I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights. So, of course, I was going to make it happen. And somehow, everything just aligned perfectly for me to go. I had plane credits about to expire, hotels and car rentals were dirt cheap (because, really, who goes to Anchorage in December?!), and last minute, I said, “Screw it—I’m going.”
So off I went, with no real plans other than experiencing Alaska in the winter and hopefully catching the aurora. I landed, threw on my winter coat, asked some locals for recommendations, and just started driving. And let me tell you—I was flabbergasted (yes, I’m bringing that word back). The mountains? Unreal. I only had a few hours of daylight each day, so I made the most of it. I wandered onto random snowy trails, hoping for the best views—and also hoping I wouldn’t run into a moose or a serial killer. (The duality of solo travel, am I right?)
One of my favorite moments was standing on a trail, completely alone, music playing, just dancing while the sun hit the mountains. Watching the colors change, breathing in that crisp air, just so happy to be alive.
Now, cue the near-death experience. (Mom, if you’re reading this... skip this part). So there I was, driving on a winding road that’s sketchy even in summer, but in winter? Terrifying. A fresh snowfall made it extra slippery, and as I rounded a bend (on a cliff, mind you), I hit black ice. The car slid—like, almost off the cliff slid. And in some actual miracle, I somehow regained control at the last second. That was my official come-to-Jesus moment. Alaska wasn’t playing around.
Despite all that, I wasn’t about to let anything ruin this trip—not even my chronic illness, which was making it hard to eat or sleep. Instead, I let nature heal me.
Finally, it was time for the main event—the Northern Lights. The first two nights were a bust, and I had one last chance before I flew home. I hired a local guide (who, thankfully, did not murder me in his van), and we spent the night talking photography and chasing clear skies. Then, after hiking through knee-deep snow, it happened. The aurora came out in full force. I stood there, taking photos, completely in awe. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments—the kind you never forget and are just so grateful for.
And just like that, I was back at the airport, heading home, still buzzing from the adventure.
So yeah—Alaska, you were a wild ride. And I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
