An Unconventional Path North

It was late February when a plan for heading north to Alaska began to really take hold. Jill and I pored over charts and talked extensively about the trip north, which had been high on our list of destinations for several years. Having sailed around Vancouver Island the previous summer, we felt that the time was right to take our cruising adventures the next step further.

Southeast Alaska is a dream destination for many boaters throughout the Salish Sea and beyond, beckoning cruisers with stunning anchorages, bountiful wildlife, and glaciers that drop right down into the sea. We were no exception. Jill was also born and raised there, so exploring it by water on our own boat made getting there an even more meaningful goal.

When we began researching and listening to stories about the voyage north, the more we realized that the “getting there” part didn’t seem all that appealing for sailors. Most people, we’d come to find out, motored the vast majority of the 700-plus miles. One conversation with a veteran sailor of the Inside Passage was particularly telling. “I’ve motored nearly the entire way to Ketchikan many times,” he quipped. “It’s beautiful, but you rarely sail even close to half of it.”

All that motoring didn’t sit right with me. Our goal was to sail and I convinced myself that it had to be possible. This is when we truly began formulating a plan that would have us sailing downwind to get there. Bucking the conventional route to Alaska that has boaters weaving up the east side of Vancouver Island—fighting northerly winds and its many rapids in May, June, or July—we thought that an outside route jumping up the west side of the island in more favorable sailing conditions could be feasible. Then, once we reached the top of the island, we could figure out the best route across Hecate Strait given the weather conditions.

To achieve this sailing-focused journey, the idea was to leave the Strait of Juan de Fuca in March to take advantage of spring southerly winds, and then ride those breezes north in several hops up the west coast before the winds calmed and the summer northerlies arrived. The entire key to this plan, though, was having the time and patience to allow for it to happen. We knew there was virtually no way to do it safely on a schedule, so we opened the calendar, gave it time, and started waiting for weather windows in early March.

Go Time

After cruising the Gulf Islands for the better part of March, we worked our way down to Victoria and got Yahtzee set to go with provisions and last bits of gear for the trek west and then north. Looking at the weather, a window eventually opened up with easterly winds to potentially blow us out of the strait where we’d then be met by a southerly on the Pacific Ocean. In every weather model I looked at, that forecast held. So, on a rainy afternoon in late March, we left Cadboro Bay and made a hop through Race Rocks to anchor in Becher Bay.

The following morning, like clockwork, the easterly arrived just after sun up and we hoisted Yahtzee’s main, unfurled the genoa, and started our journey out of the strait. It was go time. We were sailing downwind to Alaska.

After rounding Beechy Head, Jill handed up my first cup of coffee of the day and followed with our sons Porter and Magnus. With the whole crew on deck, we sailed fast for nearly three hours in what turned out to be a surprise northeasterly, and put in some serious miles. When the wind started to abate and our progress slowed, Jill pushed the spinnaker up from down below and we got it set in the rain.

Our boatspeed was back up for another couple hours before the wind got flukey in direction and velocity. About 12 miles shy of Port San Juan, on went the engine and we motorsailed against an increasing flood current. This was a lull that I thought would happen, and it felt like we were sailing on a treadmill, going nowhere.

The wind had been modest before, but I anticipated that it would soon fill in from the east in a big way. It did. Off of Port San Juan two things happened: the easterly kicked up to 20-plus knots and the ocean swell came in against it. The swell was a long and lazy southwesterly at first, though that would change. The breeze had us rocketing out towards the vastness of the Pacific Ocean against the current and then, all of a sudden, the once strong wind completely died. On went the engine and we powered ahead into an increasing swell.

Forging on, the wind eventually veered to the southwest and the new breeze stacked the waves ever higher. It was about this time when visibility dropped and the rain started coming down in sheets. The wind, too, continued to build and I could no longer see land, though it was just a few miles off our starboard side. Jill stayed below with the boys while I kept Yahtzee safely offshore for the last few hours while approaching our turn into Barkley Sound. Finally, after a long day, we wove our way into Effingham Island in the Broken Group and dropped the anchor. We’d done it. Our first big test on this unconventional route to Alaska had been conquered. Now it was a waiting game.

Patience Please

From Barkley Sound, we knew that working our way up the west side of the island was going to be all about weather windows. One of the unflinching truths of cruising is that the weather always wins. Always. Destinations don’t matter, nor does time. If our plan was going to work, we’d have to go when the weather was right and sit tight when it wasn’t.

After a glorious week enjoying spring in Barkley Sound, we made the prudent decision to hunker down in Ucluelet at a marina to wait as two big lows pummeled the coast with winds up to 50 knots. At times, it was unnerving, but when the last low swept by, we were itching and ready to go. Just as abruptly as we’d sailed into town, our time in Ukee came to an end.

When that second low cleared the area, we were set to ride northward on its coattails and planned an early morning getaway from the marina. The ocean still wasn’t too happy when we rounded Amphitrite Point to shape a course towards Hot Springs Cove; but with sails up and the morning sun bathing the sea and mountains in soft light, off we went.

With a consistent following breeze, the 45-mile hop northwest up the coast was a quick one. The lumpy seas helped us along, and even when the sun gave way to a steady rain, it didn’t matter—we were out sailing.

We found ourselves at the wave-and-current-swept entrance to Hot Springs Cove around three o’clock and, once inside and protected from the swell, we dropped the hook near the park dock. Not surprisingly for early April, we were the only cruising boat visiting the cove and we enjoyed a lay day spent soaking in the sultry hot springs and getting ready to continue north.

When we again pointed Yahtzee’s bow towards the ocean, the southerly breeze was still kicking and we made fairly good time scooting past Nootka Sound and dropped the hook 60-miles later at Rugged Point. Our intention was to stay a couple nights in this splendid spot, but the forecast had the final say and we had a date with the infamous Brooks Peninsula.

Having rounded the Brooks from the north a couple times, this would be our first go at it from the south, and the weather couldn’t have been better. A light rain fell as we motorsailed out of Kyuquot Sound and past the offshore reefs. Out on the ocean, a southwesterly swell was soon running and with it came a steady breeze. The green mountains of the Brooks Peninsula shot up into the clouds and, in front of us, Solander Island and its rocky, toothlike shape pierced straight from the depths of the sea.

Frothing white waves and the deep blue of the ocean met an equally blue and white sky, and we made our rounding with Yahtzee’s sails spread out wide and full of breeze. Broad reaching and surfing fast at 7 to 9 knots, we reached the mouth of Quatsino Sound and then ghosted all the way to Drake Island. The fast 65-mile hop brought us near the top of Vancouver Island, now we needed to prepare for the road ahead.

Making it into Quatsino Sound was a welcome stop. We were captivated by its secluded coves and beautiful scenery during our circumnavigation of Vancouver Island the previous summer, and it was a great place to stop for provisions, fuel, laundry, and showers. After spending Easter at Pamphlet Cove, we made our way through Quatsino Narrows to anchor near Marble River and then on to Coal Harbour.

Now, sitting at the northwestern end of Vancouver Island, we had a decision to make about routing to Alaska: Should we jump north to Haida Gwaii or head northeast to the central coast? After cruising the sound for nearly a week and weighing our options, our choice was narrowed to one option—Haida Gwaii.

With full sails set, Yahtzee ripped off the miles northward and Vancouver Island was quickly put in our wake. The excitement of being on the ocean again after a week in Quatsino Sound was evident among our crew, and we were all looking forward to a night at sea. By morning, Haida Gwaii was on the bow and the wind remained fresh. We sailed fast towards Anthony Island on the southwest corner of the chain and were greeted by humpback whales just miles from our anchorage. Anthony Island (SGang Gwaay) is a UNESCO World Heritage site and to say the area is breathtaking is a gross understatement. It is very remote and certainly felt that way while we navigated the local waters and walked the trails and beaches, especially in the early spring.

From there, we made two more brief stops in Haida Gwaii before jumping across Hecate Strait on a somewhat favorable weather window. While the islands bore a similar resemblance to Vancouver Island, we could quickly tell it was a destination all its own. The anchorages seemed far more secluded, and gave the impression that not very many people have the opportunity to actually experience it. Walking the shorelines and venturing into the adjacent forests made us feel like we were in a sacred place—indeed, we were.

Alas, we needed to continue on. Our big push to the northeast across Hecate Strait started early in the morning with a forecast that flip-flopped on wind direction and strength; it was really anyone’s guess as to what we’d get. The morning began with a following breeze that turned into a solid westerly, putting us on a beam reach sailing northward at a good clip. Thinking the wind might shift north, we stayed close to the islands. Then, when it did slowly veer, we cracked off to the northeast and reached for a while before making it to Stephens Island motor-sailing in a dying wind.

The Finish Line

From there, we were only separated from Alaska by another big day-long jaunt—this time from the northeast coast of British Columbia up to Ketchikan. On a cool late-April morning, I woke up early, looked out the port in our cabin and saw a faint sunrise filtering in from the east over Stephens Island. I switched on the VHF radio at the nav station, adjusted the volume, and tuned to the local weather out of Prince Rupert. “Wind: South at 10 to 15 knots. Sunshine.”

“Perfect.” I thought with a smile, we’d done it. This was the weather I had hoped for, and now we’d get our dream run into Alaska under spinnaker. It was an awesome feeling.

All along, Jill and I said that if it seemed we weren’t handling all the miles and long days well as a family then we’d slow it down. But we’d sailed in a downwind groove most of the time, which meant that our start and stop method of waiting for weather had been a success. In the end, we covered over 700-miles from Victoria to Ketchikan in a month, and had sailed upwind or motored for only 90 of those miles. It was an incredible feeling of accomplishment and validation.

Six hours after leaving Stephens Island, with our big blue spinnaker flying and our family of four dancing underneath it, we sailed across the border into “The Last Frontier.” The voyage north wasn’t always easy, but taking this unconventional route certainly felt like a triumph that we could all savor together. Now, it was time to settle in and enjoy cruising in Alaska.

Andy Cross is the editor of 48° North. After years cruising the Pacific Northwest and Alaska with his family aboard their Grand Soleil 39, Yahtzee, they sailed south and are currently in the Caribbean Sea. You can follow their adventures at SailingYahtzee.com