Adak

Scaling Mt. Moffett on Adak Island is the kind of caper you brag about later over beers-the tale becoming increasingly heroic with each round. This hike is no Everest, but the fierce Aleutian wind, the surreal absence of humans, and vistas so dramatically desolate you'd think you've landed on a moody planet from Star Wars make it an adventure worth bragging (or complaining) about. Historically, Adak was an outpost in World War II, so expect to stumble upon wistful remnants of rusted military machines that now serve as quirky landmarks or solemn, weather-beaten guardians. Plan your hike early enough to dodge afternoon squalls, packing layers suitable for weather that changes its mood faster than a chef on opening night. Bring snacks, extra socks, and maybe a flask of something bracing to toast atop the rugged summit-budget around half a day for a leisurely romp, and the good news is there's no entry fee beyond courage and sturdy boots. Ultimately, climbing Mt. Moffett is essential, if only to claim bragging rights as part explorer, part historian, and full-blown adventurer-at least until someone asks you, "Adak Island? Wait, that's a real place?"

Fishing for salmon off Kuluk Bay isn't your gentle, weekend rod-and-reel meditation-no, friend, this is Alaska at its gloriously untamed finest, where the fish practically leap into your boat with a bravado usually reserved for barroom brawlers. Kuluk Bay, a rugged crescent of coastline with a name that rolls off the tongue like a sip of good bourbon, has been a hotbed of salmon action since the Aleut people first navigated these chilly waters centuries ago. Sure, the region's got postcard-perfect views, but save the sightseeing for later-your goal here is pulling in plump, fiercely spirited salmon with humorless determination. Local lore says sunrise is when the fish bite best-around 5 am, when only fishermen and insomniacs are awake-but planning a day or two ahead ensures your charter won't leave you marooned dockside, staring mournfully at departing vessels. Budget roughly $150-$250 per person, depending how grandly you'd like your Alaskan fishing tales to unfold, and come prepared with layers of waterproof gear and a flask of something strong enough to warm your extremities and courage. Trust me, even if you don't reel in the catch of the day, you'll leave Kuluk Bay with at least one story to enrich every dinner party you attend for the rest of your life, and a newfound appreciation for the raw power-and deliciousness-of Alaska's finest fish.

Crawling through the shadowy, moss-covered entrances of Adak's underground bunkers feels less like tourism and more like trespassing into a Cold War spy thriller directed by Mother Nature herself. Out in the remote, windswept reaches of Alaska's Aleutian Islands, Adak Island once buzzed with clandestine military activity, its bleak landscape riddled with hidden passageways and subterranean relics of 1950s paranoia. Today, beneath the oddly comforting drizzle and a sky perpetually colored like dishwater, visitors can descend into these gloriously eerie bunkers, flashlight trembling in hand, half-expecting Soviet ghosts to whisper state secrets in the echoing darkness. Aim for early morning-when the fog is moody but cooperative-and budget at least three or four hours of permissionless exploration, armed with layers of warm clothing, a reliable headlamp, and sturdy waterproof boots (these bunkers drip a frigid cocktail of history and condensation). Planning ahead? Give it a few weeks' notice-not because you'll face any waiting lines or bureaucratic hurdles, but because arranging your journey to this distant outpost requires logistical ninja skills and a healthy disregard for convenience. An easy hundred bucks should cover gas, snacks, and emergency caffeine-just enough to keep you sharp for what feels like trespassing into history. But here's why you do it: because descending into the silent bowels of the Cold War isn't just another checkbox on your bucket list-it's proof positive to your future grandchildren, skeptical bartenders, or whoever else pretends to listen, that you once stared history in the damp, dark eyes and didn't blink.

Nothing quite says adventure-or questionable judgment-like willingly bunking down in a drafty metal tube designed for wartime efficiency rather than human comfort. Welcome to the renovated WWII-era Quonset huts on Alaska's forgotten Adak Island, a windswept outpost that once buzzed with anxious servicemen anticipating Japanese invasions that never materialized. Today, these corrugated metal shelters have been upgraded from their Spartan beginnings (meaning there's heating and actual beds-luxuries unknown to their original occupants), yet they retain enough rough-around-the-edges charm to make you feel both historically connected and slightly masochistic. Go in summer if you prefer daylight and the feeling in your fingers, or brave the harsh Alaskan winter if you're after legitimate bragging rights. Book at least six weeks ahead-apparently, reclaimed relics now rate as premium vacation lodging-and budget around $150-200 a night, along with an extra $50 for whisky (trust me, you'll want the whisky). Pack warm layers, earplugs to muffle the ghostly moans of wind whipping across tundra, and a healthy appreciation for absurdity. Why do it? Because after you've survived a night in a place built to withstand Pacific warfare, any future inconvenience-a broken Wi-Fi connection, lukewarm coffee-will feel positively trivial. Plus, you'll earn lifetime bragging rights at every dinner party thereafter: "Did I mention the time I bunked in a WW II military hut in the Aleutians?"