Baker Inlet to Lowe Inlet

We slipped out of Baker Inlet at high slack, the extra water and a bit of local knowledge making the exit feel almost routine. No boats were waiting to enter, and we felt a pang of reluctance leaving behind such a quiet, beautiful spot.

Back in Grenville Channel, we fell in line with four other southbound boats, including a tug and tow. Under gray skies the miles slid by easily, three hours of smooth running in The Ditch.

Lowe Inlet was already holding two boats when OceanFlyer arrived, and by evening four more joined us—clearly we’d found a southbound wave of cruisers. Salmon leapt around Verney Falls in their determined way, but no bears appeared to claim them.

our neighbors at lowe inlet

the falls at lowe inlet

Dinner was shrimp stir fry, a regular favorite on board, but this time with a welcome twist: our own fresh-caught prawns instead of Trader Joe’s frozen bag. Hard to beat that upgrade.

The skies began to lighten toward evening, but tomorrow’s forecast promises rain and fog all day. No matter—tonight, Lowe Inlet gave us another calm anchorage and the satisfaction of cruising in good company.

Baker Inlet Lay Day

Baker Inlet served up another quiet night, and we woke to low clouds and drizzle—classic North Coast weather. Undeterred, we headed out to check the prawn pot. Jackpot! The first haul brought up 27 jumbo spot prawns. With a quick reset, four hours later we pulled another 72—smaller, but still plenty. A tip from friends had us try a second location, so we set the pot again and let it soak while we tackled boat chores and updated the blog.

The afternoon reward? Another 25 prawns—enough to hit our daily limit. With dinner plans already decided (butter, garlic, prawns!), we dropped the pot one last time for an overnight soak. Tomorrow morning’s slack tide exit would give us time for a final pull.

We scanned the shoreline for bears but struck out again. Not another boat in sight either—Baker gifted us a second night of complete solitude. Rain or not, it was glorious.

when all you got is clouds, trees and water, you photgraph clouds, trees and water

Foggy Bay to Prince Rupert

Feisty Lady lifted anchor just ahead of us, but we weren’t far behind. Both of us had Prince Rupert in our sights and wanted an early start—just in case Dixon Entrance decided to misbehave.

PredictWind called it perfectly: calm seas, light winds, and an easy ride. The only interruptions were a couple of course changes to dodge gill netters strung out along the way.

silver seas make for a smooth ride

green island lighthouse is an important weather station in this area

Venn Passage was exactly as we remembered—straightforward, but mildly exasperating thanks to the fish boats blasting past at warp speed. Managing their wakes while staying in the channel takes patience.

you know you’re arriving at prince ruppert when the cargo docks come into view

Cow Bay Marina is new since our last visit, and we scored slip 24 on B Dock. At 60 feet, it’s roomy with a good view of the harbor. Swell management is decent, though the parade of fish boats and harbor patrol launches still keeps things rocking. But this is Prince Rupert—no marina is ever truly calm—so we’ll call it a win. The 24/7 gated dock is another big plus.

We stretched our legs with a mile walk up to OV Burger, a new spot in a renovated building overlooking the harbor. Burgers, chicken sandwiches, pub food, and cold beer—served mostly to local families. Solid stop; we’d recommend it.

On the way back, we made a reconnaissance run through Safeway for staples and a look at fresh provisions before Saturday’s departure.

One striking difference this time around: the personalities of Prince Rupert’s two marinas. Cow Bay is laid-back—staff help if you ask, but the office may close early if things are quiet. The Prince Rupert Rowing and Yacht Club is the opposite: structured, precise, almost like dealing with an airport ground controller. Boaters request “clearance” to leave or enter the harbor, and transient arrivals are carefully briefed—engine type, thrusters, docking plan, the works. Dockhands are dispatched to ensure you fit exactly. It all makes sense in their tight fairways, and while the contrast is stark, it’s oddly reassuring.

Punchbowl Cove to Foggy Bay

We slipped the lines from the USFS mooring ball at Punchbowl Cove, and secured our rafted sailboat neighbor lines to the ball so they could linger over breakfast. With fair weather and light winds, the run to Foggy Bay was an easy five hours. The sea was mostly flat, just gentle ripples—though close to shore the ocean swell stacked into a few playful two-foot troughs.

Our arrival coincided with a low tide entry into Foggy Bay. The approach felt tight but was well-charted, and soon the hook was down in 35 feet. OceanFlyer had the place to herself—at least until the familiar Nordhavn Feisty Lady slipped in as the tide rose.

foggy bay anchorage

the “big Water” is almost invisable when anchored behind the islets in foggy bay

Exploring Very Inlet

With high water on the way, we launched the dinghy into Very Inlet, a three-mile-long fjord filled with rocky islets and pinched narrows. The tide poured through in swirling rapids while the 30hp Yamaha kept us on track; the passage was very doable. Behind the rapids we found a hidden basin, rimmed with drying islets of green grass—something we only appreciated fully after a drone flight overhead.

unusual drying pattern at the head of very inlet

the shoals extend far from the “shore”

great dinghy exploring in very inlet

karen checks out the wildlife in very inlet

On the way out, we logged some useful numbers: 13.2 feet under the dinghy at the rapids on a 14-foot tide at Kah Shakes Cove and we made two knots of headway at half throttle. In the narrows, there was 38 feet under us and we saw 3.3 knots at the same throttle. Good data for the next trip.

An Evening Surprise

Back at anchor, we idled by Feisty Lady to say hello. Though she shares our Bellingham dock, we’d never met her crew. After introductions, they delivered unexpected news: an 8.8 magnitude quake in far eastern Russia—the sixth strongest ever recorded—had triggered a tsunami advisory for Southeast Alaska and Northern BC.

fiesty lady securly anchored in foggy bay

The mood shifted quickly. We discussed contingency plans, including running to deep water if the advisory escalated. Feisty Lady’s crew was in touch with both the Coast Guard and the Tsunami Warning Center. Meanwhile, Karen tracked multiple sites, each giving slightly different reports. Finally, word came: the advisory was lifted for SE Alaska, though still in place for Northern BC. We could stand down.

With that, tension eased. Two trawlers, a quiet cove, and the comfort of knowing the hook was holding. The evening finished just as we’d hoped—peaceful, with only the faint slap of swell against the hull.

Walker Cove to Punchbowl Cove

We slipped away from S/V Kaulana with quick goodbyes—petting Colby and waving to Keith and Carl. No long parting though; they’re also bound for Punchbowl Cove in Rudyerd Bay, likely to raft alongside us again if the mooring ball is open.

Punchbowl is the star of Misty Fjords tourism. Unlike Walker Cove, with its glacial moraine blocking large vessels, Punchbowl is accessible to just about everything—floatplanes, fast cats, and even cruise ships. Being the closest fjord to Ketchikan makes it an easy target for sightseeing traffic.

For scale, Rudyerd Bay stretches more than 16 nautical miles from the North Arm to the South Arm, but neither offers easy anchoring. That leaves Punchbowl carrying the load, with just one USFS mooring ball and limited anchoring room.

Luck was on our side. The cove was empty when we arrived, and fresh from practice in Walker, we made quick work of securing the ball. Arriving at low tide was a bonus—shoaling was clearly visible. As expected, Kaulana pulled in shortly after, and we repeated last night’s raft-up.

OceanFlyer and Kaulana on the ball in Punchbowl

The quiet didn’t last long. Sightseeing floatplanes buzzed overhead, while tour cats blasted past at 25+ knots, their wakes setting us rolling. By late morning, the fjord had built up its own weather. What started as calm in Behm Canal turned into 15-knot gusts funneling fetch down the bowl. We’d hoped to dinghy out, but the chop made exploring unappealing.

you can see how punchbowl got its name

We settled instead into a lazy afternoon of bear-watching (none showed), while traffic trickled in and out. A lone sailboat anchored well off to the side, and later a Nordhavn nosed in, discovered the shoals, toured the bay, and left without setting the hook.

It feels like we’re in a lull—fewer cruisers around than expected. No doubt that will change in a couple of days when the southbound migration converges again in Prince Rupert.