Bering Sea Logbook: Whale Encounters, Meteor Showers and Still Waters

Position: 58°02.0’N 168°29.0’W | Course: 345° | Speed: 7.4 knots

Last night, our 00–04 watch was wrapped in fog. A thick veil of darkness encircled us, but above — where the night breathes — the skies opened to reveal a cascade of stars. The Aquariid meteor shower is at its peak, and the shooting stars fell like sparks from a celestial forge.

Between the stars, we also caught sight of the satellites that beam us our connection to the outside world. There were so many, we began to wonder aloud: were we seeing more satellites than stars? It may not have been true — but it felt like it.

By daylight, the fog had lifted, and for the first time in what felt like days, the horizon was ours again. St. Paul emerged in the distance as we sat beneath a still sun, hardly a breath of wind to stir the sea. While under engine, we spotted whales — and so we stopped. Floating in silence, we let them pass us by.

As they passed us by in the front and in the back, their breaths echoed across the deck, deep and steady, like enormous watery sighs. We counted at least six. Too large for Sei whales, we could not spot the stark white jaw of the Fin (could also be due to sunlight on the water). Their dorsal fins were too prominent for Blue Whales. Some had spots on their skin, their size immense. Gijs and I wondered — could they have been Blue Whale -Fin Whale hybrids? A rare encounter, if true. But then again, everything out here feels a little mythical.

We also crossed paths with porpoises, sea lions tangled in playful games amid the seaweed, and the ever-watchful fulmars, wheeling in our wake.

When night fell again, our watch began at midnight, and still the sun lingered. The horizon burned with wild, vibrant hues — pink, orange, violet — as if the Bering Sea had borrowed a painter’s brush. Still calm as a lake, it mirrored the sky with pink and purple colours. To know the stories this sea has told — wild gales, icy maelstroms — and to see it now in stillness, is almost bewildering.

But we are not complaining.

A light breeze can be felt in our necks though. Soon.

On board, spirits are high — there’s an edge of anticipation in the air. The wind is rising, the sails are ready. Around 400 nautical miles to Nome, and we’re keeping pace with the weather window for our crossing of the Bering Strait. And of course to get our stranded sailors.

And — as of today — we’re introducing our 2025 Northwest Passage crew on social media. Follow along, meet the faces behind the journey.

All is well aboard, Jet