McCarthy, AK

McCarthy, Alaska, is a tiny, remote community deep in the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, and its political lean is a fascinating outlier. While the surrounding state of Alaska carries a Cook Partisan Voting Index (PVI) of R+6, McCarthy itself is a fiercely independent, libertarian-leaning enclave that often votes more liberally than its neighbors, though it still sits within that R+6 framework. The area’s political trajectory has been remarkably stable for decades, shaped by a deep-seated distrust of federal land management and a live-and-let-live ethos that transcends party lines. You won’t find a “typical” Alaska voter here; instead, you’ll find a mix of back-to-the-landers, seasonal guides, and old-time prospectors who agree on little except that the government should stay out of their valley.

How it compares

Compared to the rest of Alaska, McCarthy is a political island. The state as a whole leans Republican, with Anchorage and the Mat-Su Valley (home to Wasilla and Palmer) reliably voting red. In contrast, McCarthy’s precincts have historically split tickets, often favoring Democratic or third-party candidates for president while supporting conservative state legislators who oppose federal overreach. For example, in the 2020 election, the McCarthy area voted for Joe Biden by a narrow margin, while nearby Glennallen and Copper Center went heavily for Donald Trump. This makes McCarthy one of the few blue dots in a sea of red in the Copper River Basin. The R+6 PVI for both the area and the state masks this local divergence: McCarthy’s politics are less about party affiliation and more about a fierce commitment to self-sufficiency and environmental protection, a combination that doesn’t fit neatly into national categories.

What this means for residents

For conservative residents, McCarthy offers a place where gun rights are respected, property taxes are virtually nonexistent, and the federal government is kept at arm’s length—though the National Park Service’s presence is a constant source of tension. Liberal residents appreciate the community’s strong environmental ethic, support for subsistence lifestyles, and tolerance of alternative living arrangements. In practice, this means that political debates are less about national culture wars and more about local issues: how to manage tourism, whether to allow more commercial development, and how to balance access with preservation. Both sides can find common ground in opposing large-scale mining projects, like the proposed Pebble Mine in the Bristol Bay region, which unites McCarthyites against corporate extraction. The downside? Services are minimal—no police force, no hospital, and a short road season—so residents must be self-reliant regardless of their politics.

Culturally, McCarthy stands apart from the rest of Alaska in its embrace of a slower, more communal pace of life. While Anchorage buzzes with chain stores and suburban sprawl, McCarthy has no grid power, no cell service, and a population that swells from 30 in winter to a few hundred in summer. The local bar, the Golden Saloon, serves as a de facto town hall where debates over bear safety and trail maintenance matter more than presidential politics. This isolation fosters a unique brand of politics: fiercely anti-authoritarian, skeptical of outside influence, and deeply pragmatic. For a liberal, it’s a place where you can live off-grid and vote your conscience without judgment. For a conservative, it’s a bastion of freedom from regulation. The key takeaway is that McCarthy’s political climate is less about red versus blue and more about a shared commitment to keeping the community weird, wild, and self-determined—a rare thing in an increasingly polarized state.