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Alaska will fly nonstop Sea-Tac to Europe in 2026, CEO Ben Minicucci says

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Alaska will fly nonstop Sea-Tac to Europe in 2026, CEO Ben Minicucci says


This Thursday, Feb. 13, 2020 file photo shows Alaska Airlines’ then-president Ben Minicucci in Seattle. (AP Photo/Elaine Thompson)

Alaska Airlines’ next new nonstop route from Seattle will be to Europe in 2026, CEO Ben Minicucci confirmed this week in an interview where he laid out his vision for the next few years at Alaska.

Minicucci, a 20-year Alaska Air veteran who was named CEO in 2021, said the recent merger with Hawaiian Airlines is a “step change” for the airline, one that will allow it to expand its reach from the West Coast to other trans-Pacific hubs. Seattle will be at the center of that expansion, with plans to add 12 nonstop global routes with long-haul widebody airplanes by 2030.

Alaska has already announced two of those routes: one to Seoul, South Korea, starting in September and another to Tokyo Narita starting Monday. Hawaiian Airlines was already flying to those destinations, so Alaska was able to capitalize on the infrastructure and expertise it inherited through the $1.9 billion merger that closed in September.

The undisclosed European destination coming next could be a bigger lift. Neither Alaska nor Hawaiian has a presence there.

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But Minicucci isn’t worried about the risks. For one thing, he said, Alaska knows what Seattle travelers want and believes the airline could stimulate demand with the new offering. For another, he encourages daring moves at the company, Minicucci said in a recent interview with The Seattle Times, striking a tone reminiscent of Big Tech CEOs out to disrupt industries.

“I want to give our people the ability not to be afraid. I want you to be bold, aggressive, try things. Because nobody ever does great things if you’re always safe,” Minicucci said. “Sometimes you have to put yourself out there and take a little bit of a chance, and feel a little bit that nervousness in your stomach and say ‘Wow, is this going to work?’ ”

Minicucci matches the demeanor of his edict to be fearless. Seated in a nook off the hallway on the upper floor of Alaska’s SeaTac headquarters, he was relaxed as he spoke about the airline’s future. Minicucci said hello to colleagues that walked by, giving off the air of a CEO who is often present in the office overlooking Sea-Tac Airport.

Originally from Montreal, Minicucci joined Alaska in 2004. He worked as vice president of maintenance, vice president of Seattle operations and president of Alaska Airlines, overseeing Alaska’s 2016 acquisition of Virgin America. He took over as CEO from Brad Tilden in 2021. On Thursday, Alaska shareholders approved a compensation package worth $8.6 million for Minicucci in 2024, a dip from the $10.3 million awarded a year earlier.

Nearly five years into his tenure as CEO and nine months into Alaska’s merger with Hawaiian Airlines, Minicucci said he’s moving with more conviction than before.

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With the Virgin acquisition, Alaska went slowly, spent a lot of time analyzing decisions and often said “we’re not sure,” Minicucci said. This time, “We made a lot of the decisions out of the gate.”

Betting on new routes

The calculation that goes into picking a new route is a mix of science and art, said Kirsten Amrine, who is in charge of planning Alaska’s network of flights.

The science comes from numbers: Alaska can use industry data to see where and how frequently people are flying, and how much they are willing to pay.

The art is the reason Amrine and her team have jobs, Amrine joked in a recent interview. That side of the equation comes with knowing travelers and anticipating where Alaska’s customers may want to go.

As an example, Amrine pointed to Alaska’s decision to add a direct flight from Seattle to Belize in 2021.

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The science didn’t necessarily support that decision, Amrine said. But Alaska’s network planning team knew Seattleites liked adventure and destinations that allowed them to get off the grid. Flights to Costa Rica performed well, so Alaska was willing to bet Belize would be the same.

Amrine considers that decision a success. The number of people flying from Seattle to Belize tripled.

Those types of route calculations are happening all the time. Amrine starts every Saturday morning looking at what changes Alaska’s competitors have made to their network.

Alaska makes weekly changes as well. Those decisions are finalized by Wednesday morning, Amrine said.

But the airline’s plans have a long tail. Alaska books out 331 days in advance, so the decisions made this Wednesday will affect flights in April 2026.

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If Alaska is wrong on the science and the art of a destination, the biggest risk is “opportunity cost,” Amrine said. Every destination the airline picks means it can’t take a chance on a different destination, so “you want to think long-term,” Amrine said.

Minicucci holds a similar view. Unlike construction, which can be hard to reverse, airplanes are meant to move, he said.

He pointed to a recent attempt to start nonstop routes from Seattle to the Bahamas in 2023. Alaska ended that Nassau flight this year, determining that the market wasn’t there.

“It didn’t work,” Minicucci said. “We’re going to flip that and put that airplane somewhere else.”

Seattle is somewhat of a testing ground for Alaska, Minicucci said. When the airline expanded routes to Ronald Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C., for example, it started offering flights from Seattle, then Portland, then San Francisco and Los Angeles, and now San Diego.

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Alaska’s international expansion similarly is focused on Seattle now because “we know that’s going to work,” Minicucci said. “But in 10 years, in 20 years, as our airline continues to grow and do better, who knows where we’ll fly (out of) internationally?”

No longer “all Boeing”

The Hawaiian acquisition will put Alaska at odds with the tagline displayed on the nose of many of its planes: “Proudly all Boeing.”

As it integrates the two fleets, Alaska will inherit 24 widebody planes from Boeing’s European rival Airbus.

It’s not the first time Alaska has inherited Airbus planes — it added 60 Airbus aircraft when it acquired Virgin America in a 2016 deal. But it spent the next few years retiring those Airbus planes, hoping to capitalize on the efficiency of operating just one type of plane. That can make it easier and less expensive to train pilots and keep up with maintenance. Alaska was finally “proudly all Boeing” in September 2023.

This time around, Alaska will keep the Airbus planes, Minicucci said, and is relying on them to prop up its trans-Pacific expansion.

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The Airbus A319 and A320 narrowbody planes Alaska inherited when it acquired Virgin were too similar to the Boeing 737 planes it was already flying, Minicucci said. Comparatively, the A330 widebodies Alaska inherited from Hawaiian will add new capabilities to Alaska’s fleet, allowing it to reach markets it couldn’t access with the 737.

Alaska also expects to receive 12 of Boeing’s widebody equivalent, the 787 Dreamliner, by 2028.

Alaska’s growing widebody fleet

As Alaska works to expand across the Pacific, it’s relying on a new fleet of widebody aircraft that will allow it to travel farther than the narrowbody planes it already operates.

“We have all the arrows in our quiver,” Minicucci said. “That gives us the possibility of reaching pretty much wherever we want to go out of Seattle.”

Because both Boeing and Airbus have such a large backlog of orders, it would have taken years for Alaska to receive the same Airbus widebody planes it is now gearing up to integrate into its fleet.

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Moving away from “proudly all Boeing,” will add some complexities, Minicucci said, adding that he was confident his team could handle it smoothly. Pilots will go through additional training and simulations. Maintenance will require new facilities and tools. Even loading baggage on widebodies requires different equipment than that for the 737.

The Airbus A330s will be housed in Honolulu, using Hawaiian’s existing infrastructure. Alaska will build a new hangar to accommodate the Boeing 787 planes on the West Coast, though Minicucci couldn’t yet say where.

Finalizing the merger

Alaska laid out four milestones on its path to integrate the two airlines.

First, it will combine frequent flyer programs. Then, it must receive a single operating certificate from the Federal Aviation Administration, meaning the safety regulator has signed off that one set of management is in charge of both airlines and the combined carrier is operating safely.

Alaska plans to cross both those milestones by the end of the year.

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After that, it will bring both airlines under one reservation system by mid-2026.

Lastly, it will combine the two unionized workforces and settle joint collective bargaining agreements. Those negotiations have already started and Alaska hopes to finalize agreements by 2027.

While Alaska is integrating Hawaiian into its operations, it wants to keep both brands distinct. So, even though customers will be able to use the same reservation system to book a flight on Alaska or Hawaiian, the onboard experience will be different. Flights to, from and within Hawaii will keep the Pualani logo on the plane’s tail.

Operating two distinct brands isn’t something airlines usually do after a merger and Minicucci said he faced some skepticism about the decision. But he’s “totally convicted” on doing so.

“That brand is just too special. It has a lot of equity and value, especially in the state of Hawaii,” he said. “I am convicted and resolute that brand is there forever.”

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The concerns don’t faze him, Minicucci continued. “Just because it’s never been done, doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”





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Black bear breaks into Alaskan mall, eats a peach and relieves itself on floor before leaving: video

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Black bear breaks into Alaskan mall, eats a peach and relieves itself on floor before leaving: video


Can bearly believe it!

A black bear was caught on camera seemingly running errands at a local shopping mall in Anchorage, Alaska over the weekend.

A black bear in Alaska strolled through the automatic doors of the commissary mall on the military base on Sunday. Kory Godbout

The bear entered the commissary mall at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson around 9 a.m. Sunday, KTUU reported, citing a JBER spokesperson. 

Wild footage shows the young cub strolling through the commissary’s automatic doors and exploring all that the mall had to offer.

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Barber shop employee, Kory Godbout, saw the black bear approach his store and ran to the break room. Joint Base Elmendorf Exchange

The hungry bear stole and ate a piece of fruit before emptying its bowels on the hallway floor on its way out of the building.

Kory Godbout, who works at the barber shop on the military base, was waiting for his first customer of the day when he spotted the furry intruder traveling through the automatic doors.

“My coworker, who is cutting hair in front of me, she yelled, ‘Bear!’” Godbout recalled. 

The grizzly bear decided to “use the restroom in the hallway” of the shopping mall. Kory Godbout

“And I looked up from my phone and the bear was walking into the barber shop right in front of me,” the barber said. “And we all ran into the break room and shut the door behind us.”

After a few minutes, Godbout and his coworkers emerged from the break room and followed the out-of-place bear into the commissary, where it took a peach from the grocery store and ate it. 

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The barber recalled that a few onlookers were “going big to try and scare” the bear out of the grocery store.

The bear cub stole a peach and ate it while exploring all that the commissary had to offer. Joint Base Elmendorf Exchange

But all of a sudden, the black bear returned to the barber shop.

“By that time, we were able to run back to the shop and then lock the door,” Godbout said. 

The bear cleared its bowels on the floor before leaving the shopping mall. Facebook

“And then we were watching him from the window and then that’s when he decided to, you know, use the restroom in the hallway.”

Officers from Conservation Law Enforcement attended the peculiar grizzly scene and were able to direct the wild animal towards a river and into the woods, according to the JBER spokesperson.

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JBER’s wildlife program manager Colette Brandt said in a press release that the bear had triggered the automatic doors and that Sunday’s events were entirely incidental, KTUU reported.

While there has been a decline in bear-related calls since the military base installed bear-resistant dumpsters, seven bears have been put down at JBER for public safety over the past year.



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Fatal crash closes Glenn Highway southbound lanes near Eagle River

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Fatal crash closes Glenn Highway southbound lanes near Eagle River


ANCHORAGE, Alaska (KTUU) – The southbound lanes of the Glenn Highway were closed Thursday morning near the S-curves due to a fatal crash, according to the Anchorage Police Department.

Police confirmed shortly after 11 a.m. that at least one person was dead. As of 12:45 p.m., one southbound lane is now open to traffic.

The southbound lanes of the Glenn Highway were closed July 9, 2026 near the S-curves due to a fatal crash, according to the Anchorage Police Department.(Alaska’s News Source)

An Alaska’s News Source reporter on the scene said the crash took place near the Eagle River Loop Road. Video from the scene shows multiple vehicles took damage in the incident.

This is a developing story. It has been updated with new information.

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See a spelling or grammar error? Report it to web@ktuu.com

Copyright 2026 KTUU. All rights reserved.



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Did I Find a Cure for Male Loneliness? No, But I Found a Way to Embrace Solitude in the Wild.

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Did I Find a Cure for Male Loneliness? No, But I Found a Way to Embrace Solitude in the Wild.


Published July 9, 2026 03:00AM

On the longest solo trip of my life, I stepped off a two-seat float plane onto the rocky shore of Upper Twin Lake in Alaska’s Lake Clark National Park.

I had taken four flights from New Jersey to Alaska to write about the iconic cabin handbuilt by Richard “Dick” Proenneke, the self-taught naturalist whose 30-year solo life in the wilderness was captured in the beloved PBS documentary Alone in the Wilderness. Proenneke never married, never had children, and spent nearly three decades completely alone, save for the birds he fed by hand and bears that occasionally clawed at his logs.

“He must have been lonely out here,” a fellow traveler said during the park ranger’s tour of the cabin.

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On that chilly June morning last year, I found myself wondering the same thing. I was just coming to a different conclusion.

Park officials told me the cabin has seen a recent uptick in visitors, which they attribute to Proenneke’s newfound popularity on social media, and to a direct flight to the property by an outback flying service. I visited the cabin as a member of a tour group led by two guides. My group included a doctor, a retired attorney, a veterinarian, and a handful of National Parks superfans. Still, I stuck mostly to myself, spending the trip deep in my own thoughts. In Alaska, I wound up pondering a life like Proenneke’s, sans the means or skills to make it happen.

The Richard”Dick” Proenneke Site is located on the southeast shoreline of Upper Twin Lake in Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, Alaska. (Photo: National Park Service)

According to podcasters, writers, polls, therapists, influencers, and anyone else with a mouth or keyboard, there’s a male loneliness epidemic eroding the dated fabric of masculinity, like the snake of patriarchy eating its own tail.

Remedies for this epidemic are everywhere in the media, with new ones popping up weekly. The New York Times wondered if pickleball held the answers; others have suggested buying a personal watercraft, joining a mosh pit, or taking off your shirt at a college football game, or watching a horror-comedy starring Paul Rudd. In recent months, brunch, AI-powered companion dolls, and Jack Black have been mentioned as cures.

Outside wondered whether “outdoor friendships,” volunteering, or getting a pet could work.

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These cures may seem unrelated and even, perhaps, a little silly. However, the common theme between them seems to be social interaction, choosing community over individualism, a bowling league or running club over your PlayStation.

Some entrepreneurs have even launched businesses to combat male loneliness. A deep-dive earlier this year in the New Yorker revealed how fathers are paying men to turn their sons into “alphas,” while others are joining men-only retreats to be screamed at. Men are taking reams of peptides, smashing their cheekbones with hammers, and getting chin implants in an effort to chase some warped standard of masculinity.

Most of these solutions seem alien to the introverts of society, myself included. I’m not sure I’ve ever been lonely, per se, or even bored, unless I’m stuck in small talk. I’ve never loved team sports or double dates either. In school, hearing a teacher say “let’s break into groups” made me groan.

Richard
Richard “Dick” Proenneke’s iconic cabin in Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, Alaska. (Photo: National Park Service)

During my trip to Alaska, I realized that Proenneke enjoyed solitude but not loneliness. The former feels intentional and rewarding, as opposed to the latter, which causes anxiety and depression. He wasn’t a misanthrope. He welcomed visitors and was thoughtful enough to whittle a variety of walking sticks to match their height.

Monroe Robinson, author of The Handcrafted Life of Dick Proenneke, spent nearly 20 years living at the cabin and maintaining it for the National Park Service. Robinson knew Proenneke, who died in 2003, at the age of 86. “He liked when people came to visit,” Robinson told me later in a call, “and he also liked when they left.”

I can relate.

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My aversions to crowds and clubs have been a source of personal confusion over the years. I’m not a misanthrope, either. As a reporter, I crave deeply personal interactions with others and get invested in the people I write about to a fault. Part of me always thought loneliness was a good way to avoid heartbreak. I’ve loved deeply anyhow, and lost people in my life to suicide and divorce.

In June of 2024, I learned my then-wife was deeply unhappy in our marriage. I had a real breakdown. The ensuing algorithms of online divorce content can be toxic for men, a slippery slope greased by manosphere grifters. Well-intentioned friends and family will often just take your side during a breakup, too, and there’s not much growth in that. So I tried to avoid that noise, choosing to walk inside myself, to find a “vast inner solitude” as the poet Rainer Marie Rilke advised.

f Richard L. Proenneke, a legendary writer, wildlife photographer, and conservationist lived alone in this cabin he built by hand.
The Richard L. Proenneke Site is located on the southeast shoreline of Upper Twin Lake in Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, Alaska. (Photo: National Park Service)

I wanted to confront my own bullshit.

I spent a few dozen nights sleeping in tents for the rest of that year, mostly in the Northeast. Sometimes I slept in single-digit temperatures. I’d reserved a tent site for my wedding anniversary, a campground where I’d wanted to renew my vows. But after my marriage began to crumble, I took my young daughter, instead of canceling. I put her in a hiking backpack to slog my way up a few summits. I kept on punishing myself too, on trail runs and difficult hikes, hoping exhaustion would tamp down the urge to beg my ex and anyone who knew her for answers. Bad cell service helped with that.

(I also found a great therapist, thankfully.)

On a long-planned family vacation to Southwest Colorado in August of 2024 that I couldn’t afford and couldn’t cancel, the San Juan Mountains loomed everywhere I went. I saw them from the window of my cabin, the dirt roads I drove along with my kids, and the hammock where I finished The Snow Leopard, in which author Peter Matthiessen joins an expedition to find the mythic beast in Nepal after the death of his wife.

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The mountains felt timeless and unavoidable there, and they spoke to me, a perfect epilogue to the book’s zen message.

“Accept what’s happening” they said.

And so I accepted that my marriage was over.

In May of 2025, the divorce was finalized. A few weeks later, I was in Alaska as a freelancer, pinching myself as my plane touched down on the icy, blue lake.

Robinson, when I asked, said “feeling lonely was not a thing” for Proenneke. He was too active, too busy trying to survive. Proenneke left society, yes, but he didn’t withdraw from life. In the long winters, when no sun hit Proenneke’s sod roof, when no planes landed on the frozen lake, he would spend months penning thoughtful letters to close friends, family, and his growing legion of fans.

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Inside Richard Proenneke's cabin
The author sits at the desk of Richard “Dick” Proenneke in his cabin he built by hand. (Photo: Courtesy of Jason Nark)

Proenneke cared about his cabin’s appearance too, about beauty, and that matters. He built a stone fireplace, an extra bunk for guests, and hand-carved a much-beloved Dutch door. Windows would be an inconvenient luxury in a trapper’s cabin in Alaska, but Prokenneke fashioned one that offered a grand view of the lake anyway.

While I was contemplating Proenneke’s contentment in Alaska, I was also watching contentment in action with the two young guides in charge of us there. For a moment or two, I envied both of them, the same way I envied Proenneke. Guide Dom Gawel, who is in his mid-20s,  was the quieter of the two, and he led a few of us on some longer hikes while others stayed behind at camp. Later, I asked Dom about loneliness. He thought young men feel lost today “because they are comparing themselves to others in a negative way through social media” and “disconnected from nature.”

Luckily, there’s nothing close to a signal at Lake Clark National Park, no texts you feel compelled to answer, no influencers to interact with. That’s not easy to do in the United States.

I also found kinship with Dr. Adam Bolour, my kayak partner at Twin Lakes and roommate at Port Alsworth, a tiny Alaskan village on Lake Clark where we slept on our final night. We talked about fatherhood, relationships, and nature. He was traveling solo too, from California, and while he was upbeat and talkative with everyone, I watched him steal away to read some Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self-Reliance by the lakeshore. I did the same with Proenekke’s book there.

I emailed to ask about male loneliness, when I got back to New Jersey.

“I cherish solo trips, whether I’m married, feeling alone, feeling super connected with someone or a big group,” he wrote. “It’s just great to get away and convene with silence and space.”

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Lake Clark National Park and Preserve.
Arriving by float plane to Lake Clark National Park and Preserve. (Photo: Getty)

My revelations in Colorado and, later, at Proenneke’s cabin, helped me realize I must connect deeply with myself in the outdoors from time to time. Nature can’t just be an emergency room for me, either. It’s long-term maintenance for my physical and mental health, whether it’s trail running, floating in a swimming hole, or staring at mountains. It’s more than a hobby. The version of me who returns from those trips is a better father and, hopefully, a better partner someday.

Unlike Matthiessen, who spent months away from his young, grieving son in search of a snow leopard, or Proenneke, who spent 30 years away from almost everyone, I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to pull myself away from my children and responsibilities to that extreme. I have been guilty of that in the past. I’ll make do with a vow to see mountains like the San Juans as much as possible, even if it’s just a few days to convene with solitude, as Adam does. And if I can’t get to the Sawtooths or Switzerland, I’ll cut myself a break and keep exploring Pennsylvania or the Catskills.

A few months after I got back from Alaska, I tackled Pennsylvania’s Black Forest Trail. It’s the state’s most difficult hike, a 43-mile loop with a mind-boggling 8,500 feet of elevation gain. I was craving solitude, again, and found the trail emptier than the Alaskan backcountry. I saw as many rattlesnakes as people on that trip.

On my final night of the hike, after pushing hard for about 18 miles, I took off my boots and socks and stretched out on a shady vista as the sun began to sink.  Two hikers came in, a father and son, after their own long day. They hoped to camp there too and asked if I minded. I said it was fine and then, a few minutes later, reached for my socks and boots.

I shouldered my heavy pack, wished them a deep sleep, and pushed on to find solitude, that little bit of loneliness all the world says is a problem.


Jason Nark is a reporter who covers the outdoors for the Philadelphia Inquirer and and a freelance writer whose work has appeared in The New York Times, Outside, The Alpinist, Adventure Journal, National Geographic, Dwell, and other outlets.

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