Elfin Cove Layday

We kicked off the morning with a client video call, but by the time that wrapped, the sunshine and stillness of Elfin Cove convinced us: today was made for a layday.

Drone in hand, we strolled the left side of the boardwalk to the inner cove. I grabbed some great aerial shots of the Cut while Karen admired the rainbow-colored fleet from one of the fishing lodges—each boat a different hue and rigged to the nines.

elfin cove inner harbor. The cut is on the right.

great view of the layout of elfin cove. outer harbor is visable on the right.

the two guest docks of the inner harbor

After some boardwalk wandering and small-town chatter, I stopped by the friendly postmistress to mail a package back to Bellingham. Always nice when logistics are that easy.

elfin cove inner harbor

Later, we welcomed two Krogens—Mana Kai and Serendipity—to the dock. We’d met Serendipity back in Wrangell, and it was great to reconnect under sunny skies. Spirits were high all around.

Turns out, we dodged a serious storm yesterday. While we were tucked in and distracted by work and rain, the Coast Guard was broadcasting warnings for a fast-moving squall. Boats in Glacier Bay clocked 40-knot gusts and blinding rain. One even watched the sky go black. The same front tore a Celebrity cruise ship off the dock in Juneau. Sometimes it's good to be tied up and blissfully unaware.

fishing guests, local residents and pacakges support regular sea plane access to elfin cove

Dinner was meatloaf aboard, while our neighbors ventured up to the Coho Bar & Grill. A good day in Elfin Cove—sunshine, stories, and no dragging anchors.

great view from the outer dock at elfin cove

the mountains of glacier bay and the bragy glacier fill the skyline from elfin cove

Mosquito Cove to Elfin Cove

Back to the Boardwalk

It’s a quick hop—less than an hour—from Mosquito Cove to Elfin Cove, but we were excited to return. This tiny boardwalk village tucked into the coast has always left a lasting impression.

As we cruised past the sea lion haul-out just outside the cove, the usual suspects were doing their thing: some barking and bellowing like they owned the place, others sunbathing in a lazy pile of whiskers and flippers.

an endless game of king of the hill

the bachelors are chill on the other side of the rock

We lucked out on arrival. The west side of the public dock was wide open, with only the RIB from Hanse Explorer temporarily tied up. Their crew couldn’t have been nicer—they offered to shift the tender so we could snug in at the head of the dock, leaving maximum space for anyone coming in behind us. Class act.

elfin cove public dock and seaplane float

elfin cove is one of the most unique harbors and towns in alaska

After tying up, we wandered the boardwalk—still one of the most charming features of any Alaskan town. We chatted with the postmistress about changes since our last visit, then grabbed lunch at Coho’s Pub. Nothing fancy, but it was nice to let someone else do the cooking for a change.

the boardwalk is the artery that connects all of elfin cove

bob enjopys the local cuisine at the Coho Pub

We also checked on the channel into the inner harbor, known locally as “The Gut.” It was dredged a few years ago to ten feet at zero tide, but it’s tight. For first-timers, we’d recommend waiting for at least a five-foot tide before threading that needle. Inside, you’ll find two public floats with decent room and shore power available—though you’ll need to track down the “powers that be” to get it turned on. We didn’t dig too hard for the backstory on that one.

the Gut to the innerharbor is on the right

at low tide the gut looks narrow

June 15 – Dundas Bay to Mosquito Cove

Happy Father’s Day from the Inian Islands!

We left Dundas Bay riding a ridge of high pressure—sunny skies, hazy air, and the kind of easy cruising weather you don’t argue with. Our destination was Mosquito Cove, tucked into the Inian Islands where Icy Strait meets Cross Sound. Just a two-hour hop, but enough underway time to top off the house batteries.

mom and pup swim past us as we leave dundas bay

To get there, we transited North Inian Pass—an area known for ripping currents. We timed our run for a moderate push, not max ebb, and the plan worked perfectly. Smooth ride, good speed.

Mosquito Cove is small by Alaska standards, but scenic and well protected. With tall mountains all around, it’s shielded from swell in every direction. Wind can still sneak in via Middle Pass, especially when the currents rip, but overall it’s a calm place to drop the hook.

We arrived to find it empty and snagged the sweet spot—40 feet at high tide on a decent shelf. Go much farther in and the bottom shoots up, thick with kelp.

mosquito cove has a beautiful view

kelp defines where you can anchor in mosquito cove

As we settled in, the action outside the cove kicked off. Strong current in Middle Pass had stirred up the feed, attracting diving birds and a frenzy of sea lions. Several chased fish right into the cove, giving us a front-row seat to the show.

Later, on the flood tide, we took the dinghy through a kelp-choked channel to visit the “Hobbit Hole”—home of the Tidelands Institute. I’d scouted the route earlier with the drone at low tide, so we knew where to thread the needle. It was a slow, kelpy slog, with regular stops to clear the outboard intake, but we made it. The entrance to the Hobbit Hole is shallow and rocky, but once inside, it’s an unexpected little hideaway. There’s a QR code at the dock if you want to learn more about the Institute’s work—handy and modern, even in the wilderness.

kelp lines pass to the hobbit hole

qr codes invade alaska

the tidelines institute in hobbit hole

Back at Mosquito Cove, the sailing vessel Leigh Ann had dropped anchor nearby. We stopped over to say hello. They're seasoned Alaskan cruisers who winter their boat in either Petersburg or Wrangell. Always fun to swap stories with kindred spirits.

leigh ann enjoy the tranquility as the evening falls on mosquito cove

To wrap up the day, we dinghied over to the sea lion haul-out at the south entrance of Mosquito Pass. One massive bull reigned over his harem while the bachelors grumbled from the sidelines. Loud, smelly, and utterly captivating. The current ripping past the rocks was incredible—so strong we joked that if we were sea lions, we’d probably move somewhere with a less exhausting commute.

sunset in mosquito cove

Dundas Bay Lay Day

Sunshine two days in a row—Alaska must be trying to make up for the soggy start to our season.

mirror flat water this morning

Dundas Bay delivered a stunner today. Towering granite peaks encircle the anchorage, their snowcapped summits feeding a network of ribbon-thin waterfalls that spill into the quiet arms of the bay. It’s the kind of place that makes you stop and just take it all in.

dundas bay has a bit of the wow factor

There’s not much ground for dinghy adventures here, but the shoreline offers a different kind of entertainment: black bears. Lots of them. Both the east and west shores had a steady parade of bears grazing from patch to patch. Not the most dramatic of wildlife encounters, but captivating in their own slow, deliberate way.

the west shore also provided good bear watching

the alluvial fan at the head od dundass bay

Sea otters floated by in the current, unbothered by us, perfectly at home in this remote corner of Glacier Bay National Park. With views like this and a front-row seat to Alaska’s wildlife, who needs to move?

looking back down dundas bay. The long trip to the head is worthwhile.

Hoonah to Dundas Bay

After a soggy stretch, we finally woke to clear skies in Hoonah—perfect timing for our run to Dundas Bay. Light winds and calm seas made for smooth cruising past Pleasant Island and Point Adolphus, though the resident humpbacks must’ve taken the day off. No cruise ships, no show. Fortunately, a pod of Dall’s porpoise darted over to play around the bow, much to Karen’s delight.

we pass the roald amundsen, with her distenctive plumb bow, in icy strait

Pleasure boat traffic remains light. Venture, a sleek 65’ Fleming that overnighted at the dock with us, slipped away shortly after we did, bound for the Inian Islands. We, on the other hand, turned west toward a quiet gem: Dundas Bay.

Technically within Glacier Bay National Park, Dundas is the only arm that doesn’t require a permit or orientation—a rarity up here. Ten miles up the North Arm, the scenery closes in. Granite walls rise sheer from the water, snowcapped domes loom above, and waterfalls spill down in glittering threads. It feels intimate, almost alpine, and utterly remote.

impressive granite cliffs surround our anchorage

the head on dundass bay looking down the valley toward glacier bay in the distance

the river valley at the head of dundas bay

a look back down dundas bay

We anchored in 45 feet on the eastern shore, beneath soaring granite cliffs. Before the hook was even set, a hefty black bear ambled across the opposite beach. By afternoon, we’d counted several more grazing the grassy shoreline on both sides of the bay.

climbing over a rocky shore is worth it to get to the sedge grass meadow

the bear never slowed down on his trek to his next meal

big bear, big rock

This is as far north as we’ll travel this summer. And with warm sun, no bugs, and no neighbors in sight, it’s hard to imagine a better place to pause and take it all in.