Fairbanks, Alaska's second-largest city and the gateway to the Arctic, is a year-round destination celebrated for its breathtaking northern lights, midnight sun, gold rush heritage, and thrilling wilderness adventures in the heart of interior Alaska.
Alaska: Seward – Dog sledding during the summer season
🐕 Mushing Mad: We Visit Alaska’s Famous Iditaride Dog Sled Tour
After a full day bobbing about at sea, we decided that solid ground was very much the order of the day for our remaining time in Seward. The legs needed a rest from the nautical nonsense, and frankly, so did the stomach. Seward, for those who haven’t been, is a small port town on the Kenai Peninsula in southcentral Alaska, sitting at the head of Resurrection Bay — a rather dramatic name for what is, in fairness, a rather dramatic bit of coastline.
Now, ever since we’d arrived in Alaska, Emily had somehow discovered the existence of kennels where sled dog huskies lived and — crucially — where visitors were actually allowed to come and have a look around. And possibly go for a ride. From that moment on, the campaign to visit one began in earnest. I say campaign. It was more of a sustained and relentless lobbying effort. Resistance, as they say, was futile. Fortunately, as these things sometimes work out, there happened to be one such establishment conveniently located near Seward. Even more remarkably, despite it being the height of summer and the last snow having departed months ago, the tour still promised a sled ride of some description. How on earth could we say no to that? We couldn’t. We didn’t. Off we went to the Iditaride Dog Sled Tour.
Dog sledding, it turns out, is absolutely enormous business in Alaska. Not just a quaint hobby, but a full-blown cultural institution with a passionate following. The undisputed jewel in its crown — the blue riband event of the mushing world — is the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, widely regarded as the largest and most prestigious sporting event in the entire state of Alaska. Admittedly, that’s not quite saying the same thing as being the biggest sporting event in, say, the United States, but up here it’s a very big deal indeed. The official website of the race describes it with suitable grandeur as a race covering over 1,150 miles of what it calls “the most extreme and beautiful terrain known to man,” crossing mountain ranges, frozen rivers, dense forests, desolate tundra, and windswept coastline. They’re not wrong, either.
The modern race begins in Anchorage, Alaska’s largest city, before the competitors head off into the vast and deeply inhospitable Alaskan interior, finally arriving — those that make it — in the remote north-western coastal town of Nome, perched on the edge of the Bering Sea. The current world record for completing the Iditarod Trail belongs to Mitch Seavey, who crossed the finish line on 14th March 2017 in a jaw-dropping time of 8 days, 3 hours, 40 minutes, and 13 seconds. Which, when you think about what he’d just crossed, is frankly astonishing.
The race takes its name from the town of Iditarod, which started life as an Athabaskan indigenous village. The Athabaskans are one of the largest groups of Native Alaskan peoples, with communities spread across the interior of the state, and they had settled this area long before anyone else showed up with gold pans and ambitions. The name Iditarod itself is thought to be derived from the Athabaskan word haiditarod, broadly meaning “far distant place.” Which, having looked at a map, seems entirely fair.
In 1910, the area transformed rapidly when it became the centre of the Iditarod Mining District, part of the wider gold rush that was sweeping interior Alaska at the time. The town boomed, filling with prospectors, traders, and the usual assortment of characters that frontier gold rushes tend to attract. Then, as inevitably happens with these things, the gold ran out. By the early 1920s, the rush was over, the people had largely gone, and Iditarod quietly became a ghost town. A very remote ghost town. A far distant ghost town, you might say.
But the real reason the Iditarod race carries such weight — beyond the spectacle and the sheer endurance of it — is that it serves as a living tribute to one of the most remarkable events in Alaskan history: the 1925 Serum Run to Nome, also known, rather wonderfully, as the Great Race of Mercy. In January of that year, the town of Nome found itself facing a diphtheria epidemic of terrifying proportions. Diphtheria was a brutal illness — a bacterial infection that attacked the throat and airways — and it was hitting the indigenous Inuit children of the region particularly hard. They had no natural immunity to what was grimly referred to at the time as the “white man’s disease,” having had no prior exposure to it. Without antitoxin serum, the outcome for many of them would almost certainly have been death.
The nearest sufficient supply of the antitoxin was sitting in Anchorage, over 800 miles away. The problem was getting it there. The two aircraft available in Alaska at the time were both dismantled for the winter and had never been flown in Alaskan winter conditions. Flying the serum was, in the judgment of Governor Scott Bone, too dangerous a gamble. Instead, he approved a relay route using the existing dog sled trail network — the only reliable means of long-distance winter transport in Alaska at that point.
On 27th January 1925, a 20-pound (9 kg) cylinder of life-saving serum was loaded onto a train at the southern port of Seward — the very town we were visiting — and transported 298 miles (480 km) north to the town of Nenana. Just before midnight, the cylinder was handed to the first of twenty mushers and their teams of more than 100 dogs, who would relay it across 674 miles (1,085 km) of frozen wilderness from Nenana all the way to Nome. The dogs ran in shifts, with no single dog covering more than 100 miles (160 km) of the journey. The serum arrived in Nome on 2nd February, just barely in time to prevent the epidemic from becoming a full catastrophe. The lead dog of the final leg, a Siberian Husky named Balto, became something of a national celebrity afterwards. There’s even a statue of him in Central Park in New York, which tells you something about how the story captured the public imagination.
Anyway. Back to our tour, because I’m in danger of turning this into a history lecture and that’s not what anyone signed up for.
The kennels we visited are operated by the Seavey family, a genuine multi-generation mushing dynasty who have been thoroughly embedded in the Iditarod world for decades. Dallas Seavey, one of the family’s current stars, has won the Iditarod multiple times, and as already noted, Mitch Seavey holds the current record for the fastest completion of the race. So this wasn’t some tourist gimmick run by people who once watched a documentary about dogs. These people are the real thing.
Our first stop was to meet the dogs themselves. The kennel keeps around 90 huskies on site, and they were all chained to individual stakes in the ground, spaced just far enough apart that the dogs couldn’t quite reach each other — which, given the energy levels on display, seemed like a very sensible precaution. Their shelter consisted of small plastic kennels, the sort of thing that looked barely large enough to fit a medium-sized cat, let alone a working sled dog. Karen and Emily were, to put it mildly, rather taken aback by this. When you then factor in that these dogs live outside in this arrangement throughout the Alaskan winter — where temperatures in the Kenai Peninsula can routinely drop to -20°C (-4°F) or colder — it does give you pause.
We were told the dogs were all extremely friendly, though you’d never have guessed it from the noise. The sight of visitors arriving had sent the entire kennel into a state of considerable excitement, because the dogs had clearly worked out over time that people turning up generally means some of them are going for a run. And they desperately wanted to be picked.
The dogs themselves weren’t quite what most of us picture when we hear the word “husky.” Forget the fluffy, thick-coated, wolf-like creatures from the Instagram photos. These animals were lean and wiry, almost greyhound-like in their build, and they came in an impressively varied range of shapes, colours, and sizes. We were told, with some amusement, that the Alaskan sled husky is essentially a mutt — a deliberately mixed breed, refined over generations of selective breeding with a single purpose in mind: producing the perfect dog for pulling a sled at speed over long distances. Speed, endurance, and toughness are what matter. Photogenic fluffiness does not appear to have featured heavily in the breeding criteria.
Once we’d got over the initial surprise of the living arrangements, we were invited to go over and meet the dogs properly. And whatever reservations we might have had about the setup, the dogs themselves were, without question, absolutely delightful. Friendly, enthusiastic, and apparently completely unbothered by strangers. They were very happy to be petted and fussed over, which we did with considerable enthusiasm.
🛷 All Aboard: The Part Where We Actually Let 14 Dogs Drag Us Around
Next up was the main event — the sled ride itself. Now, given that we were visiting in the middle of an Alaskan summer with not a flake of snow in sight, the word “sled” requires a small amount of qualification. What we actually climbed aboard was best described as a metal-framed cart on wheels. Think of it as a sled’s more practical, less romantic summer cousin. Eight of us piled on, doing our best to look dignified, and largely failing.
We then watched as the handlers got to work. With impressive efficiency, they untied 14 dogs from their stakes and hitched them up to harnesses attached to the front of our wheeled contraption. Fourteen dogs. For eight people in a cart. The enthusiasm coming from the front end of this arrangement was, to put it mildly, considerable. The rear of the cart, sensibly, had been tied with a rope to a large wooden post firmly planted in the ground — purely to prevent us from being launched prematurely across the Alaskan landscape before our musher had so much as taken his position.
Our guide and musher was a young lad who looked entirely unfazed by the prospect of controlling 14 extremely keen dogs on behalf of eight tourists who didn’t know what they were doing. He untied the cart, issued a couple of brief and cheerful instructions to us — essentially “hold on” and “enjoy it” — and then we were off. The dogs didn’t need to be asked twice.
The tour itself ran for around 20 minutes, though it was punctuated by several stops along the way. This wasn’t a dramatic change of scenery or a chance for photographs, as it turned out, but a necessary precaution to stop the dogs from overheating. This, apparently, is the great paradox of the Alaskan sled dog in summer. These are animals bred and built for conditions of minus 40 degrees Fahrenheit — a temperature so cold it barely seems real to anyone who’s spent their winters in, say, Guildford — and a warm Alaskan summer day, pleasant enough by most standards, is genuinely too hot for them to run continuously without a breather. You do feel slightly guilty about that, but the dogs seemed perfectly cheerful about the whole business.
During the stops, our young musher walked us through the basics of the craft. The commands are refreshingly straightforward: hike to get the dogs moving, gee to turn right, haw to turn left, and whoa to stop — though the musher did note, with what I took to be the voice of experience, that “whoa” is more of an optimistic suggestion than a firm instruction when the dogs are in full flow. The lead dogs, positioned at the very front of the line, are the key to the whole operation. They’re not just the fastest — they’re the most intelligent and responsive animals in the team, chosen specifically for their ability to understand and relay commands down through the rest of the pack.
And then, all too soon, we were back at the kennels. Twenty minutes of being cheerfully hauled around the Alaskan wilderness by a small army of extremely enthusiastic dogs. Brilliant, frankly.
🐾 Puppies, Pedigrees, and a Malamute the Size of a Small Car
Our penultimate stop on the tour was, without question, the highlight — at least as far as Emily was concerned. We were taken to the breeding kennels, where two litters of puppies were in residence: some tiny and only a matter of days old, and others a few weeks further along and already beginning to find their paws and their opinions.
We were also introduced, rather casually, to Danny Seavey — one of Mitch Seavey’s sons and therefore very much mushing royalty, though he carried it all with an easy, unassuming manner that you rather appreciated. The Seavey family have been competing in and winning the Iditarod across multiple generations, which makes them something of an Alaskan institution. Danny, for his part, seemed perfectly accustomed to groups of tourists turning up and going slightly mad over his dogs, which, to be fair, is a very understandable response.
Emily, who had been fairly patient up to this point, was now completely and utterly in her element. We were allowed to pick up and cuddle the smaller pups — soft, warm, wriggling little things who hadn’t quite worked out what was happening but seemed broadly in favour of it — and then we were let into the enclosure with the older ones to have a proper frolic. Which we did. At length. There is no dignified way to describe four grown adults crawling around on the ground being enthusiastically ambushed by puppies, so I won’t try.
Also present in the breeding kennels were a couple of Alaskan Malamutes, and these were an entirely different proposition. If the racing huskies we’d seen earlier were the lean, wiry athletes of the dog world — all fast-twitch muscle and nervous energy — then the Malamutes were the heavyweight powerlifters. Big, broad, magnificently hairy creatures with rounded, bear-like faces and the kind of solid, powerful build that makes you wonder whether “dog” is quite the right word. One of them looked as though it could tow a modest family saloon without breaking a sweat.
The Malamute is, in fact, one of the oldest and most venerable of the Arctic sled dog breeds, developed over thousands of years by the Mahlemut — an Inupiaq people of north-western Alaska — as a working dog capable of hauling heavy loads across sea ice and tundra. Unlike the racing husky, which has been specifically bred for speed above all else, the Malamute was built for pure, sustained pulling power over long distances. Strength and stamina, not pace. They are, in short, the carthorse to the racing husky’s thoroughbred.
As we were told, that distinction is absolutely critical in the world of competitive mushing. The Malamutes are extraordinarily strong and perfectly capable of shifting impressive loads, but they simply cannot match the racing husky for outright speed. In the unforgiving arithmetic of the Iditarod, where shaving minutes off your time can mean the difference between winning and finishing respectably, a Malamute is not your animal. They are very much appreciated for what they are — magnificent, powerful, ancient working dogs — but you won’t be finding them at the front of a competitive racing team any time soon.
We left the breeding kennels in considerably higher spirits than we’d arrived, which given that we’d arrived fairly cheerfully, was quite the achievement. The puppies had seen to that.
🎿 Gear Up: Getting Kitted Out Like a Real Alaskan Musher
Our final stop on the tour was a lean-to building at the edge of the kennel — the sort of structure that looks like it was put up on a Tuesday afternoon and has been quietly useful ever since. Inside, we settled down to watch a short film about dog sledding, which filled in some of the gaps nicely and gave our legs a well-earned rest. Our young musher guide — who, it has to be said, had the kind of easy, confident manner that comes from having grown up around dogs and sleds rather than, say, a suburban semi-detached in Wolverhampton — then took us through some of the essential kit used in competitive racing.
And there was rather more to it than you might expect. The sleds themselves are remarkably sophisticated pieces of equipment — lightweight but extraordinarily tough, engineered to flex over uneven terrain rather than snap, and built to handle everything the Alaskan wilderness can throw at them, which as it turns out is quite a lot. Race sleds typically weigh somewhere between 25 and 40 pounds and are constructed from materials like aluminium and high-density plastics, a very long way from the traditional wooden designs of the 1925 serum run era. Food for both the mushers and the dogs on a long race like the Iditarod is another serious logistical undertaking — mushers consume thousands of calories a day, while each dog requires somewhere in the region of 10,000 to 12,000 calories during the most gruelling stretches of the race. The menu is, by all accounts, not particularly glamorous.
But the real highlight of this part of the tour — certainly as far as entertainment value was concerned — was the clothing demonstration. Racing in conditions of minus 40°F and below is, it turns out, not something you approach casually. At that temperature, the distinction between Fahrenheit and Celsius becomes largely academic, because minus 40 is the one point where the two scales converge and agree that things are absolutely, lethally freezing. Exposed skin can suffer frostbite in a matter of minutes. Mushers therefore wear layered systems of technical gear — base layers, mid layers, wind-blocking outer shells, insulated boots, heavy-duty mittens, and face protection — the whole ensemble being essentially a wearable life-support system with a sled attached.
Our guide, with commendable enthusiasm, invited volunteers to try the whole lot on. Jack and Emily, demonstrating the kind of willingness that the rest of us — Karen and I — were sensible enough not to show, immediately put their hands up. Within minutes, both of them were standing there swaddled in enough insulated outerwear to survive a night on the surface of Mars, looking simultaneously hilarious and faintly heroic. The boots alone appeared to weigh more than Emily normally does. Jack took to it with the air of someone who had absolutely no idea what he’d just agreed to but was committed to seeing it through, which is, I suppose, not unlike the Iditarod itself.
The rest of us laughed. They took it remarkably well.
Planning your visit to the IdidaRide Sled Dog Tours
🐕 Overview
Seavey’s IdidaRide Dog Sled Tours offers visitors a rare opportunity to step inside the world of one of Alaska’s most celebrated mushing families. Set on the Seavey homestead just outside Seward, the experience centres on champion Alaskan Huskies — the same dogs that train for and compete in the legendary Iditarod race. Since 1993, the family has welcomed the public to their kennel during the off-season, offering summer dog sled rides on wheeled sleds, kennel tours, puppy encounters, and behind-the-scenes stories from the trail.
The Seavey family arrived in Alaska shortly after statehood and has become the most decorated mushing family in the country, with multiple Iditarod victories across three generations. Visitors are not merely spectators — they are invited to help train the next generation of Iditarod champions.
📍 Location
Seavey’s IdidaRide is located at 12820 Old Exit Glacier Road, Seward, Alaska 99664. The homestead is situated approximately ten minutes outside of downtown Seward, off Seward Highway (SR 9) at Milepost 3.6. From there, head one mile west on Exit Glacier Road, then 0.4 miles along a gravel road following the signage to the kennel. Hotel pick-up from most Seward accommodation can be arranged in advance (a minimum of two passengers applies for pick-ups).
🌐 Website
ididaride.com
📞 Contact
Telephone: +1 (907) 224-8607
Email: dogmushing@gmail.com
Enquiries can also be submitted via the contact form on the website. The office is open Monday to Sunday, 9:00 am – 5:00 pm.
🎟️ Entry Fees & Tours
Seavey’s IdidaRide offers several tour options running from May through to September each year, with four daily departures available for the main summer tour.
Wilderness Dog Sled Ride & Tour (the most popular option) Guests board a wheeled sled with padded seats and air-bag suspension for a two-mile ride through rainforest and along Box Canyon Creek to the base of Resurrection Mountain. Upon return to the kennel, the tour includes a guided kennel visit, a chance to handle Iditarod race gear, and time to cuddle husky puppies (typically available from late May through September). Duration: 1.5 hours. Running: 13 May – 21 September.
Adults: $109 | Children (under 15): $54.50
Real Alaska Day Tour A fully guided six-hour experience taking in the best of the Seward area. Highlights include a visit to Exit Glacier in Kenai Fjords National Park, a walk to the face of the glacier, lunch at a local restaurant, salmon-stream viewing at Bear Creek Weir, a city tour of Seward, and the full Wilderness Dog Sled Ride and Tour at the Seavey homestead. All meals and transport are included. Running: 22 May – 13 September. Compatible with Alaska Railroad arrival and departure times.
Adults: $199 | Children: $99.50
Note: A land-use fee of $3.75 per person plus a 3% tax is added to all tours. Prices are in US dollars. It is advisable to confirm current pricing directly with the operator before booking, as fees may be subject to change.
⏰ Opening Times & Season
Tours run seasonally from mid-May to late September, seven days a week. The office is open daily, Monday to Sunday, 9:00 am – 5:00 pm. Guests are advised to arrive at least 15 minutes before the scheduled departure time to complete check-in. There are four departures daily for the Wilderness Tour.
For on-snow mushing during the summer months, a helicopter glacier dog sledding option is also available, departing from Seward Airport and flying to an alpine glacier in the National Forest.
ℹ️ Practical Information
Booking in advance is strongly recommended, as tours are popular and can fill quickly, particularly during the peak cruise and Alaska Railroad season. A two-passenger minimum applies to all tours. Solo travellers are encouraged to call the reservation line to be added to an existing booking.
Cancellations made more than 72 hours in advance receive a full refund. Cancellations within 72 hours incur a 25% fee, and those within 24 hours of departure are charged in full. If the operator cancels due to weather, no charges apply and guests will be refunded or rescheduled.
Layered clothing is recommended, as Alaskan weather can change quickly. A waterproof jacket is advisable. Guests with mobility considerations should contact the operator directly, as the tour is not fully wheelchair accessible, though the wheeled sleds are designed with passenger comfort in mind and have been used successfully by guests with a range of physical considerations.
Best time to visit Seward
🌸 Spring (April – May)
Spring arrives tentatively in Seward, with snow still clinging to the mountain peaks but the days growing noticeably longer and brighter. Temperatures range from around 2°C to 10°C, and the landscape begins to green up quickly by May. This is one of the quietest periods for tourism, meaning fewer crowds at Kenai Fjords National Park and lower prices for accommodation and boat tours.
Wildlife is a particular highlight — sea otters, harbour seals, and Steller sea lions are active in Resurrection Bay, and migratory seabirds return to the coastline in impressive numbers. The Exit Glacier road typically opens in late April, offering early access to one of Seward’s most iconic attractions. Boat tours begin running, though some operators don’t reach full schedule until late May.
Spring weather is unpredictable. Rain and overcast skies are common, and snowfall is still possible, especially at elevation. However, the occasional clear spring day delivers spectacular views with snow-dusted peaks reflecting in the bay.
What to pack: Waterproof hiking boots, a warm insulated mid-layer, a waterproof outer jacket, wool or thermal base layers, gloves, a hat, quick-dry trousers, sunglasses, and a compact umbrella or packable rain poncho.
☀️ Summer (June – August)
Summer is unquestionably Seward’s peak season, and for good reason. Long daylight hours — up to 19 hours in June — mild temperatures between 12°C and 18°C, and the best conditions for outdoor activities make this the most popular time to visit. Resurrection Bay is alive with wildlife: orcas, humpback whales, Dall’s porpoises, puffins, and bald eagles are frequently spotted on boat tours into Kenai Fjords National Park.
Hiking trails are at their most accessible, with wildflowers carpeting the valleys and ridgelines offering sweeping panoramic views. The Exit Glacier and Harding Icefield Trail are fully open, and kayaking in the bay is a truly world-class experience. Seward’s waterfront comes alive with the Alaska SeaLife Centre, local restaurants, and the famous Fourth of July Mount Marathon Race, a gruelling and iconic event that draws runners and spectators from across the state.
The downside is the crowds. Accommodation books up months in advance, cruise ship passengers frequently disembark in port, and boat tours fill quickly. Booking well ahead is essential. Rain remains a constant possibility — Seward averages over 1,700mm of annual rainfall — so do not expect wall-to-wall sunshine even in peak summer.
What to pack: Lightweight moisture-wicking T-shirts, a fleece or light jumper, a waterproof jacket, comfortable hiking trousers and shorts, sturdy waterproof hiking boots, sunscreen, insect repellent, sunglasses, a reusable water bottle, and a daypack for trails.
🍂 Autumn (September – October)
Autumn is arguably Seward’s most underrated season. The summer crowds thin dramatically after Labour Day, prices drop, and the scenery transforms into a tapestry of gold, amber, and rust as the surrounding birch and willow forests change colour. Temperatures cool to between 4°C and 12°C in September, dropping further into October when frost and early snowfall become likely.
Wildlife viewing remains excellent well into September — brown bears are actively feeding in preparation for hibernation, and whale sightings on Resurrection Bay are still common. Boat tours continue operating, though schedules begin to reduce from mid-September. The northern lights become visible from late September onwards on clear nights, making Seward a genuine aurora destination for those willing to face the chill.
October marks the transition into the quiet season. Some businesses and tour operators begin closing for the winter, and boat tours may cease by month’s end. However, for those seeking solitude, dramatic weather, and raw Alaskan atmosphere, early autumn is a deeply rewarding time to visit.
What to pack: A warm insulated jacket (down or synthetic), waterproof trousers, thermal base layers, sturdy waterproof boots, wool socks, gloves, a warm hat, a scarf, layers for unpredictable temperature swings, and a headlamp for lengthening nights.
❄️ Winter (November – March)
Winter transforms Seward into a quiet, moody, and starkly beautiful place that few outsiders see. Temperatures range from around -8°C to 2°C, with heavy snowfall creating a pristine alpine landscape. The town’s population shrinks considerably as seasonal businesses close, but those who venture here find an experience that feels genuinely remote and untouched.
Cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, and ice fishing are popular winter activities. The area around Exit Glacier offers exceptional snow-covered scenery, and the lack of foliage means wildlife such as moose and mountain goats can be spotted more easily against the white backdrop. The northern lights are most reliably visible in winter on clear nights, particularly between December and February.
Seward itself remains open — the Alaska SeaLife Centre operates year-round and the town celebrates the Polar Bear Jump Off festival in January, a lively community event that attracts hardy visitors. Accommodation is widely available and very affordable in winter. However, daylight hours are extremely short — less than six hours in December — and some roads can become hazardous. Many boat tours and attractions are closed entirely until spring.
What to pack: A heavyweight insulated and waterproof parka, thermal base layers (top and bottom), fleece mid-layers, waterproof snow boots with good grip, thick wool socks, insulated gloves or mittens, a balaclava or neck gaiter, a warm hat, hand warmers, and microspikes or crampons for icy paths.
📊 Seasonal Summary Table
🗺️ Overall Best Time to Visit
For most visitors, June to August offers the definitive Seward experience — long golden days, the full range of wildlife and boat tours, accessible hiking, and the vibrant energy of an Alaskan coastal town at its peak. However, those willing to travel outside peak season will find that late May and early September provide an excellent balance: fewer crowds, lower costs, and wildlife that is just as impressive, in weather that remains manageable. Adventurous travellers seeking the northern lights, dramatic solitude, or genuinely off-the-beaten-path Alaska should consider the shoulder months of late September or January to February. Seward rewards visitors in every season — the question is simply which version of Alaska you are looking for.
Other things to do whilst in Seward
1. The Seward Highway
In the southern coastal areas, south of the gigantic peaks of the Alaska Range of mountains, the weather is relatively temperate ( it is still cold by most people’s reckoning in the winter) and they get a lot of rain (and snow in the winter – the roadside snow markers are about 12 feet high!!). No need to worry about snow today though! Our route took us down the Seward Highway along a tidal estuary known as the Turnagain Arm. The views are amazing with steep, snow-covered mountains of the Chugach Range on either side of the estuary and visible far into the distance. Absolutely stunning!
2. Exit Glacier
3. Northwestern Fjord Cruise
Another Alaskan summer’s day – cold with a low dank mist covering the mountains. We had an early start, and we wearily raise ourselves from our slumber, grabbed a quick breakfast from the provisions we bought at the local store and hit the road. The plan was to take a 9 ½ hour boat trip from Seward up the Northwestern Fjord, some 70 odd miles down the coast. The overcast weather put some doubt in our mind on this endeavour, but we had already bought the tickets, so we were committed to the trip.
Where to stay in Seward
1. Bear Lake Lodgings B&B
Bear Lake Lodgings B&B has lake views, free WiFi and free private parking, located in Seward.
The units come with hardwood floors and feature a fully equipped kitchen with a fridge, a dining area, a flat-screen TV with satellite channels, and a private bathroom with shower and bathrobes. Some units have a seating area and/or a balcony.
An American breakfast is available each morning at the bed and breakfast.
Bear Lake Lodgings B&B has a sun terrace.
After a day of hiking, fishing or canoeing, guests can relax in the garden or in the shared lounge area.
Moose Pass is 21 miles from the accommodation, while Cooper Landing is 26 miles from the property.
2. Exit Glacier Lodge
3. Sunshine House Bed & Breakfast
Sunshine Lodge Bed & Breakfast sits in Seward, a small port town on Resurrection Bay in south-central Alaska. The lodge offers straightforward, comfortable accommodation with the kind of personal service you get from an independently run property rather than a chain hotel. Rooms are clean and well kept, and the full breakfast sets guests up properly for a day out exploring. Seward is a practical base for Kenai Fjords National Park, where boat tours take visitors out to see glaciers, sea otters, orcas and seabirds. The town itself has a decent selection of restaurants and a useful Alaska SeaLife Centre. The surrounding scenery — steep forested mountains dropping to the bay — is genuinely dramatic without any need to oversell it. For travellers who want somewhere reliable, friendly and well located rather than flashy, Sunshine Lodge is a solid choice in a part of Alaska that rewards the effort of getting there.
More to Explore
