When the federal government shut down on October 1, 2025, the ripple effects stretched far beyond the marble halls of Washington, D.C., landing squarely in the heart of America’s most cherished landscapes and its far-flung communities. From the bustling gateway towns outside national parks to the rugged fishing villages dotting Alaska’s coastline, the shutdown has upended daily life, business, and the delicate balance between people and the natural resources they depend on.
In Alaska, the shutdown’s impact was immediate and deeply felt. According to the Alaska Marine Conservation Council (AMCC), scientific operations ground to a halt, critical stock assessments were thrown into limbo, and the uncertainty sent shivers through fishing communities already grappling with high costs and salmon shortages. The North Pacific Fishery Management Council, anticipating the coming chaos, pivoted its October meeting online—starting September 29 and stretching through October 9—just to squeeze in vital discussions before federal scientists were furloughed. Even with this scramble, several key agenda items, such as updates on Essential Fish Habitat, risked being dropped as essential staff were sent home without pay.
AMCC warned that the situation could get much worse if the shutdown dragged on. NOAA’s Alaska Fisheries Science Center cautioned that a shutdown lasting more than 15 business days could jeopardize the timely stock assessments that underpin annual catch limits. For Alaska’s small boat fleets and the processors who buy their catch, those numbers aren’t just statistics—they’re the difference between planning a season and sitting it out. With most NOAA research staff furloughed, AMCC reported that almost all research activities paused, though some fisheries management, seafood inspections, and law enforcement continued, albeit at a reduced capacity.
But the pain wasn’t limited to scientists and fishermen. Rural Alaska communities, already balancing on the edge, faced the possibility of losing federally subsidized flights under the Department of Transportation’s Essential Air Service program as early as October 12. The threat of losing these lifelines ramped up transportation costs and risks for everyone—from fishermen trying to get their catch to market, to small businesses keeping the waterfront economies alive. The closure of federal subsistence offices left rural residents without direct administrative support, forcing them to navigate the twin challenges of high costs and salmon shortages with even fewer resources.
Despite these disruptions, some government processes limped along. NOAA’s public comment period for Executive Order 14276—Restoring American Seafood Competitiveness—remained open through October 14. Fishermen were urged to share practical feedback about on-water realities: safety, costs, market access, and the pressing need for strong monitoring and habitat protection. The AMCC encouraged fishermen to document every shutdown-related impact, from flight delays to data collection gaps, and to share their stories with Alaska’s congressional delegation—Senator Murkowski, Senator Sullivan, and Representative Begich. “Your advocacy with your congressional representatives and written comments are the most powerful tools at your disposal,” AMCC stated. “We’ll continue to track developments and push for a science-based, community-driven path forward.”
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, the shutdown was taking a different but no less dramatic toll on the communities surrounding America’s national parks. Gateway towns like Coram, Montana, near Glacier National Park, watched business dry up almost overnight. Stacey Schnebel, owner of Park Provisions and the Stonefly Lounge, described the scene to USA TODAY: “Starting the first week of the shutdown, it was tumbleweed.” Her business saw gross sales drop by 38.5% compared to the previous week. “We’ve lived through shutdowns before, but my business depends on those people who are furloughed and may or may not be receiving their backpay when they go back to work,” Schnebel explained.
The numbers are staggering. The National Parks Conservation Association estimated that gateway communities risk losing up to $80 million in visitor spending every single day the shutdown drags on. That’s money not spent on hotels, restaurants, gear rentals, and the countless small businesses that rely on a steady stream of park visitors. National parks received a record-breaking 332 million visits last year, and with more than 350 park units open in some capacity during the shutdown, the uncertainty has left local economies reeling.
Despite the parks technically remaining open, reduced staffing means a host of new problems. “National parks are not designed to operate with so minimal staffing,” said Jeff Mow, a former superintendent of Glacier, Denali, and Kenai Fjords National Parks. Mow was one of 40 retired National Park Service superintendents to sign an open letter to Interior Secretary Doug Burgum, calling for parks to fully close during the shutdown. The risks, they argued, are too great: illegal camping, poaching, vandalism, and resource damage, all compounded by too few rangers to keep order.
John Garder, senior director for budget and appropriations at the National Parks Conservation Association, pointed out another danger: “Fewer rangers means less preventative search and rescue.” That’s not just about lost hikers. It’s about making sure visitors understand the risks of hiking unprepared, or how to behave around large and sometimes dangerous wildlife. The more visitors enter the parks, Garder said, “the more challenging it is for park personnel to try to keep some order in a very inherently disorderly situation.”
There have already been reports of rule breaking and squatters at Yosemite National Park. BASE jumping, which is illegal in all national parks, has seen a reported uptick. The National Park Service told USA TODAY it’s investigating and has removed unauthorized campsites, while law enforcement rangers and campground personnel continue to monitor visitor use, respond to incidents, and enforce regulations as best they can.
Some visitors, like Jose Garcia of Houston, were surprised by how open Yellowstone was the week of October 8. “The shutdown caught us off guard, but we weren’t too concerned,” he said. “I mean, we visited national parks during COVID. We went to Big Bend and there was really nobody at the entrances there, so we were like, ‘We’ll probably get in free,’ which actually, that’s what happened at Yellowstone, except there was rangers there ... They were handing out maps and answering questions, the normal stuff, except collecting (entrance fees).” Garcia noted that restrooms and visitor centers remained open, and staff helped direct traffic during an elk crossing near Mammoth Hot Springs.
Still, the financial toll is mounting. Acadia National Park in Maine, a magnet for fall foliage tourists, typically earns about $1.5 million in entrance fees during October alone—revenue now at risk. To help fill the gap, Friends of Acadia launched a voluntary donation program, asking visitors to contribute what they would have paid in entrance fees. Other parks, like the Great Smoky Mountains, have stayed open thanks to emergency state and local funding. In Colorado, Governor Jared Polis directed the state’s four national parks to keep operating on fee revenue until it runs out, and Rocky Mountain National Park lifted its timed-entry restrictions to keep gates open. Volunteers have stepped up, too, organizing trash pick-up events to help maintain the parks in the absence of full staff.
But for many local businesses, uncertainty reigns. Schnebel, in Montana, summed it up: “It’s hard to make commitments to big advertising and marketing spending if you don’t know if your coffers will refill after you make those investments. It’s hard to turn your liquid cash into merchandise for your store if nobody is going to come and buy your merchandise.”
From Alaska’s icy harbors to the sunlit trails of the Rockies, the government shutdown has exposed just how interconnected America’s public lands, rural economies, and small businesses really are. As communities wait for Washington to break the deadlock, the cost—measured in lost income, missed scientific opportunities, and frayed safety nets—continues to climb, one quiet day at a time.