Month: June 2025

June 26, 2025 – Thursday

We weighed anchor at 4:48 a.m., slipping quietly out of Foggy Bay just before the tide dropped too low to depart safely later in the day. As if to bid us farewell, a humpback whale surfaced near the bank—an exhilarating start that lifted our spirits before the swells did.

Once clear of the anchorage, we entered Dixon Entrance where the sea stirred with steady 3–5 foot swells. It wasn’t long before we turned into Revillagigedo Channel, where the current gave us a welcome push and the swell eased to a gentle 1–2 feet. Shrouded in thick fog, the islands around us vanished into a soft grey veil, and it felt as if we were being tenderly carried across the ocean.

Not far ahead, a pod of dolphins broke the stillness—fishing, dancing through the mist—a moment of grace we were lucky to witness.

By the time we approached Danger Passage, the fog began to lift, revealing the island silhouettes like a slowly developing photograph. We navigated safely through and eventually entered Tongass Narrows, threading through the vibrant heart of Ketchikan. Rain greeted our arrival in a steady downpour, soaking the deck as we eased into our slip.

Tonight is our first in Ketchikan, cozy and damp. According to the forecast, it’s rain upon rain from here to Juneau, but for now, we’re content to stay through the weekend before continuing our journey on Monday.

June 25, 2025 – Wednesday

Tuesday was a welcome break from the water as we stepped ashore and made our way to Prince Rupert’s Sunken Gardens. After days at sea, it felt good to stretch our legs and spend some quiet time walking the paths, chatting with friendly locals, and simply enjoying the calm surroundings.

With spirits buoyed, we turned to practicalities: refreshing our galley stores and replacing the port-side navigation light—small but vital tasks that reminded us of the quiet rituals of life aboard.

The afternoon drew us back toward the water, our thoughts shifting to the next leg of our journey: from Prince Rupert to Southeast Alaska via Venn Passage, into Chatham Sound, and across Dixon Entrance into U.S. waters.

By first light on Wednesday, we slipped lines and eased out of the marina, the town still wrapped in quiet.

Though the skies hung low and the air was hushed, experience told us not to be deceived—especially with Venn Passage ahead. That narrow channel never gives a free pass, and this morning was no exception. As we threaded between markers, the stillness was fractured by the rush of local fishing boats, surging past in pursuit of their favorite grounds. Their wakes slapped at our hull like mischievous spirits stirred from slumber, especially tricky at low tide when the margins tighten and every ripple demands our attention.

Entering the broader arms of Chatham Sound brought both relief and reflection. The open water offered us space—physical and mental—to consider the next challenge: crossing the storied Dixon Entrance, a stretch of sea as politically charged as it is physically unpredictable. Though the seas were rougher than forecast, we pressed on, our course steady.

The most taxing moment came not from weather, but from weaving around a fleet of gillnetters spread across our path. We couldn’t tell if they flew Canadian or U.S. flags, which somehow underscored the strange ambiguity of these waters. Here, the boundary between nations blurs like fog over the bow. The long-disputed “A–B Line” remains a ghost on the charts—binding to some, irrelevant to others—its shadow complicating fishing rights and leaving captains to navigate not only tide and wind, but uncertain law.

Having successfully transited Dixon Entrance we dropped anchor at Foggy Bay and enjoyed a beautiful and tranquil evening.

Prince Rupert Sunken Gardens

Back to the Water

Eagles at Cow Bay Marina

Prince Rupert BC to Foggy Bay Alaska

June 23, 2025 – Monday

Tucked along the eastern shoreline of Grenville Channel, Klewnuggit Inlet offers a rugged and breathtaking escape. The East Inlet proved to be the perfect haven to drop anchor, fire up the BBQ, and ease into a calm, unhurried evening while loons filled the air with their hauntingly beautiful songs. We weren’t alone—three other familiar boats, Aurora Pearl, Gallivant, and s/v Tenacious, all of which we first crossed paths with in Shearwater, had also found their way here.

By 5:00 a.m., Aurora Pearl had already weighed anchor and quietly slipped away. As we too prepared to depart, the captain of Gallivant stood on deck, offering a warm wave goodbye—a quiet farewell shared in the stillness of the inlet.

The 50-nautical-mile journey from Klewnuggit Inlet to Prince Rupert was both scenic and uneventful—a welcome change from the previous day’s passage. With the wind at our stern and the currents working in our favor, we enjoyed a smooth and steady ride. It wasn’t until more than four hours in that we spotted our first vessel: a Canadian rescue boat. Aside from that, we passed only two other boats while making our way through the quiet expanse of Grenville Channel.

As we exited the channel, marine traffic increased dramatically. Tugs with tows, commercial fishing boats, recreational anglers, adventure charters, and pleasure craft all crowded the waterways. By the time we reached the fuel dock, it was bustling with activity. Rather than wait in line, we chose to head straight to our slip at Cow Bay Marina and fuel up later.

June 22, 2025 – Sunday

June 21, 2025 Saturday

Today marks one month since we set out on our new adventure up the Inside Passage to Alaska, and what a month it’s been! We’ve had some truly unforgettable encounters—imagine watching orcas and humpbacks glide past our boat, spotting minke whales in the distance, and being greeted by playful dolphins, curious seals, and those adorable little otters along the shoreline. The skies have been just as lively, with eagles soaring overhead, loons calling in the mornings, and even flashes of color from purple martins fluttering around us.

Along the way, we’ve reconnected with old friends and made some lovely new ones—one of the most unexpected joys of the trip. And then there are the landscapes… every bend reveals something more breathtaking than the last. Honestly, it’s hard to put into words how incredible this journey has already been.

June 20, 2025

Along the Inside Passage’s winding waterways, countless unheralded cascades tumble from emerald cliffs, each one a fleeting surprise rather than a featured attraction. You’ll pass slender ribbons of water arcing through the air, half-hidden behind stands of spruce and cedar, their spray catching the midday sun like a scattering of diamonds. They don’t boast names on most cruising guides, yet each fall has its own voice—some whispering in delicate threads, others rushing in short, staccato bursts. Drift by at the right angle and you’ll hear them sing, a soft, watery chorus that lures you closer even as you chart your course downstream.

In the height of summer, when the mountain snows have shed most of their weight, these falls shrink to graceful trickles—but that only makes them more enchanting. You can’t help but imagine their full-throated fury in April or May, when melting ice swells their flow to thunderous heights. In those moments, the air around you feels charged with memory, as though the land itself remembers the days of roaring meltwater. And though you won’t find them on any “top ten” list, these humble falls are the soul of the Inside Passage—quiet reminders that beauty often hides in the places you least expect.

Scenic Views from Bottleneck Bay to Butedale

Tucked along the moss-draped shores of Princess Royal Island, Butedale feels like a secret whispered through the rainforest mist—an echo of a bygone era where people and salmon moved to the same relentless rhythm. Once a bustling cannery town born in 1911, it’s now a weathered silhouette against the trees, its decaying buildings standing like forgotten sentinels of British Columbia’s industrial past. Only four structures remain, clinging to time and tide, yet the spirit of the place lingers. Boaters who stop here do so with a sense of reverence—and caution—knowing they’re stepping into a place where nature has begun reclaiming every nail and timber. The dock, though technically closed, offers a rare anchorage for those drawn to solitude and history wrapped in salt air and silence.

At the heart of Butedale, the falls roar like they still remember powering the cannery below. Rushing 315 feet from Butedale Lake to the sea, the cascade is not just a postcard scene—it’s a living, breathing force that has shaped everything around it. Butedale Creek courses through the remains of the old town like veins of memory, churning white and wild, mesmerizing boaters who drift in close. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t just impress—it haunts you, in the best way.

Scenic Views at Butedale

June 19, 2025 – Thursday

Scenic Views from Shearwater to Bottleneck

June 16, 2025 -Thursday

We slipped out of  Frypan Bay just as the first hint of light crept across the sky. Rain tapped softly on the deck, and a thick blanket of low gray clouds stretched across the horizon, merging sea and sky into one seamless, muted canvas. Now and then, the fog pulled back like a curtain, offering fleeting views of rugged, forested slopes before quietly closing in again.

As the day wore on, the mist began to lift, and Shearwater slowly took shape on the shoreline—its weathered buildings and long docks appearing like a welcome waiting to be accepted. For a moment, it looked like the rain might hold off. But as we edged closer, a light drizzle returned, soon settling into a steady, familiar rhythm by the time we tied up.

Our time here has been a real pleasure, especially reconnecting with our friends aboard EmBark—one of those small joys that makes even the grayest day feel warm.

Today, we will leave Shearwater behind and continue our adventures northward, winding our way up the Inside Passage.

Scenic Views from Frypan Bay to Shearwater

_{When we first saw this rocky shoreline we thought we were looking at a spirt bear.}

Sites around Shearwater

June 14, 2025 – Saturday

Crossing Cape Caution is a defining moment for any pleasure boater, marking the transition into the untamed waters of the open Pacific. The passage demands respect, as ocean swells and mercurial weather patterns can transform a routine journey into a true test of seamanship. Careful planning—monitoring wind conditions, tides, and currents—can mean the difference between a smooth crossing and a battle against the elements.

Fortunately, our transit was remarkably favorable. The waves rolled at a manageable 3 to 5 feet, the wind kept below 10 knots, and the currents pushed us forward rather than resisting our progress. The scenery was nothing short of spectacular, teeming with seabirds, marine life, and the distant majesty of snow-capped mountains. The skies shifted from moody grays and hazy veils to bursts of blue streaked with billowing white clouds. We covered 69 nautical miles from Port McNeill to Frypan Bay, a journey that took just over twelve hours. By the time we dropped anchor, exhaustion had settled in—-but so had a sense of accomplishment. A hot meal, a quiet moment to take in our surroundings, and then sleep—earned and well-deserved.

June 15 – Reflections at Frypan Bay

June 13, 2025 – Friday

Pictures from Port McNeill