Category: Alaska Trip 2025

September 2, 2025 – Tuesday

Today was our window to cross Cape Caution—a stretch of water that demands respect and timing. It wasn’t a sunny day, but it was beautiful in its own quiet way. Patches of fog clung to the shoreline like whispers from the forest, softening the rugged edges of the coast. The sea was calm, and the reflections at Frypan Bay were nothing short of mesmerizing—mirror-like stillness broken only by the occasional ripple of a curious otter or a leaping fish.

The coastline along this passage is a masterpiece of nature: jagged rock formations rising from the sea, sculpted by centuries of wind and wave. Wildlife was abundant today. Flocks of seabirds wheeled overhead, sea otters floated on their backs like little mariners, and seals popped up like sentinels, watching us pass. It felt like the entire ecosystem had come out to bid us farewell.
And then, just before we reached Port McNeill, a humpback whale surfaced beside us, heading north. It was a brief but magical moment—like a final wave goodbye, a gentle reminder to return next season.

Arriving at the marina felt like coming home. Several boats were docked, their crews also returning from Alaska adventures. We were greeted with smiles, stories, and the kind of camaraderie that only comes from shared experience on the water. Tonight, the docks are alive with laughter and the quiet satisfaction of journeys completed.

September 1, 2025 – Monday

We lingered in Shearwater this morning, watching the fog swirl and lift like a curtain reluctant to rise. By 9:00 a.m., with visibility finally clearing, we slipped our lines and headed out—hopeful for a smooth passage. The Inside Passage had other plans. As we reached the broader channel, the fog returned in ghostly patches, drifting across the water like veils. The wind had picked up more than forecasted—not dangerous, but enough to keep us sharp. It was a day that demanded patience and precision.

And then, the whales came. Our first sighting felt almost theatrical. The BC ferry Northern Expedition, a familiar silhouette on these waters, was stopped mid-channel—an unusual sight for a vessel of its size and schedule. Within moments, we understood why. A group of humpbacks had surfaced nearby, their presence so commanding it brought even the ferry to a standstill. Though they were quite a distance from our boat, we watched through binoculars as they breached, pec-slapped, fluked, and blew—each movement a display of raw grace. Then, to our astonishment, two of them glided toward us, closing the distance until they were just 40 feet away. With a final arch and a deep breath, they sounded, their massive, glistening flukes disappearing into the depths. That moment alone would have made the day unforgettable.

But it was only the beginning. By sunset, we had counted six distinct groups of humpbacks, each encounter a reminder of the wild magic that pulses through these waters. Despite the fog and wind, the whales transformed the day into something extraordinary. Tonight, we’re tucked into Frypan Bay. The water is calm, the air still and we are all alone. We’re waiting for our window to cross Cape Caution—a stretch that demands respect and perfect timing. If the weather holds, tomorrow may be our chance. For now, we rest—grateful, humbled, and still replaying the sound of breath and fin in our minds.

August 25-28, 2025 Monday -Thursday

After leaving Prince Rupert behind, the sea has wrapped us in a blanket of fog each morning—so thick and persistent that we’ve often stayed anchored until noon, waiting for the mist to lift. It’s a quiet, eerie beauty, the kind that makes you whisper even when no one’s around. But one day broke the pattern: our departure from Coghlan Anchorage. The fog clung to the mountains, dramatic and moody, but the water was clear enough to set out. And what a send-off Coghlan gave us.

As we slipped away from the anchorage, nature seemed to put on a farewell performance. Loons called out from the mist, an eagle soared overhead, and a rock nearby hosted an unlikely gathering—sea lions and seagulls, side by side, basking in the morning calm. An otter, playful and curious, danced at the entrance to the bay as if to say, “Safe travels.”

Entering Wright Sound brought another unforgettable moment: whales cruising along the shoreline. I managed to snap a photo or two, though I’m still unsure of their species. AI suggested they might be sperm whales, which adds a layer of mystery to the encounter. Whatever they were, their presence was majestic.

Not all the action came from wildlife. Within just 30 minutes, three Canadian Coast Guard vessels sliced through the waters around us, clearly engaged in some kind of drill. It was a rare sight—precision and power in motion, a reminder of the human guardians of these remote passages.

The week continued to surprise us. As we were preparing to leave Rescue Bay en route to Bella Bella, we spotted a bear foraging along the beach. It was a quiet, solitary moment—just the bear, the tide, and us, passing through.
Tonight, we’re docked at Shearwater Marina, a cozy pause in our journey. We’ll spend the weekend here, soaking in the calm before heading toward Cape Caution. That stretch demands respect, so we’ll be watching the weather closely, waiting for the perfect forecast to carry us smoothly into Southern Canada.

This past week has been a tapestry of fog, wildlife, and fleeting encounters—each one a reminder of how alive and unpredictable the coast can be. Here’s to more mornings wrapped in mist and evenings filled with wonder.

Monday – Coughlan to Butedale

Tuesday – Butedale to Bottleneck Inlet

Wednesday – Bottleneck Inlet to Rescue Cove

Thursday-Rescue Cove to Bella Bella

August 24, 2025 – Sunday

The morning greeted us with a thick blanket of fog, reluctant to lift until nearly noon. As the mist finally gave way, we raised anchor and slipped into motion, bound for the ever-unpredictable Grenville Channel. Klewuggit Inlet offered a moment of serenity—its waters calm, its silence almost reverent. But the peace didn’t follow us far. Grenville, known by seasoned mariners as “the ditch,” lived up to its reputation with choppy waves and winds that danced wildly between 3 and 27 knots. The tide, stubborn and contrary, pushed against us for most of the journey. Still, the beauty of the channel was undeniable—raw, remote, and quietly majestic. Tonight, we find refuge in Coghlan Anchorage, nestled beside the Canadian Coast Guard ship TANU, a silent sentinel sharing our quiet harbor under the stars.

August 22-23, 2025 – Friday & Saturday

Friday was a land day—a pause in the voyage, a moment to tend to the quiet necessities that keep the journey afloat. The boat waited patiently in harbor while we turned our attention to the mundane: scrubbing decks, restocking stores, and ticking off the practical tasks that make life at sea sustainable.

But Prince Rupert, with its gentle charm, offered more than errands. The city invited wandering. We strolled through tree-lined streets and into parks bursting with color—gardens so full of blooms they seemed to hum with life. It felt like the town itself was in bloom, not just the flowers.

In the heart of the park, surrounded by blossoms and birdsong, we found a moment of serenity. A bench beneath a flowering tree became our sanctuary. The garden didn’t just offer beauty—it offered renewal. In that stillness, the hum of the city softened, and the soul took a deep breath.

Lesson on Cabbing

Raven’s Rhapsody

Saturday brought us back to the water, where the rhythm of the coast came alive around every bend. Ferries glided past with quiet purpose, tugboats chugged along with their deep-throated engines, and fishing vessels bobbed gently as crews worked the lines. As we passed through the industrial shipping area, the scale of maritime commerce was hard to miss—massive container ships docked at sprawling terminals, cranes arched like mechanical giraffes unloading goods bound for distant markets. Prince Rupert’s port buzzed with activity, a vital artery in the global trade network where coal, grain, and containers move seamlessly from rail to sea. It’s a place where logistics meets landscape, and even amid the hum of industry, the wild still feels close.
But the true magic of the day unfolded on the Grenville Channel, just a few miles before Klewnuggit. Out of the stillness, two humpback whales appeared, swimming directly toward our boat. In a moment that felt both breathtaking and surreal, they flipped their tails and dove beneath us—just thirty feet away. The water swirled with their passing, and for a heartbeat, everything was silent. I moved to the stern, heart still racing, and watched as they surfaced again about a quarter mile behind us, blowing mist into the air like a farewell. It was one of those rare encounters that leaves you awed, a little shaken, and deeply grateful to be part of the story.

August 21, 2015 – Thursday

Where Alaska Meets Canada: A Journey Through Calm Waters

Liquid Lace: The Dance of a Jellyfish

August 20, 2025 – Wednesday

We slipped away from Ketchikan this morning, bound for Foggy Bay and the edge of Alaska. If the weather holds, tomorrow we’ll cross Dixon Entrance—leaving behind the wild embrace of Southeast Alaska and entering Canadian waters. But today was a gift all its own.

The day began with a quiet thrill: fueling up while floatplanes danced into the sky, their wings slicing through mist and memory. We eased southward along Tongass Narrows, the water glassy and serene, a mirror to the shifting skies above.

Though the mountains wore veils of morning fog, the channel remained clear—an ethereal corridor of calm. By midday, the clouds lifted in celebration, revealing brilliant blue skies and cotton-white cumulus that seemed to drift just for us. The light played across the water in layers: silver, slate, and sudden gold.

Tonight we’re anchored in Foggy Bay, tucked beside our friends aboard Embark. The anchorage is quiet, the air soft with salt and promise. It’s one of those rare days where everything aligns—weather, company, and the slow unfolding of beauty.

Southbound from Ketchikan: Toward the Border, Beneath Blue Skies

August 18, 2025 – Monday

Tucked into the spruce-fringed folds of Clarence Strait, Meyers Chuck is more than a dot on the map—it’s a living scrapbook of salt-stained memories and multi-generational ties. Long before cabins had names and footpaths stitched the forest together, Indigenous families knew this coast as home, sharing stories of canoe routes, seasonal harvests, and the spirits that dwell in quiet coves. Many homes are still held by descendants of early settlers, who return like migrating birds to the same berry-laced trails and tide-washed docks their grandparents once wandered. There are no roads here—just narrow paths winding through mossy woods, linking cabins like verses in a poem. We usually love walking those trails, soaking in the quiet magic of the forest, but this time the rain had other plans—two days of steady drizzle turned the paths into puddle playgrounds. We missed our walks, but the silver lining came in warm chats with locals and fellow boaters, swapping stories and laughter while the rain drummed its rhythm on the rooftops. Meyers Chuck isn’t just remote—it’s timeless, and even in the rain, it knows how to make you feel right at home.

Meyers Chuck: Between the Drizzle and the Dock

After five days of rain, the journey from Meyers Chuck to Ketchikan unfolded beneath a sky scrubbed clean—blue as a promise, with clouds like soft brushstrokes overhead. The light felt like a gift, casting silver glints on the water and lifting spirits all around. Birds wheeled and called, sea lions lounged and barked from rocky outcrops, and then—just when the day seemed full enough—a pod of three whales surfaced, graceful and unhurried, tracing arcs through the calm. We watched in quiet awe as they moved together, wild and free, as if choreographed by the rhythm of the sea itself.

Snapshots from the Sunny Side of the Passage

August 15, 2025 – Friday

Last day at Wrangell -Wednesday August 13

Beautiful Sunny Day

Wrangell to Frosty Bay -Thursday August 14

The day began with high hopes and low visibility—fog socked in the marina like a sleepy blanket that refused to be folded. Our early departure plans tiptoed quietly out the door as we waited for the mist to lift, sipping tea and watching the cruise ship Alaska Dream sidle in for fuel like a whale at a gas station. By the time she topped off her tanks, the fog had graciously peeled away from the water, though it clung to the mountains like a moody shawl all day long. Sunless but never joyless, we traced the east side of Wrangell Island in a slow-motion ballet of beauty: adventure boats zipped past en route to Anan, barges lumbered by, and fishing vessels danced their quiet routines. When we finally tucked into Frosty Bay, it was ours alone—no neighbors, no noise, just the soft hush of evening and the feeling that the day, despite its foggy start, had unfolded exactly as it should.

Frosty Bay to Myers Chuck – Friday August 15

If yesterday was a slow waltz through fog and wonder, today was its brisk, confident sequel. The mountains still wore their misty veils, but the water was clear, granting us an early departure from Frosty Bay with a sense of quiet triumph. The sun remained elusive—perhaps on vacation—but the fog-draped peaks were so hauntingly beautiful we hardly missed it. The sea greeted us with a mirror-like calm, and for a while, we glided over glass. But by midmorning, the east wind stirred, ruffling the surface into playful chop. The waves danced, we swayed, and spirits stayed high. By the time we reached Chuck Meyers Cove, the tide was low and the dock welcomed us like an old friend. We tied up just ahead of the rain, which arrived with the evening and settled in like a lullaby. Safe and snug, we let the rhythm of raindrops on the deck carry us gently into sleep—another day wrapped in the quiet magic of the Inside Passage.

August 10, 2025 – Sunday

We arrived in Wrangell just as BearFest stirred the town to life—a celebration both contemporary and ancient. Long before Russian traders and American settlers arrived, this land was home to the Tlingit people, who revered bears as powerful beings, woven into stories, clan crests, and ceremony. Today, Wrangell’s bear sculptures echo that legacy, honoring the black and brown bears of the Tongass and the enduring relationship between people, place, and wild spirit.

Bear Sculptures Around Town

Throughout the festival, children become explorers—tracking bear prints, crafting masks, and learning about forest ecology through play. Workshops and storytelling sessions invite young minds to connect with nature, blending science and wonder in ways that feel both joyful and profound. BearFest isn’t just a tribute—it’s a living classroom, where the next generation finds its footing in the rhythms of Southeast Alaska.

Chief Shakes House

Chief Shakes Tribal House, located on Shakes Island in Wrangell Harbor, is a striking replica of a traditional Tlingit clan house and a central symbol of the Naanyaa.aayi Clan’s heritage. Originally built in 1940 and restored in 2013, it features intricately carved house posts and surrounding totem poles that reflect centuries of Tlingit artistry and storytelling. Once the home of Chief Shakes and his extended family, the house stands as a powerful testament to the enduring cultural presence of the Tlingit people in Southeast Alaska.

Bearfest Community Market

Sights Around Town