July 8, 2025 Tuesday
We slept cradled in the rhythm of chine slap, the boat whispering its lullaby against calm waters. Morning arrived with a gentle promise—the cove still as glass, and the sun shyly peeking from behind misty curtains. It never quite took the stage. By the time we lifted anchor, Monday had transformed into a brooding presence, full of low clouds, fog banks, and gusty wind. A few fleeting sun breaks teased us along the way.
Despite the limited visibility, the day shimmered with wild encounters. Bald eagles stood sentinel along the shore, regal and still. Then came a sudden flurry of joy—about a dozen dolphins raced around our boat, making us feel like guests of honor at a marine celebration. But the true showstopper was a pair of humpback whales gliding silently past, just fifty feet off our starboard side. They passed us like living legends, their massive forms slipping beneath the surface with effortless grace.
Later, we sought a quiet place to anchor in Cannery Cove. The best spots had already been claimed, so we scouted several possibilities. None felt quite right. In the end, we pushed onward for another four hours until we found solitude at Snug Harbor West, the only boat in sight—a place to rest and reflect.
A storm is forecast to arrive Thursday. Tomorrow, we’ll put in a long stretch, aiming for safe harbor in Juneau before the weather turns. The sea, as always, sets the tempo—and we follow.
