At 80 years old, Kurt has carved out a remarkable existence deep in Alaska’s wild interior, living off the grid on a gold mine surrounded by buried riches and forgotten history.

Only a fraction of Americans live off-grid, but in Alaska, it’s a way of life for thousands, with over 250 villages unreachable by road and many residents relying on float planes or snow machines. Kurt’s story is one of grit, resourcefulness, and a relentless battle against the elements.

Kurt’s homestead sits on a gold claim in a valley colder than Fairbanks, where winter temperatures routinely plunge to -25°F and daylight lasts less than four hours.

He built his log cabin from trees on the property, with his wife Altha helping to peel and dry the logs before they constructed their home. Their “dry cabin” has no running water from the city, but Kurt engineered a system using a tank, gravity-fed water lines, and sawdust for the toilet. Despite the harsh conditions, they have heat, electricity, a shower, and even a microwave—making for five-star off-grid living.

Life here is far from easy. Kurt and Altha haul water every 10-12 days, collect fuel frequently, and split firewood all summer to survive the winter. With no house payment and property tax exemptions for seniors, their expenses are lower than in town, but the work is constant.

Kurt admits that at his age, every day brings new challenges: “You get tired of just constantly battling. It’s just a constant battle.” Yet, he’s in great shape, thanks to a lifetime of physical work and an attitude that values independence over comfort.

The lure of gold is what brought Kurt to Alaska nearly 20 years ago. After staking his claims in the dead of winter, he began mining, first with picks and shovels, then with homemade contraptions and heat rods to thaw the frozen earth.

His mine shaft descends 93 feet, and he’s uncovered relics from miners who worked the land over a century ago. While he’s found ounces of gold—sometimes worth tens of thousands of dollars—his real goal now is to teach younger miners and eventually sell the claim, as the work has grown too taxing.

Survival in Alaska demands planning and adaptability. Kurt relies on backup generators, diesel heaters, and a network of neighbors—though the closest is three and a half miles away.

Emergencies can be deadly, especially in subzero temperatures, so he welcomes help from younger, eager miners. Despite the isolation, there’s a strong sense of community and camaraderie among those who choose this life.

Kurt and Altha’s version of retirement is far from sedentary. They value the freedom Alaska offers, where regulations are lighter and individuality is celebrated.

For Altha, the dream was always to live like a pioneer, and for Kurt, the gold mine was the draw. Together, they’ve built a life that’s both challenging and rewarding, surrounded by wildlife, untouched wilderness, and the ever-present possibility of striking it rich.

As the northern lights dance overhead and the cold bites harder each year, Kurt reflects on what keeps him going. “If it’s fun, I’ll keep doing it,” he says. For now, Alaska remains the last frontier—a place where the truly independent can live life on their own terms, even as the wilderness tests them every day.