Prince Rupert to Baker Inlet

We slipped out of Prince Rupert timed for low water slack at Watts Narrows, the only way into Baker Inlet. The long no-wake zone gave us an hour of slow sightseeing: the town waterfront, towering stacks of shipping containers, and the massive new dock under construction just south of the grain terminal—likely for LPG.

Fun fact: Prince Rupert is the deepest natural, ice-free harbor in North America and the closest West Coast port to Asia—500 nautical miles nearer than others in the Pacific Northwest, saving ships up to 60 hours of sailing time.

Southbound in Grenville Channel—better known as The Ditch—we had an easy ride: light winds, scattered clouds, and just a handful of other cruisers moving in both directions. Traffic overall feels lighter this year. The Prince Rupert harbormaster confirmed it—pleasure boat numbers are down about 40% in both Alaska and Port McNeill. Cow Bay Marina, which normally turns away over 100 boats in a season, has been only “full-ish.”

The Approach to Baker Inlet

This was our first visit, and without the large white mark on Griffon Point you’d be hard-pressed to spot the entrance. Watts Narrows earns its name: narrow, winding, and blind to opposing traffic. A securité call is essential.

That said, it’s well charted and reassuringly deep. Even at a –10.89 low tide in Prince Rupert we never saw less than 36 feet under the keel, with most depths over 60. You can transit at either low or high slack—high slack makes it feel a little less tight.

Beyond the narrows it’s 3.7 miles to the head of the inlet, with shoaling that comes up quickly. We dropped anchor in 60–70 feet of soft silt that held well.

Prawns, Corn, and Quiet

With OceanFlyer settled, we couldn’t resist trying out our brand-new Bauer prawn trap. We’d picked up a three-day fishing license online and had two “local secret” spots marked by friends. Bauer recommends a first pull at 30 minutes. Our haul? Eight fat keepers. Not bad for a test run—bait refreshed, the pot went right back down for the night.

Dinner was burgers and the gorgeous sweet corn we’d scored at the Prince Rupert pop-up stand. Appetizer? Those same just-caught prawns, still snapping when they hit the pan.

Baker Inlet was ours alone that evening. Salmon leapt around us, but the bears stayed hidden. A calm night, a quiet anchorage, and a perfect end to the day.

Prince Rupert Lay Days

After days of steady miles, we gave OceanFlyer a rest and set out to reacquaint ourselves with Prince Rupert—and knock out a few boat chores. First up was laundry, then a stroll through town.

The Saltwater Bakery was our first stop, but by the time we arrived the sourdough and multigrain loaves were gone. Lesson learned—we promised ourselves a return visit at opening tomorrow. Wandering further, we admired murals of whales and bears splashed across buildings, lunched on fresh halibut at Dolly’s Fish Market, and browsed Rupert Meats and a handful of quirky shops. Two chandleries rounded out the walk, including Pacific Net & Twine where a Bauer Sea prawn pot caught my eye. Our collapsible version has been nothing but trouble—broken spring on its first use this trip—so the Bauer trap looked like a serious upgrade. Dinner plans at the tiny Fukasaku sushi house fizzled (booked a week out), but Opa Sushi filled the gap perfectly.

Day two was about business—and bread. We hit Saltwater Bakery right at opening and scored still-warm sourdough and multigrain loaves, plus croissants that didn’t survive the walk back to the boat. Two thumbs up.

Back at Pacific Net & Twine we sealed the deal on the Bauer prawn trap, complete with lead weights. From there, we rented e-bikes at The Outpost in the Atlin Building—part chore-hauler, part sightseeing machine. They weren’t silky smooth, but they had plenty of punch and made errands a breeze. Groceries from Safeway hung from the handlebars, followed by a detour to Seal Cove and a surprise hit of a Mediterranean lunch at Arabisk. Babaganoush and whipped ricotta with roasted tomatoes hit the spot.

Karen had tracked down a pop-up corn stand on Facebook, so six fat ears joined our dinner plans. A stop at the liquor store rounded out the provisioning before we returned the bikes.

Dinner at the Crest Hotel’s Waterfront Restaurant, on Navigator’s recommendation, was the day’s capstone: lamb rack for me, chicken stuffed with mango, brie, and spinach for Karen, and sticky toffee pudding shared between us. Back aboard OceanFlyer, we settled into a quiet, satisfied evening—well-fed, well-provisioned, and ready for the miles ahead.

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.