone River flows down a wide, narrowing valley. This is by and large our route for the remaining days. Though we don’t know it, Wolverine, our pickup location, is actually visible from here. We trudge on and make it to Camp 2 just before sunset. The wind is howling by now, but weather is clear. We find makeshift campsites out of the wind as much as possible and sit down to a satisfying dinner of freeze-dried meals.

Overnight, the incessant wind turns to rain. We wake up to a damp morning. If we weren’t about to hike for 6 miles, the pattering of raindrops on the tent would actually sound rather pleasant. Mustering our resolve we get up, roll up our gear and make breakfast in the wet alpine grass. It’s 10 a.m. by the time we start on the trail again, winding down the valley following Chitistone River. Nearly an hour in, the rain lets up and clouds break under a bright sunny sky. What great fortune! Grateful for the clear weather, we hike on, pausing occasionally to pick wild blueberries along the way down to Chitistone Gorge.

This portion of the valley grows too steep, so we must climb up and over the gorge. During our ascent we spy a lone mountain goat grazing below on a small shelf of grass, about the time our trail before us becomes exposed on a scree slope. This is the only way forward so every step is strategic as we navigate the loose rocks on the mountainside. I now know why it is called the Goat Trail. Picking our way along, we finally pop up and over the gorge to a tall open plateau of grass. This is Camp 3 and boy is it gorgeous. The famed University Range with its snowcapped peaks and cascading glaciers emerges from behind the valley walls. We set up camp in the presence of this awe-inspiring vista.

With some time to kill, Ren and Marisa find a nearby creek for a quick dip before we meet together for dinner. Atop the plateau we have the best view in town while we cook our meals. Amidst a layer of clouds gathering, the sun makes one last show of alpenglow on the University Range across the valley. Mount Bona and University Peak burn bright in the westering sun. I could sit and stare at this all night, but the sky turns blue and dark so we crawl in our tents and sleep the night away.

Day 4 begins with a bright cheery sun. I wake before the others and ascend a small knoll to get a higher view. With the clouds clear, I see the full immensity and glory of Mount Bona, North America’s 10th highest peak at 16,550 feet. I also spot a distant herd of dall sheep scrambling up trail from us. Excited for today’s prospects, I return to camp, scarf down another bowl of oatmeal and we pack up camp. Turning westward we climb another pass, following the sheep herd the entire way. It’s incredible how quickly and easily they navigate the mountain slopes. Near the top of the pass, we stop for lunch.

Feeling good on time, Marc allows us an hour to rest. I take advantage of this time to chase down the dall sheep. With camera in hand I slowly creep as close as I can to the herd. It looks like a group of ewes and juveniles. They seem undisturbed by my approach so I continue to edge closer to the herd. 200 yards. 100 yards. 50 yards. I settle down about 20 yards from the herd. Clearly aware of me, they watch my every move, more curious than frightened. Exhilarated by their proximity, I capture photo and video of them before giving them more space and returning to the group.

Wolfing down a quick lunch, I don my pack and follow Marc, Ren and Marisa on down the route. The sun beats down heavily on us in the alpine tundra. So much so that I decide to change into shorts. It’s funny how many cold layers I packed into my bag to find I’m intentionally choosing to wear shorts. Who would’ve thought? We press on down the other side of a mountain pass and find a herd of male dall sheep down below us, maybe half a mile. We pursue them, but can’t get close enough for any good photos.

In the late afternoon, we gather water and begin a brutal ascent up to Camp 4 on a side ridge. The pitch is not entirely steep, but it is long and grueling. I muster my strength and blitz out the last mile to camp. Nearing the top of the ridge, I can hardly believe my eyes. The ridge line gives way to a stunning panoramic vista of Mount Royal and the Nizina Glacier in the west. Behind us the University Range dominates the eastern skyline. I had no idea we would see this much beauty in one place. I hardly know where to look. It seems every direction is a feast for the eyes. I’ve only felt this overwhelming sensation one other time before: floating in Glacier Bay National Park below the Johns Hopkins Glacier—so much beauty everywhere all at once. All that climbing was definitely worth it.

Ren and I pick out the perfect spot to roll out our tent, facing the Nizina Glacier with the University Range as a backdrop. Can’t get better than this. The day winds down with a spectacular sunset. Majestic alpenglow better than the night before creeps its way up Mount Bona ending in a spark of gold before flushing the scene in blue hour. I wish I had 10 cameras to capture it all. We stand there speechless and overjoyed at witnessing raw beauty. And the whole time, the weather is uncharacteristically calm, pleasant and warm. Where are we? This can’t be Alaska.

But it is. We hit the hay and doze off fulfilled from a day of hard work and big payoff. I wake around 1:30 a.m. The night is clear and stars bright. A warm haze hangs on the horizon. At first I dismiss this as light pollution, but then I remember where I am. . . the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles away from any major city. I grab my camera and shoot a slow shutter image. Sure enough, the results are clear. The haze is faint aurora over the Nizina Glacier. It’s nothing spectacular, but it’s my first aurora sighting ever and it’s real.

I wake up the next morning refreshed and ready for our last day of hiking. Our target is the Wolverine airstrip. We eat breakfast and pack up. On our way out, Marc shows us how to crack open “thunder eggs” to reveal crystals in the rocks. Apparently this area is replete with enormous geodes. Just one more curiosity of beauty to mark our time on the Goat Trail.

The hike to Wolverine requires a little backtracking down from the ridgeline and then a traverse across more scree slopes to the airstrip. Again, the sky is blue and sunny. How we managed to hit this weather window so perfectly can only be explained by providence. While Gates of the Arctic was my intended goal, I am grateful to indulge in Southern Alaska’s heat wave rather than shivering in the flooded arctic tundra.

Just after lunch, we approach the final section of trail, culminating in a precarious route over scree. Carefully picking our lines, we traverse across the mountainside and pop out on a big grassy plateau over looking Chitistone River below, very similar to two days ago near Camp 3. As we approach the plateau from above, Marc spots a dark shape move far below us near the airstrip. Whipping out his binoculars he confirms his suspicions. It is a grizzly!

I’m pumped! At this distance we are not in danger and it is unaware of our presence. We watch it from afar cross the plateau and descend the slope where it manages to root out large boulders. This behavior is curious. It appears to be hunting marmots, but by the size of the hole it is digging, we start to suspect it is forming a den for the winter. We watch our bear for a good 45 minutes and continue on down the trail. As we near the airstrip we can no longer see the bear so our senses become heightened as we watch our six. We don’t know if this bear is alone, how long it has been here, or how it reacts to humans. Marc instructs us to hike in a tight group and watch the ridgeline where we last saw it descend.

Soon enough, as we keep hiking, a furry head pops over the horizon. It’s the same bear. Unaware of us it starts walking in our direction, but soon catches wind of our scent. Unable to see us, but fully aware of us, the bear spooks and darts off in another direction. It never got closer than 300 yards, but that was the closest encounter I have had in the wild with a grizzly bear—a memorable encounter for sure.

At the airstrip, we unpack camp and carefully choose tent sites downwind from the bear and upwind from our kitchen site. As the evening wears on, we don’t see any further signs of our grizzly friend so we begin to relax, enjoying our last night in the wilderness, with yet again a spectacular view just outside our tent.

I thought I would not sleep well with a bear in the area, but to my surprise I sleep soundly and wake late in the morning, with now fear of the bear. The sky is overcast and clouds cling to the higher peaks across the valley. Today is our egress day. The bush plane is scheduled to pick us up at 3 p.m. but we still pack up early in the case of last minute flight changes. We’re specifically suspicious this might happen today as weather looks to worsen as the day wears on. It’s been known to happen that pilots cannot reach Wolverine in the afternoon and must return the following morning. I really don’t want to spend another night at Wolverine so I hope and pray the pilot bumps our pick up time earlier today.

Marc uses his Garmin Inreach to communicate with the flight company, Wrangell Mountain Air. After some back and forth on his phone, Marc tells us the pilot plans to pick us up at 11 a.m. sharp. It’s 10:30 now. Good thing we are almost packed up. We scramble to tear down our tents and stuff the last few items into our bags. Gathering at the airstrip at 10:45, we sit and wait for the pilot. My ears strain for any faint sound of an engine in the air. Clouds continue to close in around us. Rain begins to spit. Boy am I glad we have a chance to return early. The way the clouds are moving in, a 3 p.m. pickup seems more and more unlikely.

I’m caught in my thoughts when suddenly a hum builds in the distance. As the drone grows louder, so does my relief. The last piece of logistics for this trip falls into place as the pilot circles the strip and lands on the plateau. Unfortunately, it’s a three-seater, meaning the pilot will have to make two trips to carry us out. Ren and I board first, leaving Marc and Marisa behind. The short 20 minute flight is a bumpy ride through the stormy clouds building. While I’m glad to be airborne on our way to back to civilization, I worry if Marc and Marisa will make it out okay.

Dropping us off, at the McCarthy landing strip, the pilot wheels back around to pick up Marc and Marisa. The atmosphere is tense as we wait for our companions to return. Soon we hear the familiar drone of the bush plane as it descends to the airport with Marc and Marisa. We made it. The trip is a success.

The rest of the day consists of unloading at our pre-booked cabins and exploring McCarthy. A quick bite at The Potato for dinner and we’re turning in for the night exhausted from our adventure. About midnight, Ren and I wake to a text from Marisa. “You still awake? The northern lights are out if you want to see them.” Hurriedly, I slip on my sandals, grab my camera and dart outside into the dark. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust but sure enough, there above us all are the pulsating waves of green light I have so long wished to see. For the next hour, I stare at the sky capturing the beauty of the night. Not a bad way to cap off the trip.

In the morning, we drive the long road back to Anchorage and Marc drops us off at the airport. It’s time to say goodbye. It’s funny how a short time in the backcountry with strangers creates a bond that seems unbreakable. Pressed together 24-7, we grew a sense of familiarity and fondness for each other. Only reality reminds us that we truly are strangers about to go our separate ways. Hugs and handshakes all around, we walk into the airport for our flights home. My head is spinning just trying to process all the highs and lows of my two weeks in Alaska. Everything from our near-miss flight into Kobuk Valley National Park, to the whiplash of a cancelled trip into Gates of the Arctic National Park, to the indulgent sights of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. It’s almost too much to recount. Good thing I’ve got a long direct flight back to Denver.