Position: 52°58.3’N 170°35.6’W | Course: 055° | Speed: 7.1 knots
Fog has been our fickle companion over the past 24 hours—drifting in and out as it pleases, surprising us with its sudden arrivals and just-as-sudden disappearances. Sometimes the wind clears it, sometimes it thins when a light rain begins. Right now, we have all of it at once: fog, rain, and wind!
Around 13:00 this afternoon, the fog began to lift. Blue skies appeared, and from the last lingering fog banks on the horizon, land slowly emerged—towering green peaks, their summits streaked with white. The Aleutian Islands!
We had originally planned to pass through Samalga Pass—But with the fog changed our plan to Amuktu pass, the widest of the straits, with fewer currents, fewer overfalls, and no navigational hazards in fog. Ideal, but not the most scenic. In dense fog, that made sense. But now, with land in sight and our senses awakened, we longed to be closer. To see it. To smell it.
So we altered course slightly toward Amukta Island itself.
The ocean swell was still significant, running with us at about 2.5 meters. We surfed down the long waves—no longer alone. With land came life. Fulmars, Black-footed Albatrosses, Laysan Albatrosses, Storm Petrels, a Rhinoceros Auklet, and best of all: Tufted Puffins. Birds everywhere, riding the swell alongside us, as if carried by the wind of the waves.
And then: “WHALE!” Floris cried out.
Our first spout was spotted. We quickly woke the rest of the crew and headed toward it. As we drew closer, the whale seemed to be asleep—bobbing gently on the surface. I turned off the engine. Silence. And then, with a powerful breath, the whale came to life—taking in great gulps of air before lifting its tail high into the sky and diving straight down into the deep.
We believe it was a Sperm Whale. Floris saw the bulky head, and I saw the distinctive series of knuckles along its dorsal ridge.
Roughly forty minutes later, we saw another spout—perhaps the same whale, perhaps not. Again we approached with the engine off, and again, after about ten minutes, it lifted its tail and dove deep.
It’s such a privilege to witness the transition from open ocean to coastal waters. The color shifts from deep blue to a greener hue—less intense, more alive. The wildlife seems to appear right on cue, and we are just humble passersby in this wild and wondrous realm.
In the evening, the fog returned. We’re now making our way under small sail, doing between 3.5 and 7.5 knots as the wind comes and goes. We’ve officially entered the Bering Sea—a name that carries weight. For now, she treats us kindly. We’re gently rocked by the southerly swell slipping through between the islands.
Looking forward to what the morning light might reveal. Hopefully the fog lifts as swiftly as it rolled in at sunset.
All is well on board,
Jet
Oh—and our joke of the day:
We prefer working with decimals over fractions… they’re just more to the point.
(Get it? )
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