Field Note: The Week Alaska Tipped Into Summer

I started the week in Juneau and ended it in Kodiak.

Somewhere between the first lupine, a few unexpected bears and the longest days of the year, it felt as though Alaska had finally tipped fully into summer.

The change was not dramatic. Alaska rarely announces the beginning of a season all at once. It arrives gradually with a little more green appearing across the mountains, in wildflowers opening beside a familiar road, or in the moment you realize the light is still lingering long after the day should have ended.

In Juneau, the lupine had begun to bloom.

I took this photo from ‘out the road’ (which just means I was headed towards Berner’s Bay). This location is called ‘Eagle Beach’ and it’s a great place to explore especially during low tide. Some locals will go clamming out here as the bottom is muddy / sandy.

It is one of the ways I measure the seasons here. Not necessarily by a date on the calendar, but by what begins appearing around me.

On my way, I saw 2 different black bears alongside the road. 1 of the bears had crossed the road and I turned around to take a look at it. Another bear was happily eating dandelions. I stayed in my car (other vehicles had gathered) and we watched in just awe.

Seeing bears in Alaska never feels ordinary to me. Even when you live here, there is still something arresting about realizing the wildness people travel so far to find is moving through the landscape directly in front of you.

A few days later, I flew to Kodiak.

From the plane, Alaska stretched out beneath us in layers of mountains, water, islands and coastline.

The mountain peaks were breathtaking, the aerial views of the glaciers were inspiring and the turquoise / blue color of the water was simply beautiful. This part of Alaska always feels bigger to me. More untouched and a deeper experience.

There are flights in Alaska that feel less like transportation and more like part of the experience. The view quietly reminds you how much of this place exists beyond the roads and how difficult it is to fully comprehend its scale from the ground.

When I returned to Juneau, the summer solstice was almost here.

In Alaska, the solstice is often explained through numbers: the hours of daylight, the time of sunrise, the exact moment the season officially begins. But I think you feel it more through accumulation.

The lupine opens.

The mountains deepen into green.

Bears begin moving through the landscape.

The evenings stretch so far beyond dinner that it becomes difficult to tell where one day ends and the next begins.

For me personally, the longer days are such a blessing and a curse. I get to enjoy the Alaska beauty, the warmth of the sun, and our vegetation seems to grow incredibly fast. However, there’s a level of fatigue that comes with the longer days. Less sleep, a feeling like you’re always missing something fun or exciting and less downtime.

Within one week, I had moved from lupine and bears in Juneau to the wide coastal landscape of Kodiak. None of it had been arranged into a perfect itinerary. It was simply the shape the week took.

That may be what I love most about living here.

Alaska does not always reveal itself through the major moments we plan for. Sometimes it is a patch of lupine beside the road. A bear appearing where you did not expect one. A view from an airplane window that makes you stop whatever you were doing and look outside.

The summer solstice may mark the longest day of the year, but the season is felt in moments like the ones I had last week, the small signs that the landscape is alive, the light is abundant and summer has arrived.

The most memorable parts of Alaska often appear between the plans.