Position: 53°42.5’N 167°37.7’W | Course: 050° | Speed: 5 knots
Sailing along the Bering Sea side of the Aleutian Islands hasn’t been without its challenges. This island chain blocks much of the weather coming up from the south—but it also seems to generate a climate of its own.
Over the past 24 hours, the leading edge of a distant low-pressure system passed over us. It brought rain and increasing southerly winds. These winds first hit the southern coasts of the islands and then spilled over the icy mountain ridges to reach us. The airflow was cold, and in the sky we could see lenticular clouds forming—shaped by the uplift of moist air over the mountains. Ice crystals gave them a smooth, soft appearance.
After the lenticulars formed, other cloud systems began to stir on the Bering Sea side. First, strong southerly winds filled in—a solid force 6, even touching force 7 at times. Then, just as suddenly, the wind dropped away. A dark, dramatic front began to roll in from the north.
The sea, built up by hours of strong southerly wind, suddenly met a new force pushing against it from the opposite direction. Waves collided and danced—a chaotic, confused sea. We turned on the engine to try and escape the mess, but progress was slow. We changed tack, but with unstable winds and little pressure in the canvas, we lacked stability. The boat danced every which way. Only as we got closer to Unimak Island did things begin to settle—and finally, after a few hours, we could sail again.
Though we had expected rain all day, the islands managed to block that too. After a very wet morning watch, the afternoon turned out dry and relatively gentle.
We’ve been mesmerised all day by the scenery. More and more mountains emerged from the cloudbanks—some a rich green or deep orange, but most of them capped with snow.
Birds have been our companions throughout: black-footed albatrosses and fulmars in constant motion, with the occasional petrel or tufted puffin rushinhg by. Other wildlife may have been nearby, but the jumping sea all around us made it hard to tell a whale spout from a crashing wave.
Right now, we’re sailing quietly again, making 4.5 to 5 knots, on our way to Dutch Harbor, where we’ll clear in and get our paperwork in order. We expect our pilot to board at 14:00 local time. That means this may well be our last night watch of the voyage—a strange thought. We’ve been underway for over two weeks, though it feels much longer. The ever-changing weather makes it seem like two separate voyages: just over a week ago we were still in shorts, and now we’re layered up in down jackets, gloves, and beanies.
That contrast is part of what makes this voyage so special.
Picture of the day goes to Michael: a wave nearly as steep as the mountains on shore.
All is well on board, Jet
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