Valdez

Setting out on a Columbia Glacier Cruise is akin to visiting the cryogenic equivalent of a rock concert-only the star performer here is a 400-square-mile glacier dramatically shedding house-sized chunks of ice into the sea, its thunderous applause echoing theatrically across Alaska's Prince William Sound. Named rather grandiosely after Columbia University by Ivy League geologists in 1899 (perhaps hoping tenure would follow), this massive ice formation has been retreating at an alarming pace, meaning you'd better get here sooner rather than later if you prefer watching glaciers rather than mere puddles. Practical tip: snag a morning tour, when the seas are calm and the coffee hot enough to prevent your fingers from surrendering to frostbite. Book at least two weeks in advance during peak summer months, and budget around $150 per person-yes, pricey, but cheaper than therapy and twice as effective at quelling existential crises. Do pack a waterproof jacket, gloves, and sunglasses (glaciers are dazzling divas prone to blinding reflections)-but leave behind your pretensions, because staring slack-jawed at columns of ancient ice crashing thunderously into turquoise waters will strip away your sense of importance quicker than a barbed remark from a waiter in Paris. Even if glaciers aren't your usual speed, do it for the story-you haven't truly lived until you've shouted, "Did you SEE that!?" over roaring ice, shivering tourists, and confused seabirds.

If paddling around frozen hunks of ancient ice like a slightly damp Viking raider sounds appealing-and frankly, why wouldn't it-then kayaking on Valdez Glacier Lake is your chance to live out your polar-pirate fantasies without the scurvy risks or questionable hygiene. Located just outside the quirky port-side charm of Valdez, Alaska, this glacial lake was once the historic corridor for prospectors chasing gold during the Klondike stampede; sadly there's no leftover gold bars bobbing between bergs, but the surreal beauty makes up for the lack of treasure. Aim for the crisp morning hours, when icebergs sport eye-popping shades of turquoise beneath a rosy dawn glow-think Instagram meets National Geographic, but with more numb fingers. Book at least a few weeks ahead during peak summer (June to August) when Alaska briefly ditches its indoor hermit mode. Bring layers, snacks, and perhaps a flask of something warming (strictly medicinal, of course) and budget around $150-$200 per person for a guided paddle. Even if your kayak zig-zags like a drunken otter or your fingers lose feeling after wrestling with the paddle, it's worth every chilly splash-if only to casually drop "that one time I kayaked among icebergs in a glacier lake in Alaska" into conversation over beers for years to come.

Once a year, the quietly rugged streets of downtown Valdez erupt into glorious Alaskan chaos known as Gold Rush Days, proving conclusively that humanity will seize upon any excuse-however distant or debatable-to throw axes, race outhouses on wheels, and devour pancakes as though carbohydrates grant immortality. Inspired by the town's scrappy roots dating back to the 1898 gold fever (when hopeful prospectors discovered, alas, more frostbite than fortune), Valdez abandons restraint for one weekend annually, inviting visitors to plunge joyfully into distinctly Alaskan absurdities. Arrive early in the day, preferably caffeinated and layered for the erratic whims of Valdez weather, and don't neglect to carry a crisp wad of cash-thirty bucks should cover beers, barbecue, and a souvenir T-shirt emblazoned proudly with an outhouse at speed-proof you were there and survived. Plan lodging or campsite reservations at least a couple months ahead; Alaskans wait for nobody, least of all late-planning tourists. Ultimately, whether you strike gold or just lose spectacularly in a salmon tossing contest, it's worth every bruise, spilled beer, and muddy boot-because truly, how often can you legitimately boast of racing an outhouse down Main Street and living to tell the tale?

Wedged between Valdez's dramatic cliffs, Keystone Canyon serves up a pair of waterfalls straight out of an Alaskan postcard-if postcards were designed by thrill-seeking Norse gods. Bridal Veil and Horsetail Falls aren't just pretty-they're geological divas that have spent millennia carving their icy signatures into stone, fed by melting glaciers and constant precipitation, nature's practical jokes on any naive tourist expecting dry socks. Go early in the morning, when the mist catches the sunlight just right, and you'll have fewer tourists photobombing your shots. Don't forget waterproof layers, sturdy shoes, and a towel-Mother Nature here enjoys a good splash fight. Planning is easy-show up at any season (although late spring to early fall is prime waterflow) and budget-friendly too, since these stunning cascades don't charge admission, just your dignity if you slip. Even if waterfalls aren't normally your thing, watching Bridal Veil's pristine veil juxtaposed with Horsetail's unkempt mane is worth it for the witty cocktail-hour anecdote alone. After all, how many travelers get to casually mention they stood drenched beneath Alaska's scenic whims, marveling at the world's most photogenic plumbing?

If your idea of adventure involves careening through Alaskan skies in a glorified tin can (with wings, mind you), then climbing aboard a flightseeing tour over Prince William Sound is the best possible risk you'll take this decade. Depart from the Valdez Airport area-picture a ruggedly functional airstrip without a whiff of pretense-and soon enough, you're soaring over glaciers so surreal they'd make Elsa jealous, fjords plunging like moody Nordic poets, and wildlife that has better views than your apartment ever will. Aim for a morning flight when clarity and wildlife activity peak, and book at least a week ahead because, oddly enough, living postcards tend to fill seats fast. Plan on dropping around $250 to $400 per person-bring sunglasses, binoculars, and your best poker face to disguise your disbelief that nature can still outdo CGI. Whether you're an adrenaline junkie or a chronic couch potato trying desperately to impress Instagram followers, this experience is so absurdly majestic and borderline reckless that you'll dine out on the story for years to come.

If you're craving an authentic encounter with Alaska's marine wilderness-rather than the sanitized, cruise-ship brochure version-an overnight sea kayak expedition through Prince William Sound is your ticket to paradise, or at the very least, an intriguingly damp adventure. Here, nature serves unapologetic drama: towering glaciers cracking like thunder, otters casually mocking your paddling technique, and whimsical puffins staring judgmentally as you fumble with your waterproof map. Historically, Prince William Sound whispers of Russian explorers, bold indigenous hunters, and-let's not forget-the oily ghosts of Exxon Valdez. Practically speaking, plan your aquatic odyssey a couple months in advance, aim for the mild (by Alaska standards) summer months, and budget $400-$700 for a quality overnight guided expedition. Pack layers like you're preparing for every weather forecast known to humanity, stow away your thin veneer of patience, and bring a flask of something fiery to celebrate surviving another day without tipping into glacial water. Trust me-there's nothing quite like the quiet triumph of sipping whiskey under the midnight sun, your kayak beached nearby, listening to silence punctuated only by whale spouts and the smug chuckle of a distant harbor seal. Even if your paddling form never improves, you'll return with a true Alaskan tale, the kind that starts with, "Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly became orca bait?"