Alaska’s Islands: Wilderness and Wildlife
After a day of slogging around in soggy boots, I’m convinced Alaska’s islands are just built different. Wind’s relentless, seabirds everywhere (puffins are loud and frankly rude), and sea otters look fake until one’s munching lunch right in front of you. None of this requires a passport, which feels like a trick.
Wildlife Viewing and Whale Watching
Nobody gave me a cheat sheet for the bird chaos or told me walruses would just ignore me. Near Saint Paul Island, it’s like the birds outnumber people a thousand to one. Should’ve packed binoculars, but my dermatologist guilt-tripped me into getting those wraparound sunglasses—“for the gulls,” apparently. Puffins, kittiwakes, even a wolf if you’re lucky (I wasn’t). Socks still wet.
Humpbacks breach for nobody, sea lions bark, and the only bear I saw was on a ferry sign. Kodiak’s supposed to have more, but the ranger just muttered about “seasonal luck.” NOAA’s survey last year said 40 million seabirds on the refuge’s western edge. No, that’s not a typo. Summer brings seals and gray whales to Unalaska’s inlets, and a ferry guide told me, “Expect nothing, then everything.” Not helpful, but not wrong.
Iconic Hiking Trails and Panoramic Landscapes
If you like tripping over volcanic boulders, Unimak Island’s for you. Trails lead straight to cliffs where the wind will absolutely steal your hat. Izembek National Wildlife Refuge is run by wildlife nerds, not hikers, and foxes don’t care about your plans. A ranger told me there are over 200 islands here and almost no one sees more than three. He seemed trustworthy.
Elevation? Ridiculous. Nine thousand feet from sea level in some spots. Fog’s real, not a filter. I nearly missed Agnes Beach because sand in my boots distracted me. Signs warn you: 1.3 million acres of ridges and caldera, barely walkable. Hiking poles? Mandatory. The lost-and-found box is just full of single gloves. Some hiker told me, “Bring moleskin, not optimism.” I believe her. Also, never trust a blue sky at noon.
Hawaiian Islands: Volcanic Beauty and Relaxation
Everyone says volcanoes ruin travel plans, but flights still sell out every spring and nobody books a hotel with proper curtains. Hawaii’s got ancient petroglyphs nobody notices because they’re too busy chasing shave ice. Weather’s always “pleasant,” which means you forget sunscreen (SPF 30? Not enough, sorry, doc), and I never reapply after my inevitable beach nap.
Kauai: Scenic Coastlines and Adventure
Rental Jeeps in Lihue? Gone before you can say “sand in my shoes.” Hanalei Bay’s packed at sunrise, yet everyone’s convinced they found their own secret spot. Waimea Canyon—3,000 feet down, and I swear, half the hikers are in spotless white sneakers, which just feels wrong. Kayaking the Wailua River, you’ll see more feral chickens than guides.
“Best poke” signs everywhere. It’s good, but try telling a local you thought Taro chips were traditional—awkward. Kalalau Trail’s ten miles each way; the mud’s ancient. Nāpali cliffs look epic but you’ll barely get a photo before your phone dies from the rain.
Oahu: Vibrant Culture and Historic Buildings
Waikiki? Yeah, it’s busy, but Chinatown at noon is where you’ll get sidetracked by manapua that looks weird but tastes amazing. A tour guide dropped the “only royal palace on U.S. soil” fact about ‘Iolani Palace and now I can’t forget it, even while scanning random QR codes at the Bishop Museum. Pearl Harbor tours? Book way ahead or go late and watch confused families in matching shirts taking photos they’ll never look at again.
Kaka’ako’s murals change constantly, which is the best excuse to end up in a random coffee shop with locals in vintage aloha shirts. Nobody’s talking about hula, just espresso with coconut syrup. Plate lunch for $12 at a drive-in? You’ll spill it on Kapahulu, and the katsu sauce stain will outlast your tan. I never remember where those old 1920s buildings are until the sun’s already set behind Diamond Head.
Hidden Mainland Islands: Escapes Without Leaving the U.S.
If you don’t trust airlines (I don’t—delays are a given), you start hunting for these weirdly overlooked islands that are technically U.S. soil but feel like they belong to someone else. Some are barely attached, some are impossible to reach, but maybe that’s why they’re fun.
Florida Keys and Key West
Key West: influencers in Tommy Bahama shirts everywhere, all acting like it’s the “end of the road.” Please. Casa Marina looks fancy, but try booking during lobster mini season—good luck. Some cabbie told me conch fritters at Eaton Street are basically mandatory. Haven’t checked if that’s true. Driving US 1, you cross 42 bridges (I counted, felt like 100 with screaming kids in the back).
Hemingway’s cats, roosters, and everyone claims the Mallory Square sunset is “spiritual.” Mostly it’s tourists taking blurry photos. Skip snorkeling at Bahia Honda and you’ll regret it, but the reef-safe sunscreen (legally required) will still leak in your bag. Florida’s weird rum laws mean you can’t even take the good stuff home.
Dry Tortugas National Park and Fort Jefferson
Ferry or seaplane—unless you’re a kayak maniac (Reddit says someone did it, but I’m skeptical). Ninety miles from Key West, no cell service, nobody cares. Fort Jefferson is this half-built octagon made of 16 million bricks (NPS trivia, apparently the most in any U.S. fort), just sitting out in the water. Rangers make ghost jokes. Maybe just tired.
Bring your own water and food—there’s no snack bar, no matter what you’ve heard. My favorite snorkeling spot? Near the pier pilings, blue tangs everywhere, nurse sharks just chilling. NPS pass? Worthless here. Ferry tickets are extra, and if you want to camp, plan three months ahead or raccoons will steal your stuff. Half the visitors are history nerds or birders with telescopes.
Block Island and Mohegan Bluffs
Everyone talks about Martha’s Vineyard, but Block Island’s just out there, ignored. Ferries from Point Judith run when they feel like it. E-bike rentals? Don’t bother, batteries die halfway and you’ll end up pushing uphill. Mohegan Bluffs—140+ stairs (my thighs still ache), and the view’s either perfect or fogged out, so don’t plan your Instagram post.
Half the island’s run by a conservancy. Locals warn you about ticks but never the wind, which will ruin your sandwich. Some surfer told me October waves are best—probably just wanted the beach to himself. The town’s tiny, just one main street, and every other shop sells kites or hats.
Catalina Island and San Juan Islands
Avalon on Catalina—everyone’s wobbling around on tandem bikes, and I swear nobody’s in sync. It’s like a slow-motion pileup waiting to blow up on TikTok. Catalina Express gets you there in about 75 minutes from Long Beach, at least unless “island time” kicks in, which is basically an excuse for late ferries. Tried a buffalo milk cocktail at Marlin Club. No, it’s not actual buffalo milk. It’s vodka, banana liqueur, and whatever else they found behind the bar. Diving at Casino Point Marine Park? Freezing, bright, full of orange garibaldi, and I kept fogging my mask.
San Juan Islands in Washington—don’t even get me started on those ferries. They break down, or you end up packed in with everyone desperate to spot an orca. Friday Harbor in July? Total chaos. I tell people to go in May or September, when you might snag a sea kayak discount and maybe hear a biologist ramble about bull kelp. Bald eagles circle above the ferry lines. Farm stands pop up everywhere, selling strawberries that shame supermarket ones, but it’s cash only—so if you forgot small bills, you’re out of luck.
If you want more U.S. islands where you can skip the passport, check these island getaways that don’t require a passport.
Unique Activities Across Passport-Free Islands
Halfway through a trip, I realized my passport was just collecting dust while I was busy paddling, hiking, losing goggles, or getting sidetracked by some random barrel of rum on another chunk of U.S. territory. Nobody tells you that booking a ferry to Puerto Rico or the San Juans means you’ll juggle gear rental forms, fish stories, and random weirdness nobody believes back home.
Fishing and Kayaking
Dragged myself through pre-dawn fog on Lopez Island, hoping the kayak I borrowed wouldn’t flip if a seal sneezed. By the way, Pacific Northwest shops sell titanium paddles at prices that make you question your life choices—and, fun fact, they do not float. There’s always some uncle bragging about “limit-out” halibut hauls near San Juan, but honestly, the chocolate croissant in my dry bag was more exciting than any fish.
Orcas Island marinas—everyone’s got an opinion about the “perfect” time to rent gear, and it’s always five minutes after sunrise. Kayak guides, supposedly USCG certified, hand you a whale-watching chart and tell you to ignore it because orcas don’t care about zones. They’ll nag you about UV shirts, which you’ll forget anyway. Met a retired fisheries biologist at Point Roberts who swore “Pacific herring schools are densest in July,” but all I got was sunburned. Want more info on these islands without passport drama? San Juan Islands.
