I just spent the past few days in McCarthy, a tiny, remote village tucked deep into the Alaskan wilderness. It’s only about 60 miles from the Alaska Highway, but getting there takes over three hours. One endless gravel road. No turn-offs. No houses. No signs of life, until the very end, where McCarthy quietly waits.
Completely off the grid. That’s how it felt. My phone was useless. Even my new iPhone with satellite capabilities couldn’t find a signal. No running water. No RV hookups. No electricity. But in return: wild, untamed nature. Towering glaciers. Meaningful conversations. And progress in my project.
The road into McCarthy is more than just physically long, it’s mentally confronting. The isolation hits you. The vastness of the world sinks in. You feel small. Insignificant, in the best possible way.
On the second day, I crossed a glacier in heavy rain, definitely not recommended without crampons. There, on that slick, ancient ice, I realized just how dangerous the wilderness can be. Not just the risk of slipping, but moments later, a landslide unfolded before my eyes. Someone had to run for their life. It was a sobering reminder: out here, nature doesn’t ask permission.
People in McCarthy live with the wild. They adapt to it. Their senses sharpen. The silence gets deeper, and then suddenly louder, as you notice every sound. The rustle of leaves. The distant crunch of gravel. You’re no longer just looking at nature, you’re part of it.
On day three, I took a flight in a small plane. We soared over endless glaciers. The view from above was beyond breathtaking. It gave me perspective, not just literally, but emotionally. The scale of the landscape made everything else feel small.
That night, I found myself at a spontaneous local party. One thing led to another, and I was invited for tea the next morning. With no phone signal, I left early, following a hand-drawn map, walking 2–3 miles through the forest in search of someone’s home. Somehow, it all felt completely normal.
It’s incredible how quickly you begin to adapt. I’ve only been in Alaska for seven days. A week ago, everything felt foreign; America, Alaska, living in a camper, bear country, and the intense solitude. But each day, your body and mind adjust, piece by piece. You start to sync with the environment. You listen more. You slow down.
