A Winter's Tale in Valdez, Alaska

A Winter's Tale in Valdez, Alaska

In September 2024, I wandered into Valdez, Alaska, where the fjords of Prince William Sound glittered under the late summer sun, and the Chugach Mountains stood like silent sentinels draped in green. The town buzzed with a quiet charm, kayakers paddled among icebergs, fishermen hauled in salmon at Allison Point, and the waterfalls of Keystone Canyon roared with life. The air carried the tang of salt and pine, and the small harbour pulsed with boats and stories of the sea. Locals at the Fat Mermaid shared tales of the 1964 earthquake and the Exxon Valdez spill, their resilience as striking as the glaciers that loomed nearby. It was a place where nature and community wove a unique way of life, vibrant yet grounded, with every vista, from the shimmering Columbia Glacier to the serene tide flats—feeling like a gift.

As winter descended, Valdez transformed into a hushed, remote world. The tourists who flocked to the glacier cruises and hiking trails in September had long gone, leaving the town to its 4,000 souls and the embrace of the Chugach Mountains, now buried under 600 inches of snow. The harbor grew still, the waters icy, and the Northern Lights began their nightly dance above the fjord. Locals like Clara, a lifelong Valdez resident, found solace in the quiet. She’d snowshoe along the Dock Point Trail, her breath visible in the crisp air, or join friends at Growler Bay Brewing Co. for a pint, where the warmth of community filled the silence. The Solomon Gulch Hatchery, once teeming with summer salmon, now stood as a frozen testament to the town’s fishing heart, while bears and eagles still prowled nearby, undeterred by the cold.

Life in Valdez’s winter felt like a secret shared with the wild. The town’s isolation, a 6.5-hour drive from Anchorage through the snow-choked Thompson Pass, fostered a closeness among residents, who gathered for the Ice Climbing Festival in Keystone Canyon or skied the powder-laden slopes. Visitors brave enough to venture here in winter could expect a raw, untamed beauty, Worthington Glacier glowing under moonlight, the silence broken only by the crunch of snow or a distant wolf’s howl. The Valdez Museum offered warmth and stories of the Alutiiq and Ahtna peoples, while a kayak trip on Valdez Glacier Lake, now a frozen wonderland, promised solitude and icy splendor. In this remote season, Valdez revealed a quieter, deeper magic, where nature’s grandeur and human grit shone brightest against the long, dark nights.