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Alaskans and their visitors can enjoy a new travel companion this summer. The Alaska Literary Field Guide, published in March by Mountaineers Books, brings a unique and artistic approach to describing over 90 species of wildlife, plants, and other features of Alaska. The book is written and compiled by Nancy Lord, Marybeth Holleman, and Shaelene Moler. “It’s not a traditional field guide,” says Lord. Instead, she describes it as a collaboration among writers, artists, and experts on Alaska’s natural world. The 330-page book features digestible descriptions of a sampling of the things we love about Alaska, including bears, glaciers, birds, plants, and the aurora borealis, to name just a few. Grouped by ecosystem, each description blends writing and illustrations. They bind together Indigenous cultural knowledge, Western science, and more. The diverse approach promises readers a new take on our favorite sights. “It was fun working with the writers, poets, and…

by Tim Lydon It’s been over twenty years, but Lauren Padawer still remembers the moment she fell in love with Copper River mud. While visiting Alaska for a rafting trip, her group stopped for lunch and a midday dip in the river’s cold-water eddies. She was mesmerized when her bare feet sank into the river’s soothing mud, which consists of fine silt that glaciers grind from the surrounding mountains. “I left that trip wanting to know where that mud came from,” Padawer tells Alaska magazine. Soon after, she moved to Alaska and within a few years launched her first soaps derived from Copper River silt. Today, Padawer’s Alaska Glacial Essentials Skincare, based in Cordova, offers an array of cleansers, moisturizers, creams, toners, and more. They’re sold by over 40 retailers in Alaska and online to customers across the U.S. and beyond. Her original signature product is a mud mask called the Glacial Facial, which uses silt to exfoliate and purify skin. Some products are also “supercharged” with wild Alaskan botanicals. But her main stay remains Copper River silt, which she harvests by hand under a permit from the Chugach National Forest. Clad in rain gear and XTRATUFs, she shovels the mud into five-gallon buckets from the river’s delta near…

North America’s biggest cat is a rare sight here, but that might change  Austin Prine knows he saw a cougar run across the Elliott Highway about thirty miles north of Fairbanks last December. Prine, a long-haul trucker who was returning south from Prudhoe Bay, says the cat bounded across the snow-packed road and vanished over a guardrail. He estimates the animal was three years old and weighed about 110 pounds. But it was the three-foot tail that told him it was a cougar. Also known as pumas or mountain lions, cougars are not known to inhabit Alaska. An avid hunter, Prine knows this. But having lived around cougars in eastern Washington, he also knows how to distinguish them from lynx, wolves, or other large mammals. And he believes that cougar reports are increasing in Alaska’s interior, including along the Elliott. When he posted his experience on social media, hundreds of people commented, with…

Alaska’s Other Gold A decade ago in late July, my wife, MC, was picking salmonberries at the edge of the forest on Admiralty Island when she startled a brown bear. I spoke to the bear gently as MC backed away. As we left, we walked past the end of the berry patch, where we had stashed our kayak, to the edge of a meadow where the sea met a stream. Pink salmon leapt continuously into the air. Hundreds, maybe thousands, were schooled up at the mouth of the stream. That evening, we went to retrieve our kayak. Next to its hull lay a bright, silver-colored pink salmon with one large bite taken out of it. Nearly all the salmon we’d watched jumping had begun to mottle with their spawning colors. I knelt over the salmon, pondering why the bear had dropped it there until I sensed the bear was bedded…

Meet the Rodney Dangerfield of Alaskan wildlife I’m casting for a dinner along a cut bank across from camp, evening colors reflected in the Nuna’s clear, purling current. The arctic stillness is broken by a wet, resounding crash, as if a rock had just been chucked from the sky. Though startled, I’m hardly surprised by my noisy company. Floating 30 feet away, a pair of unblinking eyes set in a wet, furry head regard me, radiating curiosity-tinged indignation. I can practically hear a Disneyfied, bucktooth nasal voice: Hey buddy, what the hell you doin’ in my yard?  Another tail slap followed by a shallow dive, and the head pops up closer. I’m again fixed by that beady-eyed stare. I said, beat it! and with a final slap and a swirl, it vanishes. I track the bubble trail a few dozen yards down the bank to a mound of peeled, interlocked…