F(j)ordception

After Sitka, we pointed east with one destination in mind, a warning disguised as a destination, Fords Terror. Before we could get there, we made a few detours. Rain was coming, so we pulled into Baranof Warm Springs, a slip of cabins you can only reach by boat, plane, or foot. Maybe fifteen homes in all. Mason expertly slid us between two massive powerboats. The highlight of Baranof is a series of natural hot pools overlooking a roaring waterfall. We soaked for hours in the damp weather, steam rising through the trees.

On the second day, soaking again, we met two Canadians, Sam and Amanda, who were crewing in Alaska for their third summer. They were aboard MV Serenity, a 90’ powerboat they’d taken down to Mexico for winters. They were also avid kiteboarders, so there was plenty to talk about. I was starved for conversation outside my little family of two. We traded numbers and hoped our wakes would cross again.

After Baranof, we spent two quiet nights in Cannery Cove. The anchorage was stunning surrounded by trickling waterfalls. We attempted to fish again, but I smashed a rusty hook on a rock and Mason lost his lure to the kelp depths.

On the 16th, we sailed upwind toward Tracy Arm in beautiful sun, spotting glaciers and icebergs again. These small moments in the sun feel precious out in Southeast Alaska.

Back in April, walking up the dock in Seattle, we ran into Tor Bjorkland on his bike. He and his wife also live aboard a boat called Discovery. They’re Alaska regulars and part of the reason we sailed North. As he passed, I called out, “Tor, we’re headed to Alaska!” Without skipping a beat, he shouted back, “Go to Fords Terror.”

It didn’t sound like advice. It sounded like a dare.

Now, months later, we were anchored just outside the entrance, waiting for slack tide. The place is named for a seaman who rowed in during an exploratory mission, got sucked through the rapids, and couldn’t get back out for six hours. It’s a fjord tucked inside another fjord. You can only enter safely during high-water slack occurring every 12 hours.

Fords Terror is a fjord within a fjord and is named after a navy seaman who rowed into the channel during an exploratory mission, got slingshotted through the rapids, and couldn’t return to his mothership for six hours. Not ideal!

The entrance can only be safely navigated at high-water slack tide, which happens every 12 hours so there is little activity in the cove. We anchored just outside the pass and waited. Mason flew the drone overhead to scout the route. When the rapids calmed, we made our move; Mason on bow watch, me at the helm.

It’s funny, because you’re barely moving, at max an 8min mile running pace, but not knowing what’s around the blind first turn is… intense. Water spins wildly, threatening to grab our keel and control. I channeled Amy Baer from a birthday river float trip: “Don’t fight the river, let it take you.” We kept mid-channel and made it through just fine.

Mason said it looked like Yosemite. Turns out John Muir did too. In the 1800s, he wrote: “A smooth mirror reach between granite walls of the very wildest and most exciting description surpassing in some ways those of the far-famed Yosemite Valley.” Cliffs rose straight from the milky teal water, only breaking for roaring falls. While the foliage was different, the mood and color reminded me of Ha Long Bay, towering rock faces that withstood immense glacier pressure. 

We stayed four nights. Paddleboarding. Swimming in glacier pools. Watching for bears. Reading. Resting. Not catching fish. It might be the most beautiful anchorage we’ve ever brought Discovery.

But the name stuck in the air. Terror. And on the way out, we got a taste.

We approached before slack tide and saw minimal rapids so we went for it. But just inside the pass, we realized we had 5 knots of current against us. I was up on the bow when Mason shouted for me to come aft. We were crawling forward at 1.8 knots over the ground, and if the current increased, we could lose control completely. There wasn’t enough space to turn around, and reversing felt even riskier. Mason cranked the engine to 3000 RPMs (we usually top out at 2500) and white-knuckled us through. He couldn’t stop shaking his head, cursing our judgment. I channeled Mark Twain, “Good judgement is the result of experience and experience the result of bad judgement.” 

Turns out, Fords Terror wasn’t even the scariest part of Mason’s day.

Later that afternoon, we were motoring down Stephens Passage on a calm, glassy sea. I was napping below when I heard the engine slow. Assuming we were about to sail, I groaned and started to wake up. Then the engine suddenly revved and Mason shouted, “Oh shit oh shit OH SHIT!”

I bolted upright. Mason was pointing to a massive splash just 40 feet from the boat. Without warning, a humpback whale had surfaced 100 feet off our starboard side, dove beneath Discovery, and fully breached less than a boat length away. So close that if it had angled even slightly differently, it would’ve come down directly on top of us.

Mason threw the engine into neutral, then full reverse, watching breathless as 30 tons of whale crashed back into the sea, just missing our 10-ton hull. Eyes wide, he turned to me and shouted, “We almost got absolutely demolished by a whale! I don’t think anything crazier has happened in my entire life.”

Once Mason’s heart rate returned to normal, we carried on, wide-eyed and on full alert. Within minutes, we found ourselves surrounded by whales. As it turns out, the south end of Stephens Passage is home to around a hundred feeding humpbacks this time of year. We cut the engine and drifted for a few hours, only sounds their blows echoing across the glassy water. We fished, flew the drone, and sat in silence, watching them surface and disappear. It felt peaceful. Humbling.

Two weeks after leaving Sitka, we were ready to rejoin civilization. Groceries, a burger, and a beer were calling my name. We made a one-night stop in Cleveland Passage, caught another gorgeous sunset, and logged another fishless fishing session.

Then it was off to Petersburg. We’d stopped there briefly on the way up, but this time we stayed long enough to explore. We hiked up to Raven’s Roost and biked around town. I ran the boardwalk trail each morning and met Mason after for breakfast at The Salty Pantry (slogan: “Best Buns in SE Alaska”).

It felt amazing to stretch our legs and roam around on solid land. That’s been rare up here. Alaska has been jaw-droppingly beautiful, but I’m definitely ready for a more social season. Grant and Emma’s wedding, here we come!