Tuesday-Wednesday, September 15-16, 2026
Our “adventure” began at about 8 am on Tuesday when we reeled in our stern line, raised our anchor, and motored out of Teakerne Arm, passing close to the gushing waterfall on our way.
Clouds blanketed the sky and wrapped themselves around the tops of the hills like downy white feather boas as we traveled toward Bute Inlet, which, at about 40 miles in length (some sources say 35 miles, some 40, some 47, and some 50) is the second-longest fjord on the B.C. coast. It averages about 2.5 miles in width and is about 2100 feet deep at maximum, and, at its head, its waters lie between mountain peaks soaring some 6,000 to 9,000 feet above sea level. We motored for over five hours to Orford Bay, having circled through little Leask Cove to see how it might be as an anchorage, and deciding that it would be satisfactory if we wished to stay there. The mountain views became ever more spectacular as we went along, though there was little snow on the peaks.
After our arrival in gorgeous Orford Bay at about 1:30 pm, we spent a considerable amount of time drifting to and fro across the water, with Walt taking soundings and mapping the bottom to find a safe anchoring location. There was a fish farm at one side of the wide bay, and a small grizzly-bear-viewing tourist installation on one shore, and there were no other boats present, making for a very peaceful afternoon at rest in a gentle, refreshing, lung-cleansing breeze beneath the majestic peaks that gazed over the bay and its surrounding grassy wetlands.
I saw no wildlife during the afternoon and evening apart from some leaping fish and many seabirds that swooped and dived and bobbed on the surface of the water, screeching, squawking, chattering, and caterwauling (“gullerwalling”?) and being highly entertaining as they darted out from and back to a dark gray rock outcropping near the entrance to the bay that was thickly polka-dotted with the white birds. As Walt made supper on the grill in Braesail’s stern, a slim fingernail moon tickled the top of a distant hill, and it was hard for me to imagine a more beautiful place in which to spend the night.
At the end of the evening, however, Walt decided that, to prevent our anchor from dragging during the night, he should let out another 100 feet of anchor chain. He also set an anchor position alarm and an alarm on his phone to sound every two hours all night long so that he could confirm the anchor’s position, and he slept in his clothes, which indicated to me that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the security of our anchoring situation. I also prepared to dress hurriedly in case of need, and I too checked the anchor’s location on my own phone when Walt’s alarm sounded. There were no problems at all—the anchor stayed exactly where it was supposed to be!
Wednesday smiled into Orford Bay, bringing with it a cloudless, blazingly blue sky and only a slight breath of wind. By 9:30 am we were motoring north toward the headwaters of the inlet that brought us increasingly wondrous views of heavily wooded shores and hills below grand granite peaks, some streaked and spotted with snow, and one, near our destination, topped with a glittering glacier.
The fjord’s waters through which we traveled became more and more milky with glacial till (an unsorted mixture of clay, silt, sand, gravel, etc., ground into powder by a moving glacier and washed into bodies of water) that gave it a lovely jade green coloring or a pale turquoise sheen, depending on the angle of the sun’s light.
The almost-chilly air was slightly scented with a delicious floral fragrance that I couldn’t identify but that reminded me of roses. I spent quite a bit of our four-hour journey taking photos when I wasn’t keeping an eye on our surroundings from behind the helm (and NOT spotting any dangerous floating debris (fortunately!) or any marine mammals (unfortunately!)). Sitting out on the cabin-top in the bow as we motored was especially delightful and invigorating!
When we’d reached wide, wonderful Waddington Harbour at the end of the inlet, we explored the various small bays where rivers enter and feed the fjord. The harbor is shaped somewhat like a baseball glove, with a logging operation located in the “thumb.”
Walt chose one of the “fingers” to map by sounding the bottom with sonar that produces useful depth contours. We examined several of the other bays, and decided that the one, at the base of a huge granite cliff,
that Walt had mapped would be the best one in which to anchor for the night, given its water depth, the characteristics of its bottom, and its wind-flows. By about 3 pm, we were settled at anchor, once again the only vessel in the entire harbor.
We spent the afternoon and evening in our usual pursuits, and after supper, while I was attempting to get a picture of the setting crescent moon as it sprinkled droplets of silver light into the water below the distant mountains, I heard some unidentifiable, short, snorting cries—wolves, or some other creature? I will never know, but I finished my day around midnight feeling less anxious than I had on Tuesday night because the night sky was bursting with glistening stars, the wind had crawled into bed, there wasn’t a single sound, and Walt wasn’t sleeping in his clothes!
Braesail - A grand yacht in the Salish Sea 