Sitka to Deep Bay

After warm goodbyes to our friends on Escapade and Empress, we eased out of our slip at Float 2 in Sitka—carefully, thanks to a minus 3-foot tide. Today’s destination: Deep Bay, 33 miles ahead with one key obstacle—Sergius Narrows.

Sergius has a reputation, and rightfully so. With currents that can rip through at 7 knots, most mariners—us included—opt for slack water. Today’s was at 1:20 p.m., so we throttled back to avoid arriving too early.

As predicted, the AIS lit up with boats converging from both directions. Four targets, all checking in on the radio and negotiating passes like seasoned pros. It was textbook: smooth, courteous, and well-timed. Alaska really does attract good boat handlers.

We entered Deep Bay alone, but not for long.

This anchorage lives up to its name—it’s deep… until it isn’t. The head shallows up quickly, and it’s cluttered with crab pots right where you’d want to drop the hook. After circling and dodging the crab pots, we opted instead to anchor just west of Grasstop Rock, near the mouth. Cozy anchorage by Alaskan standards, with grassy shores and decent protection.

Setting the hook took three tries thanks to the rocky bottom. When it’s like this, I like to let out extra rode for the set, then pull it back in once the anchor bites. Worked like a charm.

The current ebbed and flowed, but the breeze stayed calm, making for a peaceful afternoon. Eventually, four more boats joined us—including a late-arriving Bayliner that brought a wake worthy of its own VHF warning. One anchored near the western shore, the others braved the crab minefield at the head.

Karen, on a wildlife spotting streak, scored again—this time a grizzly sow and two cubs grazing the sedge grass to our southeast. We had front-row seats to hours of foraging and bear family bonding. A perfect Alaskan evening.

Double Cove to Magoun Islands

We let our neighbors slip out of Double Cove early, then followed a couple hours later, carefully threading back through the kelp beds. We saw a minimum depth of 13 feet (zero tide corrected, using Elbow Passage/Klag Bay as our reference).

The marine forecast continued its winning streak: calm seas and light winds. With no need to dodge swell, we skipped the intricate twists of Piehle Passage and ran the outside route south toward Salisbury Sound. A smooth ride—no boats in sight until we entered the Sound.

As we turned south into Neva Strait, the sun finally broke through. A perfect welcome to the Magoun Islands.

We arrived to find a pocket cruiser already anchored and our friends from the night before—Empress and Escapade—rafted up nearby. We dropped the hook in about 55 feet and made ourselves at home. A beach party was in full swing near the pocket cruiser, so we opted for a dinghy recon mission instead, hoping to check out the lagoon anchorage around the corner.

magoun islands anchorage

On a +3 tide, the lagoon entrance was rocky and tight, with hazards just beneath the surface. We called it off—discretion won out over curiosity.

As the sun dipped lower, the party crew packed up and cleared out. They were quickly replaced by a 60-foot sailboat and two longliners wrapping up their day nearby. Plenty of room for everyone, and the anchorage stayed blissfully quiet.

nothing beats a beautiful day in southeast. Although this year they a far too scarce.

After so many nights alone or with just one neighbor, it felt downright social. Magoun Islands is a perfect staging spot before Sitka—just over an hour away at trawler speed—and clearly a local favorite with its easy beach access and protected waters.

June 20, 2025 – Baker Cove to Double Cove

We left Baker Cove under sunny skies—no grizzly sightings this morning, but the tranquil weather made for an easy two-hour hop to Double Cove. The route hugs the protected inside waters, making for a relaxed cruise.

As we eased past the rocky entrance to Black Bay, Karen spotted two big grizzlies foraging at the head of the bay. A tempting detour, but with a rare forecast for calm seas on the outside of Chichagof Island, we’re taking advantage of the window to keep moving south before the weather turns.

Double Cove is a cozy little anchorage, typically suited for one boat—maybe two if both stern tie. With no one else around, we dropped the hook at the head of the cove with ample room to swing. The entrance is narrow but easy to read, thanks to well-placed kelp beds marking the shallows on both sides. It’s a winding approach, but nothing tricky with good charts and daylight.

Later in the day, we spotted Escapade and Empress approaching on AIS—two larger boats we’d met back in Shearwater. Empress scoped the northwest corner, then waited while Escapade slipped in and nailed a textbook stern tie. Once secure, Empress dropped a bow anchor and rafted up alongside.

Double Bay is more cozy than it looke like in this photo

Perfect execution of a double raft stern tie

It was great to reconnect. A fun side note: I first met one of Empress’s crew back in April when I spotted them tying to the bullrail using what I call the “Douglass Hitch” — a knot I named after my friend Bill Douglass, who picked it up from a fisherman in Auke Bay back in 2010. I posted a how-to video featureing Bill, so take a look and you too will become a convert: YouTube - The Douglass Hitch.

double bay looking out to the pacific ocean. Also, a good look at the shoals that define anchoring choices.

Before dinner, we took a spin in the dinghy to scope out alternate anchor spots (there aren’t many), then swung by Escapade and Empress to catch up and trade notes on cruising plans. A peaceful day, great company, and another gem of a cove checked off the list.

Pelican to Baker Cove, Goulding Harbor

Rather than retrace our steps toward Sitka, we opted for the road less traveled—south down the exposed west coast of Chichagof Island. This route meant reentering the Gulf of Alaska, a place we hadn’t seen since cruising to Prince William Sound back in 2014.

After waving goodbye to Pelican, we headed west down Lisianski Strait—a narrow, scenic channel by Alaskan standards (just half a mile wide in spots). As we approached the open Gulf, the swell made its presence known, crashing against the rocks flanking the entrance. It was a dramatic shift from the protected waters we’d grown used to, but the route is well-charted and easy to navigate with a little attention.

Fortunately, the forecast held: light winds, gentle 3-foot swells, and no surprises. OceanFlyer settled into a comfortable rhythm, and we enjoyed a quiet run—just two fishing boats and two humpbacks for company.

Rounding into Imperial Passage, the seas quickly flattened. The entry to Baker Cove is straightforward, but mind the shallows on the western side—best to hug the deeper center channel on approach.

Baker Cove is a hidden gem. Sedge grass meadows and small creeks line the head of the cove, prime bear habitat if you’re lucky. We anchored in 60 feet at high tide and didn’t wait long.

baker cove

A single, hefty grizzly soon emerged, contentedly grazing for nearly 10 hours straight. He barely noticed us—just sat there like a giant, furry Buddha, blissfully working his way through nature’s salad bar.

A quiet anchorage, beautiful setting, and front-row seat to a grizzly’s buffet. Not a bad way to end the day.

Elfin Cove to Pelican

It’s a short hop from Elfin Cove to Pelican up Lisianski Inlet—clouds and showers overhead, but seas and wind stayed in our favor.

This was our first visit to Pelican, and we arrived just before lunch to find plenty of space on the transient dock—even with the annual salmon derby in full swing. OceanFlyer secured a prime spot, and we headed out to explore.

pelican harbor

lots of open small slips becasue everyone is out fishing

the harbor office is often not open, but you can grab a envelope to pay moorings fees

pelican loves their carved signage

long winters make for great signs everywhere

Pelican and Elfin Cove invite comparison—both are fishing communities perched on pilings along steep hillsides, linked by wooden boardwalks. But Pelican is larger, livelier, and still centered around its founding industry: Yakobi Fisheries. The processing plant brings in seasonal workers and energy to match—there’s a real sense of movement and youth here, especially with the fishing lodges ramping up.

Yakobi Fisheries is in the foreground with the whole town streching along the waters edge

We stopped for lunch at the Lisianski Inlet Café, a cozy spot run by the same couple for over 35 years. They're starting to talk retirement, but the hospitality hasn’t faded.

ferry dock in the foreground

Pelican boasts some impressive infrastructure for a remote village. It has its own hydro plant (no diesel generators here), a real grocery store, and boardwalks wide enough for ATVs to zip through town—speed limit: 12 mph. Even the schoolhouse at the south end of town speaks to a more rooted community.

pelican is powered by their hydro plant located on the small creek on the outskirts of twon

wide boardwalks and atv's are the hallmark of pelican

And yes, Rosie’s Bar is still here—famous for its past, now revived by Highliner Lodge. It’s the heart of town with pizzas, daily specials, and a lively crowd of guides, workers, and locals. We joined the mix and swapped stories with a resident who first came to visit her dad at the hydro plant… and met her future husband on the ferry ride in. Alaska romance, boardwalk-style.

rosie’s bar in pelican is rich with history

Before we turned in, one last feature caught our eye: the fuel dock. A big digital sign in the window announces hours, fuel types, prices—even after-hours fees. Clear, smart, and visible from across the harbor. Every port should take notes.

pelican harbor at low tide

Pelican made a great impression—friendly people, real character, and solid services. We’ll definitely be back.