Six Months in the Last Frontier
“The proper function of man is to live, not exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them, I shall use my time.
-Jack London
April 14, 2025, the early morning mist was settling down as I grabbed the last of my belongings and threw them into my truck. Camper attached, gear packed, the open road sat in front of me like a newborn baby opening their eyes for the very first time. Every emotion that could be had was running through my head as I set off from my hometown in Syracuse, NY for a two week drive across the continent to Alaska to be a guide for the summer. Syracuse, to Indiana, to North Dakota, Saskatoon, Fort St John, and finally Alaska, the last frontier. Two weeks from the day I left I arrived in a place that would have a significant impact on the rest of my life.
A place full of so much beauty it’s hard to believe it is real. Snowcapped mountain peaks far as you can see, cascading waterfalls rippling with every crash of the water, wildlife as wild as the day the earth was born, 3 am sunrises that will change your perspective on time, a feeling of pure happiness that does not exist in many other parts of this world, and people from all different backgrounds who have come together to live their summer in one extraordinary way. We call ourselves dirtbags, hippies, misfits and the ones who don’t belong, but there in that junkyard we called home, there wasn’t any place we belonged more than right there in the moment. Beauty has a way of making our minds feel full, but the people are what spark the flame within our soul. Through good times and bad to see a community of strangers bond into something unique is more touching than many things this life has seen.
I remember the first day I arrived, constant rain for more than two hours down the Haines Highway as I drove across the border from Canada. I arrived in Haines Alaska, a small historic community 90 miles north of Juneau up the Lynn canal. Confused, disoriented, and sure I was at the wrong place, I was greeted by my eventual fellow guides who showed me around a community that would become stronger than any other I had ever been a part of. Meeting people left and right felt like a dream for me, learning about the places they came from, east coast, the south, California and all over. I listened to the stories they told – adventures through foreign countries, magnificent rafting trips down the Colorado river, and bizarre hitchhiking across the continental United States. These were incredible people in everything they did. We called ourselves dirtbags, the dirtbags of dirtbag lane, but everyone was much more than that. There were masters students, pilots, business owners, a plethora of EMT’s, writers, and more. For every dirtbag, burnout activity we had experienced, they were surrounded by incredible achievements along the way. It was these fellow guides who would help me through some of the toughest and also most rewarding moments my eyes have seen.
It's been said that Alaska will test your strength and throw everything it can at you, some might get discouraged, yet others may thrive. The environment and nature's forces don’t stop for anyone, it will test you with all it has to offer, an unmatched force that can be damaging yet extraordinarily rewarding all at the same time. From the start of the season I could see why it truly is considered the Last Frontier. A land that is 99% still uninhabited, covered in young mountains sharp above where glaciers sat thousands of years ago, braided glacial rivers winding out to the Fjord, and native history that carries an ancient feeling right before your eyes. The idea that there is no time to waste is a strong bond one has with the land around them and the plentiful of old and new adventures to reach. Trying something you’ve never done is a mindset that many people embrace and everyone accepts. It’s what allowed us to bond and share knowledge of our interests and passions, and the things we excel at. It's an amazing sight to see, new and old friends bonding over things they never thought they would do, and simply experiencing the beauty of this place together.
I remember when the season started, almost all of it was new, but it wasn’t ridiculed by feelings of nervousness or fear, instead an anxious excitement was all that sat with me. An excitement to be whatever you wanted, to talk to people about anything and everything, the spectrum was wide, but it kept every day different. It showed that life in small ways and multitudes of small moments lead up to the big picture in the end.
Early in the season I got an opportunity to be a backpacking guide for our long-trips. Getting the chance to venture off into the Alaskan wilderness and share the beauty of life and nature with my co-guides and a summer camp cabin from the lower 48, was an experience that reminded me of the beauty of such simplicity. Right after the training for the backpack trips, concern struck, the summer had up to that point been very mild and our usual trail was still snowpacked. I remember the day I found out that my co-guide, Sarah and I were getting sent to go scout a historic trail in Skagway across the canal. We were sent out for 4 days and 3 nights on the Chilkoot trail, a trail the Tlingit (KLING-kit) natives used centuries ago to trade goods and then eventually a stampeders route during the gold rush in the 1890’s. For 33 miles round trip we spent four days hiking through moss filled rainforests, sleeping next to the rushing Taiya river, and getting to experience Alaska’s June beauty in such a pure and pristine way. Sarah is a very experienced backpacking guide and our short trip gave me an opportunity to learn what the guiding aspect of what we love looks like. She had copious amounts of expertise to impart and help me improve my skills as a backpack guide for when our first trips began.
The entirety of the Chilkoot trail is covered with different informational plaques and artifacts that detail the history of the goldrush and Native history, it’s one long museum. These pictures show the same land we walked on back over 100 years before. The astounding comparison from then to now is what really sheds a light on how young the land is. Trees now 50ft tall towering over once frozen landscapes were non-existent or simply just little seedlings back then. Hanging glaciers 10 times the size of what still exists. The land is constantly changing, sometimes for the good, and other times not so much. It's a gentle reminder of how precious this frontier is and how our small contributions have such a large lasting impact. Our second night on the trail we made it to the last camp on the American side, Sheeps Camp. Sheeps Camp was just before the beginning of the ascent up the Chilkoot pass, famously known from the gold rush times as the “Golden Staircase”. Our goal was to see how far we could get (depending on the amount of snow). We hiked another two and a half miles past Sheeps camp before we ran into deep snow and stopped – making a conscious decision we felt it was unsafe to continue any further without proper equipment. However, as we sat there two miles up the pass taking in the view in front of us I understood the importance of disconnecting from it all, no service to be contacted by anyone, few distractions from life – simply the land, company of a good person, and the beauty of moving slowly. There was no rush to get anywhere, no need to work, the life in front of us was that all that mattered, just sitting there breathing in crisp cool mountain air, as the sunshine cascaded on my face, and the idea that life was meant to be calm like that moment. It is a lesson taught by nature herself. A reminder to embrace the easygoing moments when we get them and enjoy the beauty when it is in front of us.
Good moments come in waves, and bad ones are just the same. For as many wonderful and peaceful moments the last frontier can give us, there can also be moments of swift tragedy. In late June, tragedy struck our small community when we lost one of our beautiful guides, Marin, to the river. I wasn’t around the yard the night people found out, I found out the next morning, I drove back to the yard mid-morning with only one thought – how. I had just seen her one day before, she was our neighbor and our friend, an experienced whitewater guide, dog mom to her boy Eddie, and a radiant soul that was seen throughout the yard. She was kind to everyone who she met and meant the world to so many. It was hard to believe what happened.
We all handle life in different ways, some handle tragedy with calmness, others with stress and anger, some with constant movement and talking, others take a moment to sit still and quiet, there isn’t any correct way to handle losing someone. Whatever mends your head and heart is right for oneself. Throughout the yard there was every sense of grief and remembrance, 70 plus new friends handling the same situation in various ways. For a moment the season seemed as if it would be somber the rest of the way out, but not in a community as strongly bonded as this one. Resilience is not something that happens for us all with ease, but surrounded by a community of shoulders to help out, to listen, to talk, to breathe in the same air as you, and feel the same pain and heartbreak, allows us to lean left and right for the support one needs. The community, not just of our small home in the yard, but in all the town came together to show support for one another in a way that was most needed. For the rest of the season and beyond we would honor Marin, for how beautiful of a person she was and what she brought to our home for what felt like too short of a time. Marin was an adventurous, free spirit who lived her life her way, and no other, to have known her during the early summer was truly one of life's unexpected gifts and one a lot of us will carry for life.
I remember so many moments from the summer where a smile on someone's face was pure, unforced, and just natural—the last frontier truly brought out the most love from people. On the last night of the state fair held in town, there was a band who played an original song titled “Alaska Time”. The line from it that stuck with me was “you don’t end up here by mistake, gotta get lost to find your way, we’ve all come this far so I guess we'll stay”. Nobody has the same story, few were from the same place, yet everyone was someone to know. The amount of different lives lived within a small place was a seriously beautiful sight to see. We had all lived very different lives until that moment, yet, in the wake of it all, ending up in the same place together, we ended up with new friends, some of us with new wives, fiances, and partners in crime. We were given new reasons of hope and a better understanding of life. The last frontier not only delivered new adventures, and a sight we’ll never forget, it delivered a new beginning for most of us. A way to be truly ourselves without so many modern day worries, and distractions. It didn’t mean life was easy, it was just different. Life was lived with simplicity and natural reason. It’s why many who leave don’t ever see the world the same way again. John Muir said it, “Never go to Alaska as a young man because you’ll never be satisfied with any other place as long as you live”. Whatever the reason was, at some point we all ended up here. Wishing to go back, longing for the day of Alaskan summer, the peace of mind that surrounded it, and the joy of a simple life.
God Speed!
