Red Bluff Bay to Takatz Bay

The sun made a rare and welcome appearance this morning—blue skies peeked through as if to remind us what we’ve been missing. The forecast says it won’t last, so we savored every golden moment.

looking back from red bluff bay anchorage to the waterfall

the river at the head of red bluff bay

Our neighbor Time to Play, a 37’ Nordic Tug out of Oregon, slipped out early to check their shrimp pots near the entrance to Red Bluff Bay. We lingered a bit longer for photos at the falls, now framed beautifully by the actual “red bluffs” that give the bay its name—clearly visible in the morning light.

The run north was smooth, with a high cloud ceiling offering dramatic views of the surrounding mountain ranges. Except for Time to Play ahead and one big fishing vessel towing a floating fish camp, we had the water to ourselves—unless you count the pair of humpbacks cruising southbound and a pod of porpoises too busy chasing lunch to bother with our bow wake.

We're a bit faster than Time to Play, so we caught up as they were scouting anchor spots in Takatz Bay. Thanks to AIS, we watched them test both of the same locations we’d marked, ultimately choosing the one by the waterfall—where we ourselves anchored back in 2016.

OceanFLyer [right] and Time to play anchored in Takatz

After lunch, I launched the drone to catch some last light before the clouds thickened. We dropped the dinghy to test the repairs and took a slow tour of the bay. At low tide, we swung by Time to Play to introduce ourselves—seemed wise before they filed a restraining order. Tim and Carolyn, it turns out, are seasoned cruisers on their second Alaskan adventure. Compared to our run from Bellingham, their trip from Oregon in a 37-footer is seriously impressive.

We stayed on bear watch through the evening, but came up empty. Light rain returned just as the sun bowed out. Aside from Time to Play, we had Takatz all to ourselves—a rare and peaceful end to a beautiful day.

good bear watching

Red Bluff Bay Lay Day

With a rare break in the rain, it was the perfect day to tackle phase two of our dinghy repair. Yesterday’s G-Poxy had fully cured, so out came our secret weapon: Gorilla Tape. It held strong two years ago—here’s hoping it’s still got what it takes for another Alaskan season.

oceanflyer and time to play anchorage in red bluff bay

I prepped the aluminum like a pro—60-grit sandpaper and red Scotch-Brite to rough things up, followed by a wipe-down with 3M adhesive remover to banish any lingering gunk. Then came the tape: long strips along the repair, capped at each end with overlapping cross-strips to keep the edges sealed tight.

With the patch reinforced, the rest of the day was low-key. I chipped away at blog writeups and sorted through a mountain of photos while the clouds slowly gave way to occasional sunshine. We didn’t leave the anchorage—and didn’t need to. Aside from Time to Play, the Nordic Tug that's been sharing Red Bluff Bay with us, we had the place entirely to ourselves.

the head of red bluff bay

looking past the waterfall to the entrance channel at red bluff bay

the waterfall at red bluff bay is feed by a hidden lake

Sometimes, the best days are the quiet ones.

Cannery Cove to Red Bluff Bay

Our itinerary has officially been tossed overboard—between the weather and a wounded dinghy, we’re now cruising on instinct and opportunity. Today’s pick: Red Bluff Bay.

With a front moving in and rain expected through Thursday, Red Bluff seemed like the perfect hideout to tackle repairs. Our dinghy’s starboard tube delamination needs a solid cure, and while G/flex epoxy likes 72°F, we’ll settle for 48 hours in Alaska’s mid-40s. The bears can keep us company.

The run south along Admiralty Island delivered glassy seas and barely-there winds. Humpbacks fed just offshore, lifting their flukes in sync as they dove. No acrobatics, but plenty of grace.

the snowcapped mountains of Baranof island

Things changed mid-crossing of Chatham Strait. Winds built to 20–25 knots on the port beam, but OceanFlyer handled it well and we cruised comfortably into Red Bluff’s dramatic entry. Rust-colored cliffs give way to a steep-sided channel, cannery ruins, and a thundering waterfall that marks the approach to the inner anchorage.

the path into red bluff bay anchorage provides a range of inestering views

Once the hook was down, we grabbed lunch and dove into repairs—literally and figuratively. Three hours in the rain, armed with epoxy and patience. A soggy job, but necessary. And yes, it rained all evening.

Red Bluff is a perennial favorite for cruisers, and today was no exception. One small trawler was already anchored when we arrived. Later, Liseron steamed in—a 150’ ex-minesweeper turned boutique cruiser—bringing 20 guests right up to the waterfall before anchoring a respectful 0.2 NM off our beam.

Then came the Legacy, a four-deck, 86-passenger ship. It made a dramatic nose-in to the falls, lingered briefly in the misty rain, then gave a farewell toot and vanished into the night. No launches, no kayaks, no paddleboards—just a rainy pit stop and gone.

So here we are: alone again in a cove that’s never really quiet, surrounded by waterfalls, red rock, and the steady rhythm of rain. Not a bad place to ride out the weather and give some epoxy its time to cure.

Cannery Cove Layday

We woke to calm seas and a soft ceiling of clouds. After breakfast, the two other boats pulled anchor and motored off, leaving us with Cannery Cove entirely to ourselves—just us and the wildlife.

oceanflyer in scenery cove

looking back from the head of scenery cove at oceanflyer

the shoaling at the head of scenery cove is impressive and extend well into the anchorage

And the wildlife didn’t disappoint. Bears were grazing on sedge grass along the shoreline while deer meandered through the trees. After waiting for a bit of sun to peek through, we set off on a dinghy adventure that covered 13.4 miles over three hours.

First stop: Pybus Point Lodge. It’s grown since our last visit nine years ago—new buildings, slick facilities, and a real shift in focus. Tyson, a friendly 10-year veteran of the lodge staff, filled us in. As Alaska tightens catch limits for non-residents, Pybus is pivoting from hardcore anglers to adventure travelers and families. Think Tracy Arm glacier tours, Baranof Hot Springs runs, and yes, a yoga gazebo. The week’s guest count? Thirty-five out of a possible forty-six. Clearly, business is booming.

We also scoped out a striking new home deeper in the cove—not part of the lodge, but a private retirement retreat built with lodge help. With those sweeping views, it's hard to imagine a more peaceful spot to grow old.

From there, we ran to the head of Pybus Bay—an alpine valley framed by soaring hills, dotted with herons and bald eagles. A small islet there offers potential protection from wind-driven chop. Then it was on to Donkey Bay, where we’d seen an AIS anchor target earlier. On the way, Karen spotted a mama grizzly with three cubs at Sheldon Cove. We drifted in quietly and captured the scene on camera—one of those moments that makes every mile worthwhile.

the head of pybus bay

go back to the previous photo and see if you can spot us in the dinghy. Hint, we’re the spot just above and to the right of the trees on the island

Sheldon itself is scenic, though entry’s a little tight and swing room is limited. Oh, and it has bears.

Mama bear and her three cubs in sheldon cove

Back in Cannery Cove, we joined a couple of lodge boats along the shoreline for more grizzly watching. But as we approached OceanFlyer, Karen noticed the starboard floor of the dinghy felt wet. Uh-oh. Two years ago, we’d patched a delamination on the starboard pontoon while on Vancouver Island. That repair held—until now. A new delam spot had opened up. Boo hiss. Another field fix goes on tomorrow’s to-do list.

But for tonight, we had Cannery Cove entirely to ourselves. Bears, eagles, calm water, and solitude—Alaska magic at its finest.

this early in the season only grass is on the menu

Sandborn Canal to Cannery Cove: Critters Galore and Grizzlies on Parade

We woke to rain and a thick ceiling of gray—par for the course lately—but it was time to move on. Today’s run across Frederick Sound to Cannery Cove clocked in at nearly four hours. It’s a short hop on the chart, but as always in Alaska: everything’s bigger than it looks.

grey, but nice ride across frederick sound

The west side of Frederick was forecast to be slightly drier. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

Our motivation for returning to Alaska this year was simple: wildlife. So far, it’s been a bit quiet on the critter front, but today broke the dry streak. We spotted half a dozen humpbacks feeding along the shores of Admiralty and San Juan Islands—no dramatic breaches, just steady blows and slow-motion dives in the shallows.

Then Karen lit up with a string of sightings: a raft of otters lounging on a charted rock west of San Juan Island (a rare group hangout), and then—two deer picking their way through shoreline grass as we approached Cannery Cove. That’s when things really got interesting.

Within minutes of anchoring, two grizzlies appeared on the north shore, grazing on sedge like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. A short while later, another bear emerged at the head of the cove. Not long after that? Two more. Five bears in one evening. Jackpot.

far away, but stll counts as a grizzley sighting

The rain tapered off, though the clouds clung to the peaks, still hiding the mountain drama we know is out there. Maybe tomorrow.

Onshore, Pybus Point Lodge has officially opened for the season—their first guests just arrived yesterday. A massive new building has popped up just west of the lodge. Judging by the size, we’re speculating it’s either an expansion or the most ambitious private fish camp we’ve seen yet.

As dinner rolled around, our original two bears returned for seconds, while two others ambled into view farther up the shore. It was a full-on grizzly revue, and made the company of two other anchored boats well worth it.