There’s something magic about packing up your sled, grabbing your closest girlfriends, and heading into the middle of nowhere with nothing but snowmachines, skis, and a tent to call home. No roads, no cell service—just snow, silence, and the freedom of the Alaska backcountry.

This weekend was one for the books.

The Ride In

Saturday afternoon, four of us rode out into a wide-open valley tucked deep in the Alaska wild. Snowmachines loaded down with gear—an Arctic Oven tent, a NuWay propane stove, food, fuel, and skis strapped every which way. The air was crisp, the sun was starting to dip, and the snow looked perfect.

We found a good basin, packed down a flat spot with our machines, and set up camp. The Arctic Oven warmed up quick thanks to the NuWay stove, and with home base established, we turned our sights uphill.

Chasing Turns

No time wasted—we jumped back on the sleds and started ferrying each other up the mountain. One machine would shuttle, the other would wait, and we’d tag-team our way to the top. There’s a kind of rhythm to it—laughing through wind-burned cheeks, boot-packing into skis, taking turns dropping into untouched lines.

We skied until the sky turned dusky blue, the kind of slow-fading evening light you only get in Alaska. Cold hands and full hearts, we made it back to camp, started a fire, and tore open Mountain House meals—nothing gourmet, but they hit the spot after a day in the snow.

Stars started to show above the peaks, one by one, and we watched them flicker into the night while sitting around the fire. Eventually, we crawled into the tent, kicked off our boots, and passed around whiskey and wine, telling stories until the hours blurred into the early morning.

Sunday's Glow

The sun woke us gently, creeping over the ridge and lighting up the frost that coated everything. We fired up the stove, made coffee, and soaked in the view—steam from our mugs rising into cold air, surrounded by silence and snow.

Then we did what any crew of backcountry-loving women would do—we got back on the sleds and went up for another round. The snow was still good, the mountains still wide open.

Until, of course, my sled broke down.

The Push & The Ride

It happened at the top of a climb—dead weight, no go. So I pushed. In deep snow, every step took effort, but eventually gravity took over, and I jumped on as the sled picked up just enough momentum to coast all the way back to camp. Not ideal, but honestly? Pretty fun.

Once back at camp, we hooked it up to the trail sled and towed it out. Somehow, in the parking lot, after all that, the sled decided to start again—typical. I loaded it onto the sled deck, and just like that, the weekend wrapped up.

Three hours later, we were back in Fairbanks, sunburned, exhausted, smelling like campfire—and just in time to make it to work on Monday.

The Takeaway

This trip wasn’t about perfect plans or flawless gear. It was about grit, freedom, and finding joy in the chaos. It's about good friends who pull each other up the mountain, laugh through the breakdowns, and stay up late sipping whiskey under a sky full of stars.

This is what Alaska gives you—if you’re bold enough to go find it.

**Plus an epic fly-by**