Berg Bay to Wrangell: Burgers, Deadheads, and the Downpour

After a picture-perfect day exploring Berg Bay, we pointed OceanFlyer toward Wrangell. With calm seas, a helpful current, and even a few sun breaks, the three-hour cruise felt like a reward.

sunrise in berg bay

The harbormaster directed us to Heritage Harbor, just outside town. We’d been here before—two long side-tie docks for transients—but this time the fishing fleet was still in force. Luckily, we found a prime spot on T1 with 50-amp power... eventually. The first power box was dead, so we called for a harbor staff encore. They couldn’t have been nicer and got us hooked up in no time.

Town is a quick dinghy ride across Zimovia Strait. Seas were glassy, the sun still hanging on, and we tied up in the yellow loading zone at Reliance Harbor as instructed.

Unfortunately, Wrangell was in low gear. The Thirsty Beaver—our dinner target—was closed for renovations. Nic’s was also dark despite what the posted hours said. But fortune smiled at the Wolf Shack, where we devoured sweet & spicy burgers on their front porch—unexpected and excellent.

lunch at the wolf shack

Wandering through town, it seemed nearly every shop was closed until Sylvia, the ever-enthusiastic owner of Alaska Vistas, popped out of her storefront like a ray of sunshine (just as the real sun gave up). A marine biologist, captain, and seasoned fish boat hand, she gave us the inside scoop: the closures were temporary. The Beaver and Marine Bar were being remodeled during the one window when all the contractors were free, and the Nic’s crew? Off at a Grateful Dead concert. Go figure.

As rain began to fall, Karen smugly zipped up her rain gear. I, of course, had left mine behind. By the time we picked up a few groceries at City Market and returned to OceanFlyer, I was soaked and she was smugger.

Dinner was quiet, cozy, and dry—just the way we like it after a day of surprises.

Bradfield Canal to Berg Bay: Alpine Anchorages & Creekside Adventure

We woke to low clouds and quiet in Bradfield Canal. Karen took the helm while I got a jump on dinner, prepping a chicken and penne pasta salad—always a win on days when energy runs low but appetites run high.

The cruise to Berg Bay, just south of Wrangell, was smooth and uneventful. This anchorage is a gem—narrow, deep, and tucked into alpine scenery with a Forest Service cabin at its head. The wind and current tend to hold you mid-channel. We dropped anchor in 66 feet (at high tide) and eased out 200 feet of chain.

Oceanflyer looking back to the entrance to berg bay

you can get a peak at aaron creek over the trees at the back of berg inlet

Our timing was driven by a mission: dinghy exploring up Aaron Creek at the evening high tide (+12.64 feet around 7 p.m.). With time to spare, we zipped ashore to check out the cabin and boardwalk. The sun even made a brief appearance.

The cabin, perfectly perched with a front porch view over the bay, was unoccupied—giving us a peek inside. A rope swing for kids hung from a nearby tree, and the setting felt like something out of a wilderness postcard.

We followed the well-maintained 0.4-mile boardwalk behind the cabin into a marshy alpine basin ringed by mountains. Then it was back to the boat to wait on the tide.

The cabin at Berg Bay sits at the head

OceanFlayer and her dinghy from the cabin

Well maintain boardwalk at Berg Bay

Around 5:30, we headed for Aaron Creek. The real adventure was navigating the shallow delta at its mouth. We tried the eastern branch first—until we bumped into just a foot of water. Doubling back, we found better luck on the western channel, which held 5+ feet of depth until a large sandbank halted our progress.

The payoff? Absolute serenity. A winding estuary, framed by snow-capped peaks and lush, grassy banks. Classic bear country—but no sightings today, only rainbows.

the little dot in the lower left corner is us anchored in the west branch of AAron Creek

looking straight down you can see the shallowing water that stopped our progress.

These are the anchorages we love best: solitude, scenery, and an off-the-boat adventure waiting around the corner.

Canoe Passage to Bradfield Canal

This morning, Canoe Passage reminded us that charts don’t always tell the whole story. One island is misplotted, and on paper, it looks like the passage shoals out entirely. But as I stepped out of the shower, a 50-foot fishboat zipped past heading south. Apparently, local knowledge beats NOAA again.

The charts givethe impression it is not passable, but the local fisherman use it at high tide.

With calm weather and the generator humming, I jumped into meal-prep mode—filling the galley with the smells of future dinners while we made water.

Our destination today was new territory: deep inside Bradfield Canal, far beyond the better-known Anan Creek Wildlife Observatory. Karen had discovered a note from a past cruiser who’d made it up the Eagle River by dinghy on a high tide. That was all the encouragement we needed.

Bradfield didn’t disappoint—snowcapped peaks framed the quiet fjord as we cruised in. We passed one lone pleasure boat heading out, then had the whole place to ourselves. We anchored just west of a small lagoon near the Eagle River delta. At low tide, we could see the sandy flats and a few lurking hazards, but the water was deep and the anchor held strong.

oceanflyer flyer anchored off the lagoon entrance

lagoon on the left, eagle river on the right

lagoon entrance at low tide

eagle river entrance at low tide

looking back into Bradfield Canel with the lagoon entrance in the foreground

With the tide on the rise (+13'), we launched the drone for a better look at the lagoon and river entrances. Both looked promising.

We dinghied into the lagoon first, using Garmin/Navionics to guide us in. It was narrow but manageable and worth the effort—a peaceful pocket of calm and classic Alaskan charm.

Then came the Eagle River. Unsure how far we’d get, we followed the channel upriver—hugging the west side near a small island—until we finally ran out of depth. Surrounded by emerald grass, rolling hills, and the whisper of unseen bears, we savored the solitude.

The Eagle River off of bradfiels canal

By evening, we were back aboard OceanFlyer, tucked into the wilderness, completely alone and utterly content.

evening settles upon Bradfield canal

Meyers Chuck to Canoe Passage

Armed with our Alaska fishing permits and big hopes for spot shrimp, we set out for a pair of "secret" prawn spots just outside Canoe Passage—tips from friends who swore by them.

overview of meyer’s chuck

good look at the dock layout at meyer’s chuck

the view toward clarence strait

the back bay on theleft is lined with houses and a few provate docks

not to be used for navigation. color enhanced image showing the rocks and green mark at the entrance to meyer’s chuck

The weather flirted with us all day: the clouds occasionally cracked just enough to tease sunshine before tossing down another cold shower. Classic early-season Alaska.

Ernest Sound treated us to smooth seas, and the scenery was pure postcard—until we spotted the commercial prawners. The season opened two days ago, and the pros were already hard at work, strings of pots blanketing both of our targeted drop zones near Fisherman’s Chuck. We could’ve set ours too… if we wanted to sit on top of it all day. We didn’t. This wasn’t a prawn standoff we felt like joining—especially in 49-degree drizzle—so we kept cruising toward Canoe Passage.

Alaska has a way of making you feel small. Charts suggest tight inlets and narrow cuts, but when you arrive, they’re wide enough for a cruise ship. Canoe Passage was no different—majestic cliffs, sweeping bends, and deep, green solitude.

We dropped the hook in 40 feet near a rushing stream and watched a blacktail deer amble along the shoreline. A few sunny flickers broke through the gloom, but not enough to tempt us off the boat—except for a quick spin with the drone.

the small creek provided a pleasant serenade

looking north at the entrance to canoe passage

the chart makes the passage to the south seem impassble, but we saw a 50 foot fishboat traverse it.

By evening, not a soul had joined us. Just us, the stream, and a peaceful stillness in this not-so-little corner of wild Alaska.

Ketchikan to Meyers Chuck

We slipped lines in Ketchikan under steady rain—no surprise there—and caught a favorable current northbound toward Meyers Chuck. After years away, we were eager to return to this charming hamlet, known for its friendly dock, meandering trail to the beach, and of course, Cassie’s legendary cinnamon buns.

cruiseship fills ward cove as we leave ketchikan

Clarence Strait gave us a roly-poly ride with following seas and wind on our stern. OceanFlyer rolled from side to side in that slow, rhythmic sway that makes lunch prep a two-handed affair.

We’d been checking Marine Traffic for dock space, and until this morning, it looked packed. But with a slight weather break, many boats had cleared out by the time we arrived. Only two locals remained, so we slipped onto the outer float with a front-row seat to the Strait and room for others to join.

lots of room for oceanflyer at meyer’s chuck

Despite the lingering drizzle, we headed ashore for a walk to “The Beach.” The trail begins just past the homes and leads to a small, rocky beach best visited at low tide—naturally, we arrived near high. Still, it was a welcome leg-stretch, and Karen returned with a few treasures tucked under her arm.

going to “the Beach”

The path to the beach takes you past homes and through the forrest

the beach at low tide looking out to clarence strait

driftwood detail

the gallery which was a favorite for local artisans’ creations is now closed

never seen a stern thruster on a outboard before

Back at the dock, two more cruisers pulled in—just enough to help us meet Cassie’s minimum bun order. Cinnamon bun mission: accomplished.

As night fell, the dock was still quiet, a rare treat. We fell asleep with the scent of rain in the air and the promise of warm cinnamon buns in the morning.