Super convenient town. Moored on an empty dock and boats filled in throughout the day. Everything is within a 30 second walk of one another on shore, so we did a small reprovisioning trip at their little grocery store, filled up our propane tanks at their hardware store, did two loads of laundry, topped up our tanks, and cleaned the boat in a only few hours.

Nice, quiet cove along BC’s coast. Another sailboat we’ve yet to see along the inside passage anchored nearby. We were hopeful to see the northern lights projected in our area, but it was foggy.

Motored to Bottleneck during the ebb tide and anchored just after sunset. The head of the cove was packed with boats, but we weren’t going to find another place in the dark, so we anchored near the mouth of the cove and left early in the morning for a new place. Although we only saw the anchorage during the sliver of light that remains after the sun sets, the walls were blanketed with green foliage and the cove had a faint sulphur smell.

We left Butedale with the ebb tide for K’ootz/Khutze Conservancy and anchored near the estuary at the head of the inlet. Dropped our Rocna in approximately 50’ beneath a cascading waterfall that looked like a painting. Looking inland, the valley opened to a wildflower-painted estuary framed by snowcapped peaks. This part of the Great Bear Rainforest, on Princess Royal Island, is home to the spirit bear, sea wolves, harbor seals, bald eagles, and more. It’s a popular anchorage, and we’ve seen more boats here than anywhere along the Inside Passage so far. We spent the afternoon relaxing and cleaning our fuel injectors.

Sailed (for the first time in forever!!!) around Gribbell Island to Bishop Bay Hot Springs and…just wow. The landscape is breathtaking. It seems like Misty Fjords was the gateway into some of the most epic mountainscapes we’ve ever seen. We entered Bishop Bay alongside a pod of humpback whales, their surfacing breaths echoing against granite walls, and later watched them from the warmth of the hot springs. The afternoon was ethereal. At the springs, we added a small artifact of our own (🐚🤫) to the collection left by fellow cruisers, a quiet gesture of belonging to the unseen fellowship that threads through places like this. Dropped anchor in approx. 80’ and stern tied to shore for the first time. Ciao Bella sat around 45’ at high tide, and 25’ at a +5’ low tide. Not 10’ from our stern, the shore quickly shoaled to 5’ or less. Definitely a little precarious, but this place is worth it.

Quick stop to fill up gas ⛽️ for the dink at Hartley Bay, a First Nations community. Really nice day today.

We left a windy Kumealon and motored down a windier Grenville Channel, with the breeze building to 25 knots by the time we turned into Klewnuggit Inlet. We dropped the hook in the long eastern arm where it was completely still. You’d never guess how wild it was just outside. The next morning we woke to dense fog and infinite gnats. Once the fog lifted, most of them did too (though Porter was happy to eat the ones that stuck around🤮). The mud here has a sulfur smell, and we read that there’s outgassing in the area, so the area must be volcanic.

We left Prince Rupert in dense fog that remained until Kelp Passage. The anchorage there was poor, with wind and fetch blowing it out, so we carried on down Grenville Channel, better known as The Ditch. The channel felt like a highway, and by the time we pulled into Kumealon Cove, it had the air of a truck stop. A very beautiful truck stop, to be fair, but the anchorage itself leaves something to be desired. Wind is gusting 20+ knots and the cove is not nearly as protected as the chart suggests. The inner anchorages in Kumealon Inlet demand stern ties or are prone to williwaws, so instead we are giving this outer cove a try for the night. Truthfully, there have not been many solid options between Prince Rupert and here, so we’ll take what we can get.

We arrived in Punchbowl Cove in Misty Fjords National Monument and tied to the lone mooring ball beneath sheer granite cliffs. For the second fjord in a row, we’d been lucky to claim the only one, and have the entire fjord to ourselves. The landscape is unbelievable. Waterfalls spilled down the mountainsides as we made our way in, and, much like in Walker Cove, we were dwarfed by the presence of the mountains. It felt like we entered a sanctuary carved by giants, untouched by the outside world. This is a place that makes you want to lower your voice, as though speaking too loudly might wake the mountains from their long watch. Ciao Bella felt like a toy set against the landscape. The fjord drops off steeply at the edges, but around the mooring ball the shoreline softens into tidal flats. At the head of the cove, a waterfall and river are fed by a lake high above in the mountains. Upon arrival, seaplanes and tour boats filled the cove with noise, and their wakes reverberated against the granite walls long after they left. After the quiet of Walker Cove, I can understand why Navionics users prefer Walker. However, by evening, the water was calm and the cove was quiet again. The noise was enough to keep the bears away, however, as we didn’t see any while we were here. This place is without a doubt in my top three anchorages in south-SEAK.

Yesterday’s motor through the Behm Canal felt like crossing into a new world. The water shifted suddenly from murky jade to glacial blue at a sharp convergence zone. We passed three deadheads (waterlogged trunks lurking just beneath the surface) while soaking in as much sunlight as we could after days of rain. The landscape changed quickly. The granite mountains grew steeper, the forest thicker, and it became clear we had entered true fjordland. If we had been in bear country before, this must be their kingdom. Walker Cove left us speechless. Fellow cruisers spoke of this place with reverence, and Navionics calls it one of the most beautiful anchorages in Southeast Alaska, but no description prepared us for its vastness. Sheer granite walls closed around us, draped in green, with water tumbling down in silver ribbons everywhere we looked. It’s a place that dwarfs you. We snagged the only mooring ball in the fjord and stood in the cockpit for a long time, just taking it all in, jaws quite literally hanging open. No photograph could ever capture it. Somehow, we had the entire place to ourselves. The fjord held us in solitude. We spent the afternoon exploring by dinghy, nosing up to waterfalls, chasing birds and seals, tracing the shoreline. We should have sent the drone up, because today the rain returned in full force, drumming down in white sheets. For now, we’re cashing in on our luck at snagging the only mooring ball and staying another night. Crossing our fingers the skies clear for a moment in the next 24 hours 🤞🏽

Ciao Bella tucked nicely into Fitzgibbon Cove on the NE corner of Behm Canal. After over 72 hours of relentless rain, the skies finally cleared and we sent the drone up for the first time in a long time. Tannin paints the water a rusty brown, and the cove is framed by steep cliffs. A handful of rivers and small waterfalls feed into the cove, and their sound carries softly throughout the cove. We’re really looking forward to the next few days exploring Misty Fjords National Monument.

Motored across Clarence Strait and made it to Ketchikan. This is where Ciao Bella will stay until mid-Aug. We’ll have the weekend to explore the town and then we’re off to England for a week for our best friends wedding 🍻🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 Update 8/17/25: Happy to be out of Ketchikan. It’s a great place to stop for a night or two, but the influx of tourists on cruise ships really make this charming town not so charming. We were initially placed in Bar Harbor North which was conveniently next door to a marine shop and grocery store. We were moved into Thomas Harbor while in England, which was inconveniently far away from everything. It was cool to be in the middle of town, but Bar harbor was just more convenient. Because it’s such a tourist town, everything was priced accordingly.

Binge watched LOTR and made a fire on the beach. Came across some chicken of the woods (!!!) and made hot honey, garlic, and sea salt fritters. So good. Still haven’t caught any crab big enough to keep, too bad!

Departed Petersburg to traverse the Wrangell Narrows. We buddy boated with our new cruising friend Theo on SV Eelyos, a Spindrift 43. He took the lead and we cautiously followed. Wrangell Narrows is fed by Frederick Sound in the north and Sumner Strait in the south, so the currents are opposite at either end. This means, in the middle of the channel, the current directions switch, so you need to time your crossing so that the currents are favorable across the entire channel. We crossed Sumner Strait for Red Bay on the north side of Prince of Wales Island and experienced interesting effects from the strong currents, especially entering Red Bay. The bay has a super narrow and shallow opening, but inside is your classic Alaskan anchorage. We saw lots of deer, otters, birds, and seals. Had a late dinner with our new cruising friend and talked story about cruising AK and BC!

Long and cold day of motoring in Frederick Sound, north of Kupreanof Island. Dave took on the navigational role and I took on the keep-us-happy-and-fed role. We saw a large pod of humpback whales moving fast…like, really fast. For a second, I thought that I caught a glimpse of a tall, sharp dorsal fin slicing through the water behind them. If it was a killer whale behind them, that would explain the pod’s speed though the water. The energy in the water was super intense, and the pod remained thrashing and charging forward on the surface for at least 10, minutes. It looked like a stampede. We’ve never seen anything like it! Portage Bay was just a quick stopover before Petersburg. We anchored close to the mouth of the bay, which looked like a classic Alaskan anchorage. Heard howling in the distance around sunset! 🐺⁉️

Left Takatz Bay around noon for Baranof Bay next door. We were going to anchor in a cove on the northeastern end of the bay, but got super lucky and found a spot on the public use dock for the evening at Baranof Warm Springs. There’s a self-pay station for $30 a night, which is next door to public bath houses, .5 mile walk to hot springs along the raging river, and .75 mile walk to Baranof Lake. The village and boardwalk are so cute, waterfall is beautiful, warm springs are HOT, and bath houses are charming.

Short hop from Ell Cove to Takatz Bay. Anchored in approximately 47’ at the head of the bay. Surprisingly didn’t see any land-based wildlife, but there were plenty of birds and salmon. This landscape is un-fricken-believable 😭

Waterfall Cove was super exposed to Chatham Strait, so we’re anchored in Ell Cove for the night, right next door to the falls. Just took Port for his evening potty break and picked handfuls of wild blueberries 🫐

Had a pinch me kind of day today. Motor sailed from Appleton Cove to Waterfall Cove (Kasnyku Falls) through Peril and Chatham Straits with two other sailboats. A humpback whale breached about a boats length next to us in Peril Strait. Weaved through Thatcher Channel which opened up to the very calm and sunny Chatham Strait. Scenic backdrops are so abundant we don’t know where to look, but Kasnyku Falls takes the cake! Unreal 😭

The motor from Baby Bear Bay to Appleton Cove through Salisbury Sound and Peril Strait was pleasantly warm and sunny ☀️ We were one of a few vessels at Appleton. Around 5 PM Dave spotted a grizzly bear munching on grass right off our bow 🐻🌾

We have to make it to Ketchikan by the beginning of August, so we’re sending it to new anchorages every night. Waited until noon-ish for the currents to be in our favor through Kakul and Sergius Narrows. It was fun navigating and speeding up through the narrows. We tucked into a keyhole-ish anchorage in Baby Bear Bay, which is apart of a state marine park. Didn’t see any bears, despite its name!

Spent a week at Eliason Harbor in Sitka to reprovision some proteins and fresh foods, top up on diesel and water, do a boat load (literally) of laundry, and explore. Today, we made it to our first anchorage in SE AK: Kalinin Bay. The current was in our favor for the first half of the trip through Olga Straight and against us in the second half through Neva Straight. Moderate swell and strong winds rolled through Salisbury Sound and made the entrance into Kalinin bumpy but no biggie. Even under a thick blanket of fog and mist, this place is beautiful. We can’t get over the smell of the Earth! Stoked to be here and can’t wait to get out and explore some of these remote places.

We freakin’ made it. After almost three weeks at sea, we’re finally tied up in Sitka, Alaska, with a cold beer in hand and the boat finally at rest. It feels surreal to say the crossing from Hawaiʻi is behind us after anticipating the journey for so long. In the moment, the days felt long, and I came to the obvious realization that the Pacific Ocean is, in fact, really big 😂. Still, the days passed like the wind. The crossing was relatively mild and, although frustrating at points, filled with moments that reminded us why we were out there in the first place. Sailing in Hawaiʻi prepared us in ways we didn’t fully appreciate until we left. It’s where we’ve grown as sailors and people over the past decade, shaped by the islands’ generally unforgiving conditions. The sailing was rarely easy, and often pretty unfriendly, but it taught us how to stay sharp, adjust expectations, and how to accept when nature has the final say. We weren’t sure if Hawaiʻi was just a tough place to cruise or if we were still green to the ‘cruising life’, but it was probably both. Leaving was hard, but we knew it was time. The first few days offshore were rough. The trades were vindictive; it felt at times like the islands were trying to keep us from leaving. We beat into the wind straight out of the gate for nearly a week. The seas were big at first, then settled into a more manageable size, but still squarely on the beam, making things uncomfortably rolly and sleep scarce. Eventually, we broke free and found lighter air west of the North Pacific High. It felt like we were no longer fighting with the boat, but sailing with her. We exhaled for the first time in a week. The gennaker went up and we had a calm, steady run north for several days. It was such a relief after all the pounding and trimming and second-guessing. Then we hit the so-called westerlies. And of course, they weren’t westerlies. Once again, we were nose to the wind, slogging through more upwind sailing. A high-pressure ridge built in behind a cold front, flipping the winds from southwesterlies to northeasterlies and blowing us days off the rhumb line. The wind gods were absolutely not on our side. When we finally broke through, the real westerlies arrived, but they were light. Still, we managed one-and-a-half glorious days of fast and slightly chaotic downwind sailing. Big seas from a low pressure system rolled beneath us as we surfed along, finally moving the way should have been. Then, the wind faded again, and we made the call to motor-sail hard northeast to stay ahead of the next low lining up for the coast. In the final stretch, the wind hovered between 10 and 15 knots at 90 to 120 degrees apparent. We sailed when we could and motor-sailed when it dropped below 10 knots, just doing whatever it took to keep moving ~6 knots. This morning, around 20 nautical miles offshore, we spotted land (Mt. Edgecumbe, a dormant stratovolcano) for the first time. It was dark and distant beneath a heavy, grey sky, barely touched by the light of the rising sun. Ten miles later, we could smell it. Trees. Earth. Mulch? Something that wasn’t ocean (or our own stench 😭 seriously, no one warns you how BAD things smell after three weeks at sea lol). Humpback whales, otters, seals, bald eagles, and ravens greeted us as we entered Sitka Sound. We felt like we were in a National Geographic special. We dropped the sails and motored into our slip at Eliason Harbor around 8 AM local time. We spent the morning walking around town, picking up bear spray, and grabbing a local beer. Porter got a long, well-deserved walk. Everyone we’ve met has been kind and welcoming. Now we’re back on the boat, salty, stinky, and exhausted, slowly piecing together what comes next. First up is definitely a nap. Then, a shower and laundry. After, we’ll deep clean and start fixing the things that broke along the way. But for now, we’re just sitting still and reflecting. We crossed the Pacific. And it feels pretty damn good 🤍

Not my favorite sail. Started off with 25 kts on the nose and heavy rain out of Nāwiliwili. Big east swell. Tacks were disheartening and uncomfortable. Got great speed around Anahola. The downwind portion along the northern stretch sucked big time. Swell was on the beam and big. Happy to be back in Hanalei.

Squally sail from Hanalei to Nāwiliwili Harbor on the SE corner of Kauaʻi. Light upwind sail against an average E swell until Kapaʻa. We looked forward to the squalls to bring stronger winds, otherwise we had to motor sail. Caught ~18lb Kawakawa (mackerel) 🎣

We’ve been in Hanalei for almost two weeks, and have been spending some much needed time offline with our friends and each other, just enjoying life. We had a series of friends come to visit us consecutively, and the last few days have just been us, so it’s been a nice balance. We tracked this trip to the Nāpali Coast a few days ago, and it was incredible. The wind was on our stern, and as we turned around by Kalalau Valley, about 27 kts on our nose. Close to Hanalei we caught about a 10 lb omilu (bluefin trevally), and made fish tacos for dinner. This place is unreal. There are literally no words that can emulate the beauty of this place. It’s hard to say when the best time would be to visit here, however l would have to recommend late summer, as Hanalei Bay is probably like a bathtub and you’d have the best chance of anchoring on this coast during a spell of light trades and no swell, if you’re lucky. Just off of Kalalau is sand bottom, and you can swim or paddle to shore. The valley is closely tied to the indigenous Hawaiian communities and is one of the most, if not the most beautiful valley in all of the islands. The adjacent beach is called Honopu. It is kapu or “forbidden” to go to shore with anything but yourself; you must swim. The current rips along this coast making NE swells really stand up. It’s gusty, but manageable. I’m jealous of the powerboats zipping by us closer to the coast!!! Our good friend used to work on charter boats over here, and she said this coastline will chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful, so we kept our distance from shore. She said there’s only about 20 days a year, if that, you’ll get decent conditions. Really, the best way to explore this island is by land. We’ll head over to Nāwiliwili tomorrow morning and perhaps rent a car for a day or two in final preparation before our Pacific crossing. AHH!