In most visitors, Alaska inspires wonder at its beauty, awe at its wildlife, and admiration for the hardiness of those who make their lives in its vast backcountry, enduring some of the harshest conditions on earth.
Alaska
Here’s how some Alaska lawmakers are trying to get rid of daylight saving time
Alaskans, like millions of Americans in other parts of the country, will move their clocks one hour ahead on Sunday for daylight saving time.
Many see the twice-a-year clock shift as an irksome practice that should be eliminated. Research has shown that the clock changes disrupt circadian rhythm, leading to negative health effects.
So what, if anything, are Alaska lawmakers doing to change the situation?
The Senate voted in May to advance a bill that would permanently eliminate daylight saving time in Alaska — but only if the federal government agreed to move Alaska to Pacific Standard Time, the same time zone used by Washington state, Oregon, California, Nevada and parts of Idaho.
Sen. Kelly Merrick, an Eagle River Republican who sponsored the bill, said her proposal aims to address concerns that arise from past proposals to eliminate daylight saving time while keeping Alaska in its current time zone. Effectively, that would mean Alaska is offset from Seattle by two hours for part of the year, creating challenges for Alaskans who are dependent on Lower 48 time zones — including bankers, broadcasters and tourism operators.
The House has yet to take up Merrick’s bill. There are also two dueling House bills introduced last year — neither of which has advanced — to either permanently remain in daylight saving time or permanently remain in standard time.
Federal law allows states to exempt themselves from observing daylight saving time, which generally begins in March and ends in November. However, states are not allowed to move permanently to daylight saving time without congressional authorization.
The U.S. Senate voted in 2022 in favor of moving to permanently adopt daylight saving time. The legislation has not been voted on in the U.S. House.
Hawaii and Arizona are the two states to exempt themselves from observing daylight saving time so far.
Alaska has long considered various proposals for eliminating the twice-a-year clock changes, with more than a dozen bills proposed in three decades. None have passed both bodies.
But there is relatively recent precedent for changing the way Alaskans set their clocks.
Until the 1980s, Alaska had four time zones. Before the change, the Southeast Panhandle, including Juneau, operated in Pacific Standard Time — the same as the West Coast of the Lower 48. Clocks in most of the state were set two hours earlier — the same time zone as Hawaii. Kotzebue, Nome and much of the Aleutian Chain were on Bering Standard Time, an hour behind Hawaii.
Moving most of the state to a single time zone was meant to create simplicity for both residents and visitors alike.
What would it mean for Alaska to permanently move to Pacific Standard Time? On the shortest days of the year, the sun would rise in Anchorage around 11 a.m. and set around 5 p.m. On the longest days of the year, the sun would rise in Anchorage shortly after 5 a.m. and set well past midnight.
For proponents of after-work outdoor recreation, the idea may seem appealing. For longer stretches of the year, Alaskans will be able to enjoy sunlight after leaving the office or school. The price to pay? More mornings waking in the dark.
Anchorage, AK—U.S. Senators Lisa Murkowski and Dan Sullivan and Congressman Nick Begich (all R-Alaska) today applauded the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers’ (Corps) approval of a permit to facilitate construction of a life-saving road between the isolated community of King Cove, Alaska and nearby Cold Bay. The one-lane gravel connector will provide reliable transportation access from King Cove to Cold Bay, which is home to an all-weather airport.
“This is more good news for King Cove and all who care about the health, safety, and wellbeing of the hundreds of people who live there,” Murkowski said.“After decades of relentlessly making the case and pushing with everything we have, this life-saving road is finally almost a reality. A combination of careful analysis and common sense from the Trump administration—the Department of the Interior and now the Army Corps—have brought us to this point. I thank them for their continued commitment to protecting and improving these Alaskans’ lives.”
“For Alaskans, the decades-long King Cove Road impasse has been a symbol of an uncaring, out-of-touch, faraway federal government that prioritizes the lives of birds over people,” said Sullivan. “The great residents of King Cove time and again have kept hope alive, despite setbacks, most recently when the Biden administration disregarded the voices of the community and withdrew the previously approved land exchange. The permit issued by the Corps of Engineers today is vindication for King Cove, putting us closer than ever before to delivering a lifesaving, 11-mile, single-lane gravel road to the all-weather airport in Cold Bay. I want to thank the Administration, especially Secretary Burgum and Assistant Secretary of the Army for Civil Works Telle, for listening to Alaskans, for caring about their safety and well-being, and for putting us on the cusp of a historic breakthrough for safe and reliable access for King Cove.”
“This permit approval by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers is a critical milestone in a decades-long effort to provide the people of King Cove with the infrastructure they need to build an essential life-saving road,” said Begich. “For nearly 50 years, the community has advocated for a road connecting King Cove to the all-weather airport in Cold Bay. This project addresses an obvious public safety need and will provide a reliable route for emergency access in adverse weather conditions. I commend everyone who helped move this project forward, from residents who never stopped advocating, to Secretary Burgum, the Army Corps of Engineers, Governor Dunleavy, and Alaska’s congressional delegation over many years.”
King Cove is located between two volcanic peaks near the end of the Alaska Peninsula, and its small gravel airstrip is typically closed by bad weather for more than 100 days each year. Many flights not canceled are delayed by wind, turbulence, fog, rain, or snow squalls; travel by boat is often impacted by waves that can top 12 feet and the lack of suitable dock infrastructure in Cold Bay. By comparison, Cold Bay, which is less than 30 miles from King Cove, has one of the longest runways in the state and it is closed an average of just 10 days per year.
At present, there are roads leading out of both King Cove and Cold Bay but no connection between them. The lack of dependable transportation access to Cold Bay routinely forces emergency medevacs from King Cove that risk the lives of patients and responders alike. It also creates significant quality-of-life issues, ranging from King Cove residents’ inability to regularly receive mail to week-long travel delays for students returning home from various activities.
King Cove residents have sought this life-saving connector road for decades. In late 2025, a major breakthrough occurred when the Trump administration conveyed490 federal acres to the King Cove Corporation in exchange for 1,739 acres of KCC-owned land near the Kinzarof Lagoon and the relinquishment of selection rights to more than 5,430 acres still owed to KCC under the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act.
The Corps permit issued this week is valid for five years and allows for dredge and fill activities to occur on just over five acres of land. For perspective, the Izembek National Wildlife Refuge spans 315,000 acres and there are at least 130 million acres of wetlands across Alaska.
More information is available here.
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Alaska
An Alaska vacation can remind Israelis the world doesn’t revolve around them | The Jerusalem Post
For Israelis, it can also inspire humility. Not because the Jewish state is smaller than Denali National Park, but because in Alaska, one is reminded that the world neither revolves around Israel nor is obsessed with it.
That realization came on a trip The Wife and I took to America’s Last Frontier last month.
“Where is your final destination today?” the woman checking us in for our flight home at the Anchorage airport asked chirpily.
“Tel Aviv,” I replied. “Where’s that?”
When I said it was in Israel, she smiled and said, “Oh.”
Lest one think this was just a fluke: on the plane a few hours later, another Alaskan asked where we were going. When we answered “Tel Aviv,” she said she had never heard of it.
Granted, two people do not a Pew Poll make, but they do offer a small corrective to the perception – fed by the media most of us follow – that the world is preoccupied with Israel, thinking about us obsessively, talking about us constantly, and cursing us unremittingly.
The last part, at least in Alaska, is also not true. During our two weeks there, we saw no “Free Palestine” graffiti, nor were we subjected to dirty looks or “child killer” comments when we said we were from Israel.
All of America, it turns out, is not Mamdani’s Manhattan, nor does social media present a proportionate picture of that country’s reality.
One of the problems with social media is that every incident of antisemitism is posted online. The incidents are real and rising at an alarming rate, but seeing them all in one place creates a disproportionate sense of how likely you are to encounter them while traveling.
Watch enough clips of a Jewish kid harassed on a New York subway or an Israeli couple berated at a hotel in California, and you begin to wonder whether the same thing awaits you when you ride an American subway or check into a hotel.
It doesn’t. Yet the cumulative effect is that you begin to wonder how open to be about your Israeliness. You don’t decide to hide it, but simply having to ask the question adds a mini-layer of apprehension before every trip.
When Israel comes along for the ride
You also learn to read the Uber.
“Honey,” I urged The Wife before we got into an Uber in Chicago during a brief layover, “you don’t have to say you’re from Israel.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I’m not going to hide who I am.”
“Wonderful sentiment,” I replied. “The driver’s name is Rabah. Humor me.”
We didn’t volunteer our place of origin, nor did he ask.
But on the entire trip, that was the only time we consciously withheld that nugget of biographical information. Everywhere else, we proudly said we were from Israel – and it was fine. More than fine: it was often a conversation starter.
On a whale-watching excursion, we sat across from a young couple from China who work at Google. They were intrigued that we lived in Israel, and even more fascinated that we passed on the chicken sandwiches being served.
Instead of looking for sea creatures, The Wife spent a good part of the trip explaining why some of the fish in the sea we can eat and others we can’t.
“Honey,” I whispered at one point, a bit annoyed. “We didn’t pay all this money for you to give an introductory lecture on kashrut. Look for the damn puffins.”
Since October 7, another layer has been added to the anxiety of travel: whether your flight will be canceled at the drop of a ballistic missile.
One doesn’t just hop over to Alaska on a whim; it takes planning and a special occasion to justify the expense. For us, it was 40 years of wedded bliss, so we booked back in October after being warned that rental cars sell out months in advance.
We chose United. But just days after the war with Iran broke out, United – typically – canceled flights until mid-June, four days after our planned departure. We acted quickly – well, The Wife acted quickly – and switched to El Al. Still, it complicated the trip further.
Then came the more serious question: Do you leave the country when one of your sons or your son-in-law is in miluim in Lebanon, Gaza, or Syria?
My first instinct was no: you don’t leave when one of your children is serving. That may have worked before Oct. 7, when reserve duty meant a few weeks a year and could be planned around.
But today, when they have each logged upward of 350 days, saying you won’t leave while they are serving essentially means that you won’t leave at all.
Which, by the way, is hardly the end of the world. But what can I say? I like to travel.
So we went, even though as we were watching bears and sea otters, my youngest son was dodging drones in Lebanon.
“Go,” he said. “What are you going to be able to do by being here? And if, God forbid, something happens, you’ll come back.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “How can we enjoy it if we are worrying about you?”
“You’ll figure out a way,” he teased.
And he was right. Sure, we worried, but less than if we were here. Distance, it turns out, has its advantages. I wasn’t glued to the news, tracking every development on his front.
Perhaps that was Alaska’s greatest gift. Not the calving glaciers, surfacing whales, or foraging bears, magnificent though they were. It was the realization that while Israel is the center of our world, it is not the center of everyone else’s. Every now and then, regaining that perspective is refreshing. ■
I’m typically pretty wordy. But just watch the video.
Disclaimer: Matt Addington is a professional. These bears grazed toward him from 100 yards away while he held tight. Do not try this ever, under any circumstances, or you will likely spend the rest of your time on this earth as bear poop.
Matt Addington is an incredible professional photographer, and I can say that from personal experience. He’s captured images of me in rough shape and somehow made them stunnin’. The Minnesota-based photographer and filmmaker has built a career telling outdoor stories, and his latest bear video proves he knows exactly where to point a camera.
Places like Katmai National Park in Alaska (where this video was taken) can offer unusually close encounters with brown bears, thanks in part to abundant food and tightly managed visitor access. That doesn’t make encounters like this casual or safe to imitate.
Addington is an extremely experienced outdoorsman, and he was photographing with professional guides Scott and Jackie Stone. For people hoping to photograph bears this way, a guided wildlife photography tour is one of the safest ways to do it. Do not try this in Yellowstone or your local national forest.
The bears were grazing nearly 100 yards away when the group set up. They stayed put as the animals continued feeding and gradually moved closer, resulting in some incredible footage and a once-in-a-lifetime photo.
I can only hope he wore his brown pants under his waders.
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