Mocean, Comox, BC (2026)

12/03/2025

Sometimes you need to put the tools down, crawl out of the bilge and enjoy the sunrise.

11/27/2025

Happy Taco Cat Tuesday
With love from mexico
⛵️

11/26/2025

We were craving adventure, sunsets, and tacos.
Probably should of just gotten margaritas & gone dancing.
Instead we got a boat in Mexico.

06/17/2025

I am going to go back in time a little, and share my closing entry from the May flotilla. It was a beautiful end, and it was hard to say goodbye. I guess that's the beautiful thing about "goodbyes", they don't have to be forever.

Please enjoy this last entry, from the May flotilla.

Day 24, May 31st — LeConte Glacier & Celebratory BBQ

Today marked our final day together as a flotilla—but not our last day together as friends.

We had a glacier tour scheduled with Seek Alaska to visit LeConte Glacier. And let me tell you, she did not disappoint.

We started the morning off right with breakfast from Salty Pantry. Online, they’re listed as a “bakery,” but that hardly does this small store, bursting with flavor, justice. Their display case was overflowing with hot, freshly prepared breakfast items that exceeded all expectations. No set menu—what you see is what you get—and what we saw made choosing nearly impossible. There was; everything scramble, ham croissant sammy, veggie quiche, sourdough toast with egg and gravy... the list went on. Kyle opted for the giant biscuit sausage breakfast sammy; I had a breakfast taco wrapped in a crispy cheese tortilla. Yum! We also grabbed a just-out-of-the-oven rhubarb turnover, filled with locally picked fruit. It was standing-room only—with the line to the door.

From here, we meandered down the dock for our 9 a.m. departure aboard the Seek Alaska jet boat. Rob, our captain for the day, is a fourth-generation fisherman and lifelong local. His son takes over the tours once the fishing season begins. From the moment we cast off, it was clear this was a route Rob could run with his eyes closed, beyond the web of tracks visible on his chart plotter.

The rain lingered, teasing us with the promise of clearing. As we approached the glacier, icebergs began appearing like sentinels leading the way. Their shapes, sizes, and glacial blues defied imagination. What began as mild excitement quickly morphed into jaw-dropping awe with each turn of the channel.

The air temperature dropped another ten degrees—we were getting close. Turning the final corner, the narrow passage opened, and there she was: LeConte Glacier in full, breathtaking view.

Photos could never do her justice. Captain and crew worked in unison, threading the boat between icebergs to bring us right up to her face.

We watched, wide-eyed, as small crumblings fell from the glacier. Left! Right! Center! Our heads darted around, trying to catch every moment. Then it happened—a deep rumble, and suddenly a massive cavitation broke free from the center of the ice wall.

Thunder cracked across the bay, silencing even our cheers. The ice plunged downward, eventually to pop up again. Before the chunk was done rolling, it was being swept away by the powerful current churning beneath the glacier.

Stunned by the raw power and beauty, we were frozen in place. The captain eventually called it—time to go. It was the only thing that could pull our eyes away. We could’ve stayed there all day. But the ice was closing in, and we had already overstayed our welcome. Crew climbed to the roof, the captain stayed steady at the helm, and together they navigated us out through the maze of bergs that held us captive.

Finally free, we kicked up to a 30nm push and zipped back to Petersburg.

Once docked, the day's chatter resumed—stories tumbling out from everyone. Kyle and I made lunch aboard Annie, still humming from the chill and wonder. There’s something about the breeze off an 18,000-year-old ice wall that cools you straight to the bone.
After warming up, we wandered through town—the bookstore, gift shops, and parks that hinted at the area’s rich history. Dinner crept up quickly. Tonight was our farewell BBQ.

The menu: brats, steaks from PR, potatoes, freshly baked bread, and cabbage. The main course was not the food—it was the laughter, the memories, and the deep appreciation for how far we have all come. Everyone signed our burgee as a celebration of the journey and a keepsake for the future.

Hugs and final farewells rounded out the evening. Our hearts tugged as we said goodbye to these strangers who have become community. Dreams have bubbled into truth and met reality head-on—strong, proud, and ready. As their guides and protectors, we wished our participants well. Ready to chart their own course, onward and outward. They carry a badge of pride, earned and worn like a passage token—something that says, you’ve done it. You belong here. No longer just guests, they were now fellow boaters of the Inside Passage.

It’s not goodbye, just see you later, my fellow salty sailors.
We wish you fair winds and following seas.
& we will see you out there.
Annie standing by, 1-6, 6-9.

06/17/2025

Day 0.5 – June 16th: Cap Sante Kickoff BBQ

It’s time.

Are we ready? Maybe… But what is ready, anyway? Is anyone ever really ready? I don’t think so. If we all waited until we were “ready,” we’d never leave the dock. We would never cast off and do the thing.

So—we choose to leave.

I can’t quite place it, but I feel like I’m forgetting something… so I go over the list. Again.
• My partner and co-captain – check.
• My dog and his paperwork – check.
• My preferred pillow – check.
• Toothbrush charger – check.
• Food – overflowing – check.
• Books – too many to read – check.
• Coffee – the lifeline for early mornings – check.

We continue the preparations to leave.

We are ready. We have to be ready.
Ready to cast off and follow the wind.

To chase sunsets, explore abandoned canneries, make new memories—and most importantly, expand.
Expand our worlds, perspectives, & our connections.
The connections with ourselves, and with the fellow sailors already transitioning from strangers to something more.
The candle that burns within a cohort is a slow one—steady, bright, and beautiful.

M/Y “Whirl Wind” is as ready as she will ever be.
Ready to lead, to guide, to be a beacon.

Tonight, we gathered. We introduced “Captains Hour”. Handed out daily briefs. We shared food, laughter, goals, dreams, and fears. Questions were asked and answered. Game plans laid out.

We have a beautiful group of participants, each cohort uniquely its own.

Kyle and I are leading from aboard “Whirl Wind”, a 32' Nordic Tug.
“Betsy Bee”, a Jeanneau 1095 NC.
“Sentindo Bem”—or “SB” for short—a 47' Ocean Alexander.
“Unfinished Business” a 31' Ranger Tug.
With more boats that will join us along the way.

Tomorrow, we depart Cap Sante and clear customs.

Tonight, we finish projects. We chat. We leave behind the goods we can’t take with us—bags of oranges, tools too heavy to bring, and other items we once thought we’d need.

Nerves are here, yes—but excitement is our fuel. And we have plenty of that.

I know I’m not supposed to pick favorites, but this cohort… I already feel it.

It’s a special one.

We have multiple all-women crews, and it lights me up.

Watch out, Alaska.
We are fierce—and we are coming for you.

— Whirl Wind standing by.

Like what you read?
Follow along, and read all our entries at:
https://waggonerguide.com/2025-waggoner-guided-flotilla-group-ii/

06/06/2025

Our best visitor yet

06/04/2025

Cape Caution gave us a touch of a show today 🐋

06/03/2025

May 21st, Day 14 — Rescue Bay → Butedale

Things are great—until they’re not.

And in the moment when life hits a speed bump, there’s no telling how steep the mountain ahead will be until you’ve reached the top.

Waking up in a place like Rescue Bay feels like a dream. It’s quiet, far from the bright lights of shore—no people walking down the dock peering into your home. But that’s the catch-22: you’re alone. If something breaks, you'd better hope you have the part—or at least the ability to limp to your nearest town, where you might be able to find a part or help.

Lucky for us, this morning’s mountains were more like long steep rolling hills.

Annie was scheduled for a 0700 departure. That means the hook is raised and we’re ready to go. We check in on the VHF about five minutes prior to departure, letting everyone know we’re raising anchor.

Then it happened.

The call from C-Otter:
“My engine won’t start.” You could hear the concern cracking through the sleep still in his voice. “Troubleshooting now... batteries are good, motor’s in neutral... I’ve got a couple more things to try...” He trails off.

No one can know your boat better than you. You know where your gremlins lie—the hidden switches, the quirks in the startup sequence that keep your gal content. These beasts we call boats aren’t just vessels; they’re homes. They’re family. They protect us at night and carry the things that make this journey possible.

There’s a deep sense of security in knowing your boat—not just knowing it, but being able to troubleshoot and problem-solve the hiccups along the way. That alone can carry you further than you might believe.

“Is it trying to start, or is there nothing?” Kyle’s voice came through with calmness that blanketed the bay.

What felt like a millennium was, in reality, only seconds.

“Nothing. It’s not even trying,” C-Otter nearly whispered.
“Okay, stand by,” Kyle replied calmly. You could hear the gears turning.

At this point, Kyle and I had already devised a plan without speaking. In moments like these, I swear we’re telepathic. I was at the helm, preparing to set the hook, while he prepped the dinghy for launch.

“She’s fired up! She started!”

I didn’t know Scott could sound that excited so early in the morning.

“That’s great news, C-Otter.” You could hear Kyles smile across the mic—not just relieved we didn’t have to launch the tender, but proud of our participant. There’s a special kind of confidence that comes from wrestling your own gremlins and winning.

The mic cracked to life again.
“I, uh... I’m not sure what it was. I just went through everything again, and it worked this time...” C-Otter trailed off again, almost losing confidence.

“That’s okay, C-Otter. We can go through the sequence of events together tonight. Annie standing by, one-six, six-nine.”

Silence. We’d already climbed a mountain, and it was only 0715.

We continued out of Rescue Bay toward Jackson Narrows, our cut-through to Finlayson Channel. Those needing fuel would stop at Klemtu, while the slower boats would meander up and across Sarah Passage to continue on to Butedale. We all know the little guys outpace us—even with a fuel stop.

Jackson Narrows is exactly that—narrow. From the east side, where we would enter, it looked almost impassable, dauntingly tight.
Lining up single file, we crept in. Small movements, clear communication, and intentionality kept us all moving forward. Just like that, we passed through the cramped corridor.

“All right, you guys, good job. Those that wish to speed ahead are welcome to do so.”

The confidence in Kyle’s voice gave no hint of the mountain we’d faced earlier.

“Roger,” came the chorus of replies over the radio.
Then—

“Uh, Stimpy here to Annie... I seem to be having a problem with my port motor. It doesn’t want to exceed 2,000 RPM.”

Our eyes met. Minds already in motion, cycling through options and ways to assist. Kyle and M/V Stimpy began troubleshooting over the radio—describing symptoms, gathering engine details, and even looking up spares that might be needed.

C-Otter offered to stay with Stimpy and continue to Klemtu as planned, while Pacific Crest pressed forward. Dock space was limited, and even if the repair took a little time, the zippy C-Dorys would catch up in no time.

After doing all we could underway, we decided to pull over too. C-Otter got fuel, and Stimpy and Annie met at the public wharf.
We tied up to what seemed to be an abandoned fishing dock—old, dilapidated, and scattered with gear. Kyle and Bill got to work.
A new symptom had emerged: the motor struggled to shift out of gear while docking.

Kyle walked Bill through the steps—how to troubleshoot, what he suspected was wrong, and why. Cowling off, issue found, fix applied, cowling back on—faster than it took to tie up Annie. Then, off they went for a sea trial. Kyle took the helm. The fix held, and they were pleased with the results.

Turns out the gear linkage had started to come loose—not broken, just nearly detached. It was still just functional enough to allow for forward propulsion, but not enough to get past 2,000 RPM.

On his way back to Annie from the fuel dock, Kyle stopped at the grocery store. We didn’t need anything, but it’s good to know what’s there—and there was a lot. Fresh fruit and veggies, ample dry goods; a surprisingly well-stocked temporary setup, considering the main store is under construction.

Mountain number two; climbed. And it was only 0930.
Annie departed the public wharf and continued up the west side of Cone Island. Our destination: Butedale.

That night, we dined in Annie’s cockpit—no bugs and no rain made the weather too good to pass up. Captain’s Hour was long and full of laughter. We talked about weather, tools to predict weather, and how to read pressure systems. Of course, we wandered off-topic, but I’m sure someone could follow the breadcrumbs through our conversations.

It was the end of a beautiful day in a nearly eerie, deserted cannery—full of history and stories we could only begin to imagine.

Cheers,
Ashley; mountain climber, cannery explorer, waterfall chaser

06/03/2025

I will never grow tired of these views.

06/03/2025

Day 11 May 18th;
Pruth Bay → Ocean Falls

Pruth Bay was truly a treat. Being able to get off the dock, walk through the welcome center, and read about what they have learned on that site—and are continuing to learn—is such a gift. Then, to take the trail to the beach side was astonishing.

After the relaxing evening, we had a semi-early departure. Lifted anchor at 0700 sharp and crawled our way out of the anchorage, letting everything warm up and taking in the last of the sights. We had another semi-long day ahead of us to Ocean Falls.

Departing Pruth Bay, we had two options to leave: either continue east down Kwakshua Channel or round Whittaker Point to go down Meay Inlet. We chose the latter. Going this route does expose us to some ocean swell in Hakai Pass, but it’s good practice to expose our people to how different channels may behave in different ways. While we surfed through Hakai at about 10 knots, we turned north up Fitz Hugh Sound. Smooth sailing the rest of the way to Ocean Falls.

We arrived in Ocean Falls just after 1330, leaving us plenty of time to get off the boat and explore. So that’s just what we did.

Ocean Falls is quite the spectacle. Rich in history, there are about 15 full-time residents—five of whom we met. There are two gift shops. One is in the city hall building, where there is also a library. The second is on the corner where the museum and boatways are. Continue up the hill and you’ll find a bakery/meat shop, as well as some hotel-like buildings with rooms for rent around the grounds.

For every usable building, there are 3 abandoned crumbling shadows of buildings that once were. Beyond the meat shop, you find what used to be a row of houses, swallowed by mother nature and turned to ruins. Crumbling chimneys, partial walls, and trees sprouting up where a dinning room used to be. Up the road even further, one could find the trail to the Dam. To walk a path explored so many, I could feel the spirits of those who never left walking with us.

With so much to explore, it was hard to peel off the land for a potluck. M/Y “Pacific Crest” hosted us aboard their Nordhavn 41’. It was cozy, warm, and filling—filling for the soul and the tummy. We reminisced on the trip so far, all the different places we have been, and dreamed about the places we are going.

Bellies full, Captains Hour completed, and eyelids getting heavy, we departed Pacific Crest to ready ourselves for the rest of the night.
Have you heard of Murphy’s Law? It's an old friend of ours. Ashley helped a participant with their water pump, while Kyle helped another set up their Starlink. In the grand scheme of things, these were grains of sand on an ocean beach. We were happy to have these as the things to do. Once done, a few of us finished up with a walk to the dam.

It may have been a shorter run, but it was still a long day. We’re all looking forward to the short day to Shearwater that tomorrow will bring. Some of us need fuel, and we all have new sights to see. Continue on we must—for if we spent an extra day in every place that charmed us, we wouldn’t make it very far.

Cheers,
Ashley; your salty day dreamer, spirit walker, abandoned home explorer.

06/03/2025

Wow !
Absolutely spoiled.

06/01/2025

Day 10
Allison Harbor → Frypan → Pruth Bay

It’s a full day when you have a 0430 departure, a Cape Caution crossing, and a destination deviation mid-route!

We knew we had a limited window to cross Cape Caution before a new front came through—so we took it. This meant lifting anchor around 0430 and meandering out of Allison Harbor to reach the mouth by first light, just before 0500.

Our early morning was well-suited for the crossing: a wall of drizzle gave the illusion of fog on the horizon, and there wasn’t a breath of wind. Our smaller vessels hung back with us for a short while as we navigated through the rocks, hazards, and small islands to reach open water. Once we did, we were met with sleepy four-foot swells in a nine-second period.

And zip!—the small boats were off, up on plane, enjoying a smooth and comfortable ride. Cape Caution couldn’t have been better, especially after all the weather we’d seen.

As we neared protected waters and did our routine 9:00 a.m. weather check, it became clear that the front was moving in stronger and faster than previously anticipated. While our small boats were already close to Frypan, we decided it would be best to skip ahead a day and continue on to Pruth Bay. This would give us the opportunity to get ahead of the weather and settle into a better place to hunker down, if needed.

As we continued through Fitz Hugh Sound, leaving the swell behind in our wake, the wind still never showed up. In the distance, we spotted the C-Dorys popping out from the north side of Penrose Island—we were all on our way to Pruth Bay.

It truly couldn’t have been a better day to push on. The wind never came, and the drizzle lifted.

When we arrived in Pruth Bay, we were met by other boats and even a Nat Geo cruise ship! The ship was ferrying people back and forth to shore for tours of the grounds.

We anchored and tucked our homes in for the night. That left us time to go around, check on everyone, and complete the captain’s hour on each participant’s boat.

As a group, we meandered to shore and walked through the welcome center. It was great to learn about what they do there. We were also invited to view their observation tanks, which currently housed various sea stars.

Some of us walked to the renowned beach on the far side; others returned to their boats. It was a peaceful night in another beautiful anchorage.

Fair winds
-Ashley, Weather navigator, Explorer, Beach Comber

Mocean

12/03/2025

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