Explorer Basin to Eye of the Needle

Happy Independence Day from the Tebenkof Wilderness!

Mother Nature celebrated with us—clear skies, flat seas, and sunshine that felt downright luxurious after so many gray days.

a last look at Explorer Basin

happy sunshine at explorer basin

We decided to stay within the protected embrace of Tebenkof Bay but relocate to one of our favorite hideouts: Eye of the Needle. This tiny anchorage lies at the end of a winding, narrow channel, and we never pass through the area without a stop. The entrance requires a bit of attention—it's well-charted but dotted with rocks and shoals. We timed our arrival for a 9:20 a.m. high tide and had no less than 13 feet under the keel the whole way in.

Just outside Explorer Basin, we crossed paths once again with our cruising friends on Escapade and Empress. They’d spent the night just one bay over. We wished them fair seas as they began their journey south—always a pleasure running into good company along the way.

The wildlife welcomed us immediately. Humpbacks were bubble-feeding near Step Island, and as we nosed into the channel, Karen spotted two Sitka black-tailed deer along the shoreline. We anchored in 14 feet at low water, just beyond the small islet that marks the heart of this anchorage—a nice break from the deep-set hooks we’re used to in Alaska.

bubble feeding humbpack whales

powerful tail of a large humpback daining for dinner

eye of the needle is a one of a kind anchorage

any further in, the shoaling comes up quick

From our cockpit perch, the day unfolded like a wildlife documentary: a black bear on the west shore, then another on the east, a pair of sandhill cranes in the marsh, and otters twisting through the shallows—one with a curious, pale face. Our afternoon dinghy tour gave us more deer sightings, though the bears went shy... until dinnertime, when they returned to forage in the sedge and flip over rocks for snacks.

sitka black tail deer checking us out

No moose this visit, but we’re not complaining. Sunshine, solitude, and non-stop wildlife—this is why we keep coming back to Eye of the Needle.

Explorer Basin Lay Day

Clear skies greeted us after a peaceful night on the hook—a promising start to the day. Not long after coffee, a black bear sow and her three cubs ambled along the shoreline, adding a touch of wilderness magic. Later, a couple of deer made a quiet appearance, rounding out the morning’s wildlife show.

We spent the day by dinghy, poking around the surrounding coves and scoping out potential anchorages. Otters stole the spotlight, tumbling through the kelp like kids at recess. Not a bad way to spend a lazy day in paradise.

who you looking at?

Gut Bay to Explorer Basin (Tebenkof Wilderness)

We woke to a gray sky, but at least the rain had stopped—an encouraging start.

Just outside the creek, a small boat was setting subsistence nets—likely locals exercising traditional rights. They strung two nets across the creek mouth, anchoring them to shoreline boulders. Hours later, they hauled them in with only a few fish to show for their efforts. A lot of work for a modest reward.

setting net across the creek entrance

harvesting the catch

We didn’t fare any better. Our shrimp pot—soaked overnight—came up empty. Skunked.

With a clearing forecast and chatter on the cruiser network about whale activity in Tebenkof Bay, we lifted anchor and headed toward the Tebenkof Wilderness, a longtime favorite for both wildlife and scenery.

Chatham Strait was glassy and the current in our favor. As we neared the entrance to Tebenkof, two large cruisers slowed and veered—sure sign something interesting was ahead. Sure enough, a large pod of humpbacks was actively feeding. No bubble-netting, but plenty of surface blows and dramatic flukes.

We eased off throttle to respect their space, but not everyone was as tuned in. One cruiser drifted right into our path while their helmsman had eyes only for the whales. A quick call on the VHF snapped them back to the helm, and we passed safely. A reminder: distracted whale-watchers can be more hazardous than the whales themselves.

We also spotted a massive orca on our way in—not performing, just cruising silently through the strait.

We picked our way through the rocky guard islets and dropped the hook in 40 feet of water (at high tide) in the southeast corner of Explorer Basin. Under sunshine—finally—we soaked in the rare warmth.

explorer basin, good protection great views

ex[plorer basin in tebenkof wilderness is a gem

Explorer Basin is a gem: wide views to the west and north, sedge-lined shores, and a surprising sense of protection. The only company? Dozens of ghostly white jellyfish with long, trailing tentacles—not moon jellies, maybe white lion’s mane?

What are All those white spots? Jellyfish!!

As evening settled, the sun dipped low, the air was still, and we had the basin to ourselves. Here’s hoping the bears show up tomorrow.

sunset at explorer basin

Gut Bay Lay Day (Happy Canada Day!)

Karen was up early enough to catch a glimpse of blue sky—by the time I rolled out of bed, it was back to classic Southeast Alaska drizzle. Still, we held out hope the weather would lift for some shrimping and dinghy exploring.

By late afternoon, the clouds parted just enough for a quick drone flight, and we wasted no time launching the dinghy. First stop: setting the shrimp pot. Then we cruised into Mickie’s Winter Basin, rechecking the narrow entrance and confirming about 2 feet at zero tide—tight, but doable at high tide. Inside, it was just as stunning as we remembered: cascading waterfalls and grassy flats framed by rugged peaks.

We scouted another potential anchorage before pulling our pot—no shrimp yet—so we dropped it again in a new spot for the evening. With high tide on our side, we pushed up the creek at the head of the bay. Low clouds lingered, but the scenery made it worthwhile: mossy banks, glassy water, and that wild, remote feel unique to these corners of Alaska. We made it almost to the little islet, capped with a lone tree, at the head.

Later that evening, a lone “go-fast” cruiser blasted into the bay, circled us once, dropped a pot over by our pot, and vanished just as quickly. Aside from that odd cameo, the anchorage was quiet—no bears, no whales, no eagles. Just the kind of peaceful solitude that makes these lay days worth savoring.

gut bay is a one of a kind marvel

Kelp Bay, South Arm Lay Day

After a string of early alarms, we finally treated ourselves to a proper sleep-in. A luxury at anchor—and much needed.

Outside, the rain was relentless. I managed a quick 10-minute drone flight during a brief pause in the drizzle, only to land it in a steady shower. Not exactly ideal flying weather.

The river with oceanflyer tucked in the little cove

low water shows the appraoch to the river is not withoutr its obstacles

The rest of the day was a mix of photo editing and blog catch-up. The damp gloom has definitely worn on us, and the idea of going outside for anything other than anchor checks held little appeal.

Still, nature gave us a few surprises. Karen spotted a Sitka black-tailed deer picking its way along the shoreline. And just before low tide, we saw nearly 60 harbor seals lounging on the alluvial flats. No rocky haul-outs here, so they made do with the muddy sprawl—something we’ve never witnessed before. By high tide, they’d vanished, save for one lone swimmer patrolling the cove.

Afternoon highlights included some meal prep and route planning for the coming week. Weather aside, this is a solid anchorage—calm, scenic, and surprisingly intimate for Southeast Alaska.

looking down the south arm of kelp bay from its head

cozy cove in the south arm