Dutch Harbor

If you're looking to hike the UniSea Harbor View Trail in Dutch Harbor, congratulations-you're officially deep in America's seafood capital, a wild speck of rock and wind-blasted tundra that boasts more bald eagles than reliable Wi-Fi signals. This trail isn't exactly Everest, but ascending its winding paths, you'll feel like you've earned the sweeping panorama of docks bustling with fishermen unloading cod the size of toddlers and crab boats straight out of a salty reality TV show. For maximum smugness, tackle it at dawn or dusk-the golden Alaskan sun lending a deceptively cozy glow as you snap your breathtaking selfies. A week's prep isn't necessary-this isn't a Michelin-starred sushi joint-but plan at least a day ahead, check weather (this is the Aleutians-rain is basically punctuation), and pack layers along with sturdy shoes, water, and snacks. Budget-wise, breathe easy: nature's spectacular display won't cost you a dime, though afterward you might feel compelled to blow $20 on cold beer and fish and chips at a dockside shack. Why make the haul to Dutch Harbor to walk a short trail? Because everyone else hikes to waterfalls or glaciers, but how many friends can casually drop anecdotes about standing atop windswept hillsides watching grizzled crab fishermen battling the elements-besides you, the new hero of dinner-table banter?

There's something innately masochistic yet irresistibly appealing about willingly clambering aboard a rust-speckled vessel in the icy spray of the Bering Sea just to snatch giant crabs from their grumpy underwater lairs. Welcome, dear friends, to the legendary Dutch Harbor Crab Fishing Tour-an experience as brutal as it is brilliant, in a place famed for dragging burly men and their wild-eyed ambitions into reality TV fame. Set your alarm shamefully early and layer up in gear that'll leave you looking vaguely like an astronaut crossed with the Michelin Man, because mornings are when the crustaceans-and your salty guides-are at their liveliest. Book at least two months ahead (this is crab country, not Disneyland), and brace yourself to shell out roughly $250 to $350-surely a fair price to pay for bragging rights usually reserved for characters from "Deadliest Catch." Bring waterproof footwear, seasickness tablets, a good dose of humility, and perhaps a flask of something warming to share discreetly with your fellow adventurers. Yes, you'll be cold, wet, and possibly terrified at times, but standing on slippery decks where fortunes and fingers are routinely risked offers the rare thrill of authentic adventure-and even better storytelling for years to come.

Out on the mist-slicked, windswept shores of Alaska's Unalaska region, you'll find a crumbling, yet oddly compelling relic of World War II history scattered like forgotten children's toys along the Aleutian coastline. Long abandoned observation bunkers and artillery emplacements-built when Americans worried Japan might leapfrog its way to Seattle-now serve as surreal artifacts, stark reminders of a time when paranoia built sturdy things in unlikely places. The best way to experience this eerie apocalyptic nostalgia is early morning, just as the fog lifts-when silvery-gray skies perfectly match your existential mood. Bring sturdy boots, windproof gear, and a thermos brimming with strong coffee (or something stronger, who am I to judge?). Plan a couple of weeks ahead and budget around $100 for a local guide; trust me, those ruined bunkers lose some appeal if you accidentally spend the night stumbling around aimlessly in bear country. And yes, the Aleutians are remote, damp, and teeth-chatteringly bleak-but like any adventure worth its salt, it's ultimately about the stories you'll recount later, probably over drinks, as your friends wonder how exactly you thought "Aleutian military ruins" sounded like a good vacation idea.