The long road to Alaska, a story of letting go and discovering - Kenai Peninsula
Where land and sea meet, and nature shows its power.
In this eighth part of the Alaska series, we travel from Anchorage to Homer, along the rugged coastline of the Kenai Peninsula. We fly over rivers teeming with bears, see seals on rocks and approach an active volcano – a journey full of contrasts and wonder.
From Anchorage to Homer – a journey to the edge of the world
After the hustle and bustle of Anchorage, we drove south along the Turnagain Arm, a bay which transforms into a silver plain at low tide. The road wound its way alongside the water and the mountains, with the occasional viewpoint prompting us to stop and admire the view. The Kenai Peninsula felt like an island — a place where time slows down and nature takes centre stage.
On the way, we passed Cooper Landing, where the Russian and Kenai rivers converge. This is where 'combat fishing' takes place, with anglers standing shoulder to shoulder in the water, each with their own technique and hoping to catch a salmon. We enjoyed watching them, but we were travellers, not anglers, so we drove on.
Homer is literally at the end of the road. The town has a long spit — a narrow strip of land jutting out into the bay — lined with fishing boats and art galleries and boasting a rugged yet artistic atmosphere. There, we found both peace and quiet but also adventure.
Russian roots in the heart of Kenai
The rain poured down as we enjoyed a quiet brunch, but that didn't stop us from seeking out a piece of history. In Kenai, we stepped inside a small Orthodox church where a priest welcomed us warmly. He told us that he had lived there for 35 years and explained that Orthodox priests are permitted to marry, provided it happens before their ordination. According to tradition, the woman must be unmarried, not a dancer, and pure in the eyes of the Church. As he showed us around, he insisted on being in every photo. We made a small donation and bought a wooden doll imported directly from Russia, the proceeds of which went to the church.
Further on, in Ninilchik, we experienced more of this Russian heritage. Founded in the early 19th century, the village exudes Orthodox tradition. Families here are often of both Russian Orthodox and Native American descent. The green and white church, surrounded by a wildflower cemetery, provides a picturesque contrast to the rugged coastline. On clear days, Mount Iliamna, an active volcano over 3,000 metres high, dominates the landscape. Today, however, it was hidden behind rain clouds, yet the atmosphere was still magical. This is a part of Alaska that evokes a time when the land was still Russian, long before it was purchased by the United States in 1867.
Katmai – flying to bear country
We got up early the next morning. The air was clear and the bay was calm. At the seaplane dock, we received our briefing: we were going to fly to Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park, where grizzly bears and salmon engage in an age-old ritual. Our pilot, Dale, looked like an archetypal bush pilot: lean, with a moustache and sunglasses, and rather taciturn. He pushed the Beaver — a small Otter seaplane — off the shore, and before we knew it, we were gliding across the water. The engines roared and the propeller pulled us forward; suddenly, we were off the ground.
The flight was magical. We flew low over the bay, past Mount Augustine, an active volcano which was still smoking following an eruption earlier that year. The sea glistened and the mountains lay like walls beneath us. In the distance, we could see rivers winding their way through the landscape. Even from the air, we spotted the first bears – little brown dots along the riverbanks.
Upon arrival in Katmai, we were immediately reminded that we were in bear country. The rangers gave us some instructions: 'Make noise, shout "Hey, bear!" and always give way.' The bears are at home here. We are the guests.
We walked along a path also used by bears. Every sound and movement became more intense. The tension was palpable.
At Brooks Falls, the grizzly bears were already waiting in the water for the salmon to jump. Some stood still like statues; others fought for a catch. Meanwhile, a mother bear with three cubs crept along the edge of the spectacle, unnoticed by the large males.
On the way back to the seaplane, we were delayed. Two bears were sleeping on the beach – directly in the path of the take-off. No one was allowed closer than a hundred metres. The pilots waited. The bears slept. We stood there, caught in their rhythm. Finally, Dale, our pilot, arrived via a different route. He landed at a safe distance, and we were able to leave. The rest of the group was stuck there for a while – the bears were in control of the schedule.
On the return flight, Dale treated us to an additional sightseeing tour over the McNeil River. We saw dozens of bears, marshes full of salmon and a rock covered in seals. He flew low over the volcano, right above the crater. Smoke rose and the earth breathed. It was an unforgettable moment.
Mussels, halibut and a fish that didn't bite
When we got back to Homer, we decided to go fishing. After renting rods and buying a licence, we went to the Fishing Hole. Salmon were jumping out of the water, but they didn't bite. Eventually, I caught a 12-centimetre fish, which was a hilarious moment that the children will remember for a long time! Disappointed, we bought 5 pounds of fresh halibut from the fishmonger for 56 dollars, straight from the boat.
In the evening, Gaia, Alessio and I went picking mussels at low tide. The bucket filled up quickly and I made pasta with the mussels. The taste was pure, salty and local – just as Alaska should be.
Kayaking around Yukon Island – between rocks, kelp and surprises
The next day, we switched to a different rhythm — that of the sea. We took a water taxi to Yukon Island, a small island in Kachemak Bay. The kayaks were waiting for us there and we were equipped with rubber boots, spray skirts and life jackets. Gaïa and I shared a kayak, with her sitting at the back and me at the front. She steered and I followed. Didier and Alessio shared a second kayak. The water was calm and the sun was shining – it was ideal, until our guide explained how to escape from a capsized kayak. My nightmare!
The first few metres were wobbly. My muscles were tense and my breath was short. 'Breathe deeply,' shouted Allison, our guide, from the shore. I thought of yoga and let go. Slowly, the kayak glided over the smooth water. We paddled past rocks, kelp beds, and steep cliffs. The sea was clear; sometimes we could see the bottom. We tasted the kelp, which was salty and bitter, and spotted a starfish on a rock. Allison carefully picked it up and passed it around.
At Elephant Rock, a rock shaped like an elephant, the waves came in. I felt small in the low-lying boat, close to the water. Gaia stayed on course, but I was glad when we went ashore for lunch. We ate on a beach surrounded by high cliffs and listened to the cries of three peregrine falcons. The sun was shining and the wind was picking up; I could feel my legs again.
The return trip was exciting: there were higher waves, my legs were stiff again, and Gaia had a sore back. While others braved the surf, we stayed in calmer waters and were rewarded with the sight of a sea otter floating on its back with a stone on its belly for cracking shells. It's a fascinating animal that spends a third of its time eating, sleeping and grooming to stay warm.
Just when we thought the adventure was over, a humpback whale appeared. First, a spout appeared in the distance; then, that iconic tail slap. It was safe enough, but close enough to give us goosebumps. With tired arms, we paddled back to base, feeling both relieved and satisfied. Conclusion? It was an unforgettable day, but sea kayaking will never be my favourite sport.
