Discovering Foggy Bay, Alaska: Unforgettable Experiences Await

High fives echoed in Foggy Bay as we anchored safely, relieved after navigating the reef-filled outer bay and the narrow, shallow channel to our first Alaskan anchorage. The journey from Prince Rupert, B.C., was filled with glorious weather and gentle swells—a perfect reminder that we were truly at sea. Having crossed Dixon Entrance, we found ourselves farther north than we had ever sailed. This adventure was not just about destinations; it was about ensuring our friend and new crew member, Rob, made it to Juneau for his scheduled flight back home to Winnipeg. Despite being a novice sailor, Rob was enthusiastic, engaged, and thrilled to learn something new every day.

Our new Starlink system quickly became a favored feature of our journey. Connectivity was seamless, enabling us to share pictures, Facebook updates, and video calls with friends and family throughout the trip. After indulging in a late dinner, we ventured outside to check for the anticipated northern lights, which unfortunately were absent. However, we spotted Tuuli, a fellow vessel whose crew we had met in Pruth Bay, quietly settling into the anchorage. We ended our day by slipping into our bunks for a restful night’s sleep.

Our peaceful slumber was abruptly shattered by the piercing sound of an alarm. It took us some time to identify the culprit as the propane detector alarm, which was ringing due to a low power supply. Our new Dishy was seemingly draining our Firefly carbon foam batteries, revealing a crucial mistake we all made: none of us remembered to turn off Starlink before bed.

Rob’s face reflected a sense of despair, prompting us to provide a quick lesson in boat electrics. We discussed the different types of batteries—house vs. starter—and explained the survival instincts of carbon foam. With hopeful hearts, we turned the ignition key and were met with relief as the engine roared back to life.

We decided to keep the engine running for a while to recharge the house batteries while we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. Afterward, Jim serviced the seawater strainer, performing routine checks on the engine. With Tuuli having left the anchorage a little earlier, we followed suit and exited the channel into a calm, flat outer Foggy Bay.

As we cruised along, I detected a troubling smell of a hot engine. Moments later, the second alarm blared, accompanied by the ominous engine temperature light. Jim uttered a few expletives, dawning on him that he had forgotten to reopen the seacock after cleaning the seawater strainer, leading to an overheated engine. This was mistake number two.

After reopening the seacock and restarting the engine, we realized that saltwater still wasn’t flowing through the heat exchanger to the exhaust. We quickly shut everything down; the engine was still sizzling hot.

As Jim worked to diagnose the problem, we were slowly drifting toward nearby reefs. Hasty actions led to launching our dinghy, but with only a 2hp engine, it was no match for the situation. Sailing away from danger was almost impossible in the calm waters, and I began to feel panic setting in. Jim reassured me that we could manage short bursts with the engine to remain clear of the reefs, but I was unconvinced.

Using our VHF radio, I initiated a securite call on channel 16, trying to reach a small sport fishing boat visible near a distant reef. The Canadian Coast Guard in Prince Rupert overheard our call and handed us off to the U.S. Coast Guard, who started gathering our vital information. It all felt surreal.

Fortunately, another cruiser, Dock Holiday, a few miles away, caught wind of our situation and offered to deploy their fast dinghy to assist. Meanwhile, Jim took the dinghy to speak with the fisherman positioned by the reef about a possible tow.

As the stress began to lessen, it became evident that we were not poised to give Rob his first lesson in dire consequences of sailing. With the Coast Guard and Dock Holiday ready to help on channel 16, Jim returned with good news: the fisherman was available to tow us into safety. He had been engrossed in foraging for seaweed and hoochi—edible treasures he traveled 32 nautical miles from Ketchikan to find—but agreed to assist us in our time of need.

Thank you, Charles Parker! We are forever grateful for your help. New to towing a heavy boat with a deep draft, you navigated us beautifully into the anchorage you had never visited before. It was a commendable feat!

Once back at the anchorage, Jim managed to get the engine running properly. He realized that, unlike previous instances, this time he needed to prime the hoses with water to avoid an airlock in the system—a key lesson learned along our sailing journey.

After successfully anchoring, I poured a round of scotch to celebrate. Memories of sailing in Southeast Asia and the overwhelming sense of relief washed over me following this close call. Though the situation might not have been as dire as it felt initially, I reflected on my tendency to envision the worst. Admittedly, my reaction left me feeling a little embarrassed.

In Ketchikan, we reunited with Scott and Karen from Tuuli. Over dinner, we learned we had missed a spectacular northern lights display shortly after our first night in Foggy Bay. However, Scott captured stunning photographs of Silom set against the brilliant sky—what a treasure for our memories of the anchorage!

Rob now has an extraordinary photo to share with his friends back home, highlighting his once-in-a-lifetime adventure during a trip that only required one call to the coast guard!

Note: This post was originally published on SalishSeaPilot.com and is published here with the authors’ permission.