Almost half of Alaska's approximately three-quarters of a million people lived in Anchorage, the state's only actual 'big' city. It was just a 30-minute drive to reach the wilderness of authentic Alaska and Flattop Mountain, located on the city limits. One of the city's most prominent features is its abundance of tree-lined paved and unpaved trails totaling almost 225 miles. To experience them firsthand, Steven and I drove west from the city center to Kincaid Park.
We only stopped briefly, however, after encountering our first moose in the wild!
We then headed south again on the Seward Highway, a National Scenic Highway, to gawk at the wilderness. Our first stop was Potter Marsh in the Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge, a 540-acre wetland that has provided critical habitat for numerous wildlife species since 1917, with a boardwalk added in 1985.
Construction of the Alaska Railroad from Seward to Fairbanks unintentionally created Anchorage's most popular wildlife haven. Workers need to build tunnels and embankments and blast rock from mountainsides to lay the track. When railroad employees created an embankment between Rabbit and Potter Creeks in 1916 and 1917, it impounded several creeks and limited tides and storm surges, creating Potter Marsh.
Some fun trivia: Anchorage is the only known city in the world with resident brown and black bear populations, including 90 or so that live in or near the metro area, including Potter Marsh.
We didn't spot any bears or other wildlife from the boardwalk, but it was still a fun way to start our day.
Two miles south was Chugach State Park Headquarters, housed in the Potter Section House, a historic railroad workers' dorm.
Outside was a snowplow train, something I'd never heard of before.
Part of the Seward Highway took us along Turnagain Arm, the body of water we'd traveled yesterday by tour bus after our Inland Passage cruise ended. Because we didn't have time to do it justice then, we wanted to explore one of the state's prettiest roads more leisurely.
Alaska has one of the world's largest tidal ranges. One attraction along this section of the highway was the bore tide, a neat trick of geography that requires a combination of narrow, shallow waters and rapidly rising tides. The tide, sometimes swooping in as a wave up to 10 feet in height and traveling at speeds up to 15mph, fills the arm in one go. Sometimes, there are paddleboarders, windsurfers, and kayakers who turn out to ride the wave all the way up the arm. What a sight that must be!
The most popular spot to catch the dramatic bore tide is Beluga Point Overlook, several miles further south on Turnagain Arm. However, since this was our only opportunity to be here, we hadn't consulted the bore tide schedule in advance.
We did learn there, though, that belugas are small white whales that are more like dolphins than like whales, which have big breaching moves. Belugas gently ascend to the surface to breathe before descending again.
Other stunning viewpoints along the arm:
I neglected to write down this location along the arm to show that the water was at an even lower tide the further south we drove.
I'll be the first to admit this wasn't the best picture, but I took it to show the train tracks paralleling the road next to the highway.
We'd read that driving the narrow, two-lane Seward Highway was as dangerous as it was beautiful, with crowds of both lumbering RVs and passenger cars slowing to admire the breathtaking views. We noticed some travelers in a rush, tailgating dangerously, and others failing to adhere to the law to pull over and letting other cars pass when more than five cars were stacked up behind them.
The further south we drove, the more miserable the weather became!
As we left the Seward Highway and headed toward Whittier, the end point of our cruise the previous day, we encountered low-lying fog in the Portage Valley.
We didn't pause long, bearing in mind the numerous "Avalanche Area Next Five Miles: Do Not Stop" signs we'd passed.
Some views of Portage Lake, which we'd seen briefly yesterday when the bus driver stopped:
We heaved a sigh of relief when we realized we'd timed our drive through the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel perfectly at 1:30, as otherwise we'd have had to wait another hour because southbound vehicles only go through on the half-hour.
God forbid there was an emergency while in the tunnel, there were eight "bugout" shelters, aka safe houses, complete with a stash of MREs, in case cars or trains were stranded inside.
Our bus driver/guide had told us the day before that Whittier, also known as Wettier for its year-round wet weather, was founded in 1941 as a deepwater military base and then heavily fortified in the early years of the Cold War before the military pulled out in the 1960s. Its location was critical because whoever controlled the port was within nine hours of 90 percent of the industrialized world, according to our driver. He added that you could only drive between Whittier and Anchorage beginning in the 1990s!
Before arriving in Whittier, I read that part of its bizarreness is that most of its inhabitants live in a single building, the 14-story Begich Towers. I'd have cabin fever living there, knowing that it is also home to a grocery store, post office, and community center! An underground tunnel links it to the local elementary school.
As we drove around what remained of the Whittier Army Port Historical District, we saw the Gymnasium, one of the structures built to "facilitate a comfortable environment for the US Army garrison based here," as the harsh winters kept people inside.
The operation of the Whittier Army Port required the use of hundreds of vehicles for port maintenance and personnel transport. Snow plows, military buses, bulldozers, and cranes were stored in the Motor Pool Building, circa 1954-60. The building used to be twice as long until one of Whittier's legendary snowfalls collapsed the roof.
During 1943-44, the tunnel was put into service, the railyard was completed, and the docks were receiving cargo from ocean-going ships. Cargo was loaded directly into the waiting train cars, whose train tracks had been placed on top of the docks. Fresh meats and vegetables had to be kept refrigerated for transport to the military bases in Alaska's interior. This concrete Cold Storage Facility, equipped with freon refrigeration units, was built by the Army Corps of Engineers in the late 1940s and used until 1960. It now serves as the Great Pacific Seafoods processing plant for the local fisheries.
An adjacent building housed the Post Telephone Exchange or command center and the Alaska Army Communication Systems Building. The two-story concrete structure, now the Anchor Inn Restaurant, where we had a bite to eat, was the oldest surviving building at Whittier Army Port and the first capital structure in the community. Several years later, the military added a third story. In 1990, a fourth story was added.
It was hard to miss the brutalist-style Buckner Building, a kind of mini-city built in 1953 during the Cold War for Whittier's military personnel. It only served its purpose for less than a decade after the military withdrew in 1960. Considered too expensive to renovate and too 'historic' to tear down, it remained an eyesore after being vandalized.
A view of Prince William Sound, as we left Whittier:
If you look closely, you can see the waterfall roaring down the mountain, also outside Whittier.
Once again, we'd timed our drive through the tunnel well, arriving shortly before 3, as northbound departures only leave on the hour. Signs in the tunnel indicated the significant distance apart between buses and cars, so the eight escape hatches weren't overloaded in case of an emergency. The price two plus years ago for the round-trip fare was $13 - not bad, especially since it included MREs in a pinch!
Ten miles south of Girdwood, there was a barest hint of a blue sky at the Portage Glacier Overlook, technically the ghost town of Portage. The ground it was built on sank more than ten feet during the 1964 earthquake.
There was little to see except the skeletons of trees that were essentially mummified by the sudden introduction of saltwater.
A few old buildings peeked up out of the wetlands.
Despite the mummified trees, the area still had a stark beauty.
We had hoped to spend longer at the Bird Point Overlook, as the views were gorgeous. However, its proximity to the highway made it too noisy to be pleasant.
How sad that crime in Anchorage is so high that even the Welcome to Anchorage sign was shot out!
Signs every few feet proclaimed this was Anchorage's Mushing District!
For those of you who didn't read my post on Greenland's sled dogs, dog mushing is a traditional and recreational activity in which a team of sled dogs (not bears, as in the photo below!) pulls a sled across the snow, a practice that originated with Indigenous peoples for survival and transportation. Now, Alaska's official state sport, dog mushing is practiced for fun, adventure, and competitive racing, such as the famous Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.
Each winter, Anchorage hosts two of the world's greatest sleddog races, the Fur Rendezvous World Championship and the Iditarod. This was the starting line for both races. The sculpture was dedicated to all dog mushers and their dogs.
Built in 1915, the Wendler Building, Anchorage's first general merchandising store, was the city's first permanent building.
On the side of the building was a sign listing the Iditarod champions. The Iditarod, often called the Last Great Race on Earth, is an annual long-distance sled dog race held in Alaska every March. Mushers and their teams of approximately 12 to 16 dogs cover nearly 1,000 miles of rugged Alaskan wilderness, from the interior to the Bering Sea coast, finishing in Nome.
The historic City Hall building was constructed in 1936 and served as the city's administrative center until 1979. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, it was designed in the Beaux-Arts architectural style.
Just north of downtown Anchorage was Ship Creek, which became, in the early 1900s, a central hub for the Alaska Railroad, leading to Anchorage growing into the city it is today. This area was where workers set up camp and helped build the railroad. Now described as one of the best places for urban salmon fishing in the US, we would have seen people reeling in king or silver salmon if we were visiting later in the summer.
A sculpture depicted Grandma Olga, aka Olga Nikolai Ezi, who originally hailed from the Tyone Lake, Copper Center regions. In about 1986, Olga married Dena'ina leader Simeon Basdut, one of the last recognized chiefs of the upper Cook Inlet, including Anchorage and the Matanuska Valley. The Russian government certified Simeon as a Chief due to his success in trade and his Russian Orthodox faith.
Olga, Simeon, and their five children led a hard-working, subsistence lifestyle, fishing in the spring and summer months and hunting moose, sheep, and ducks in the fall and winter. The pair eventually settled in Eklutna Village where they were well-respected elders. What a shame that we hadn't known to look for her grave when we were in the village cemetery the day before.
After the rich and fattening food on board the ship for the past week, Steven and I craved some comfort food that night for dinner. The best choice was the Northernmost Denny's in the World - don't laugh too hard at our culinary choices!
Next post: Driving southwest to the Kenai Peninsula towns of Cooper Landing, Soldotna, and Seward.
Posted on December 8th, 2025, from an almost balmy Denver after the significant snowstorm we had several days ago. The roads and much of our lawn are clear of snow - things are looking good for walking with a friend in our neighborhood parks tomorrow. Please take care of yourself and your loved ones.
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