Surviving a Bad Ocean Crossing in the Inside Passage

We dropped anchor in Beaver Cove, just south of Port Hardy. It was the perfect spot to hole up for the night before picking up Captain Paul the next morning. He had driven all the way from Victoria—leaving at 3:00 AM!—and was pulling into Port Hardy right as Save-On-Foods opened at 9:00 AM. I had sent him a small grocery list for some much-needed fresh stuff. After nine days of cruising, a few greens sounded pretty great.

More importantly, he also picked up a box of Stellar Farm blueberries from Veronica Britton. So, Veronica—if you’re reading this—thank you. Your blueberries are incredible.

Port Hardy Pickup: Wet, Windy, and Worth It

None of us had ever been to Port Hardy before, so we weren’t exactly sure how the docks worked. Turns out it’s first come, first serve in the summer, and rafting up is the norm. But with Tangaroa being 78 feet long, that wasn’t happening. Instead, we anchored outside the main breakwall next to a fishing boat, just as the wind decided to blow a solid 30 knots.

I jumped into Punga, our aluminum catamaran dinghy, and headed to shore to pick up Paul while Blaine stayed back on anchor watch. And let me tell you—I got absolutely soaked.

Thank goodness for my Helly Hansen foul weather gear. It kept me dry and warm the whole way in. We’re proud to be Helly Hansen ambassadors, and we don’t promote gear unless we truly believe in it. I’ve worn Helly since my first circumnavigation in the late ’90s—thanks to my mom, who saved up to buy me my first set. It lasted me all the way around the world.

Paul was waiting for me on the Sea Pier dock with a ton of gear. It took two trips in the dinghy to get everything back to Tangaroa. The second run, I let Paul drive while I rode shotgun.

Setting Our Sights on Miles Inlet

Once back onboard, we all sat down and pulled up the weather charts. We were hoping to cross over to the mainland and tuck into Miles Inlet, a spot recommended by our friend Lachlan back in Alert Bay. It looked absolutely stunning—but the crossing was going to be anything but.

The wind in Johnstone Strait was blowing 25–30 knots, gusting to 35. We stowed as much gear as we could, pulled up anchor, and headed off. The waves hit us at a brutal 10 o’clock angle, and the ride was rough.

Things started crashing and breaking. Poor Izzie got seasick and was throwing up. Maggie, our dog, was curled up on the couch shaking. Blaine and Paul manned the helm while I cuddled with Izzie and, yep, cleaned out the puke bucket. Mom duties.

Biggest casualty?

My glass tea kettle.

So now I’m making tea by boiling water in a pot on the stove. On the plus side, I discovered my Silpat baking sheet works great on the induction stove to keep pots from sliding. Not exactly a planned upgrade, but I’ll take it.

Surfing into Serenity

We surfed through the narrow entrance into Miles Inlet and were holding our breath, hoping no one else was there. But there was—Figure 8, a boat crewed by two lovely gents, Joe and Pete.

As we passed, I shouted, “Sorry! I know you probably wanted the place to yourself!” I also promised we wouldn’t run our generator, just to keep the peace. Sometimes it feels like powerboats get a bad rap.

That night, we invited Joe and Pete over for sundowners. We watched the waterfall at the head of the inlet reverse with the tide and shared drinks, stories, and some much-needed laughs.

Another Crossing, Another Gamble

We pulled anchor at 6:00 AM, aiming to take advantage of a tiny weather window. According to TimeZero (which has been freakishly accurate), the Strait was still red (as in “Red is dead”), but hugging the coast gave us a narrow path of better conditions.

Waves still knocked us around, but it wasn’t as bad as the previous crossing. I gave Izzie two Gravol before we left and basically drugged her into a long nap. Sometimes that’s the only way.

Welcome to Getla Inlet (Kind Of)

Our destination was Getla Inlet—at least, that’s how it looked on the charts (actually spelled G-E-T-L-A). The entrance wasn’t visible until we were practically on top of it. I stood up on the bow, watching for rocks, while Blaine eased Tangaroa into the narrow 50-foot-wide opening.

Once inside? Absolute magic.

The cove opened into a sheltered, stunning pocket of paradise. Protected, peaceful, and just what we needed. It became our little oasis for two days as we tried (and failed) to catch some elusive salmon. But even without fish, it was the perfect place to reset after a wild ride.

If you want to see it all unfold, we captured this entire leg on camera. From the blueberries to the puke bucket to the peaceful cove — you can watch it on our YouTube Channel. This is the Great Siberian Sushi Run, and we’re just getting started.