Alaska
Spinnakers, Sweat, and Survival: A Race to Alaska Adventure | Cruising World
Taylor Bayly/Courtesy R2AK
I held my breath as I pulled up the sock to unfurl our spinnaker in Haro Strait. Of the five headsails we’d brought aboard our Santa Cruz 27, this enormous black parachute was the only one I hadn’t bonded with before we’d cast off dock lines in Victoria, British Columbia. We were 50 miles into the 750-mile Race to Alaska—a somewhat insane wilderness adventure where 30-odd teams pedal, paddle and sail a hodgepodge of random crafts from Port Townsend, Washington, to Ketchikan, Alaska—and I was about to learn how to fly a kite for the first time.
Sure, I’ve been aboard other sailboats a handful of times when spinnakers were flown. It always involved male captains wanting to go faster around buoys in big winds; zero discussion of how we would raise, douse or jibe the giant sail; and terrifying near-disasters that elicited lots of confused yelling. So I’d learned only to fear spinnakers, not fly them.
I hoped that this time would be different. The wind was a measly 5 knots, barely filling our genoa. We had a destination that was still days away. And we were a crew of three mid-40s women who were cautious, conscientious, and considerate of one another’s fears.
Our team, Sail Like A Mother, almost didn’t bring any of the spinnakers that came with the boat because none of us had much experience flying them. But we knew we’d likely need at least one in our quiver to navigate the fickle winds of the Inside Passage—especially if we wanted to finish the race before the “Grim Sweeper” tapped us out.
Taylor Bayly/Courtesy R2AK
We decided to bring the asymmetric spinnaker, but only after we attached a sock to douse it quickly. We also made sure at least one crewmember, Melissa Roberts, practiced rigging and sailing it in Bellingham Bay prior to the race.
Melissa let out a whoop from the cockpit as the beautiful black sail snapped taut and Wild Card surged forward: “I knew we could do it! I’m so proud of us!” She played out the working sheet and told me to “just steer to fill the sail when it luffs.” Katie Gaut, our team captain, took photos to memorialize the moment.
I stood with the tiller between my legs to feel our course rather than overthink it. It was lovely and sunny, humpbacks were spouting on the horizon, and we were cruising along at the same speed as the wind. After a half-hour, I decided that the spinnaker was my new favorite sail.
That is, until we had to jibe. In the middle of a shipping lane. While three other Race to Alaska teams were watching.
We promptly lost the lazy sheet under the keel, along with our pride. After a few (quietly) yelled questions, I retrieved the sodden rope while Katie took the tiller. This time, we put a stopper knot in it. Then we kept puttering north at jogging speed.
That is, until it got gusty at sunset, and we got nervous and doused it. Which meant the wind promptly died, of course. We gave up on sails and took turns pedaling the bike instead (it’s a contraption attached to our stern that turned an airplane propeller and moved us at 2 knots). Around 1 a.m., we finally made it to Tumbo Island, British Columbia, dropped anchor, crammed ourselves into our coffin berths in the damp cabin, and got four glorious hours of sleep.
Then we rinsed and repeated for 10 more days.
You might be thinking that the Race to Alaska sounds like your personal version of hell. It’s actually hell intermixed with pockets of pure heaven.
Unlike other races that are fraught with complex regulations, the Race to Alaska—or R2AK—is purposefully simple. There are no motors. No outside support. The Northwest Maritime Center first hatched the race in 2015 with this well-thought-out plan: “We’re going to nail $10,000 to a tree, blow a horn, and whoever gets there first, gets it,” says Jesse Wiegel, the center’s race boss.
Second prize? A set of steak knives. This tongue-in-cheek reward, Wiegel says, drives home the point that people choose to compete in this maritime endurance event for plenty of reasons that are more valuable than cash. Or cutlery.
Taylor Bayly/Courtesy R2AK
For me, those reasons were threefold. I wanted to prove to myself that I could sail offshore without my husband, who had recently decided that he wanted a break from boats. I wanted to inject some adrenaline into my domestic life, and to show my two young kids that their mother does (way) more than their dishes and laundry. I wanted to become part of the inspiring, adventure-prioritizing, 800-person-strong R2AK community.
Oh, and I wanted to see a lot of whales.
Even though the coveted steak knives would look lovely beside my set from Goodwill, our team had no desire to win them. Our goal was simply to finish the race in one piece, hopefully still friends at the end, and to suffer as cheerfully as possible along the route.
Navigating the mind-bending logistics to get to the starting line was the hardest part. Once our threesome decided to enter, 10 months prior to the race, we began calling and texting one another approximately 128 times per day to iron out details: What boat should we buy? How do we get said boat back from Ketchikan after the race? What will we eat for five to 25 days at sea without a kitchen or refrigeration? Where will we pee without a head? How much drinking water should we bring, and where will we store it? How will we keep our sleeping bags, socks, gloves, and other sundries dry amid a constant deluge of rain and sea spray?
Answers to those questions: We bought Wild Card, a 1976 racing boat with a turquoise hull that had previously completed the R2AK and was a minor celebrity in the Pacific Northwest racing community. We found a brave volunteer to sail Wild Card back from Ketchikan to Bellingham, and would ship the outboard up on the ferry for him. We would eat dehydrated meals donated by Backpacker’s Pantry, and oodles of snacks such as jerky, chocolate and nuts. We would pee in a bucket and dump it overboard. We would bring 28 gallons of water in four jugs. And we would pray fervently that oversize plastic bags and good luck would keep our gear sort of dry.
Amy Arntson
But first, we had to see if our application would pass the race committee’s muster. The R2AK’s laissez-faire attitude on rules doesn’t extend to letting just anyone compete.
“The vetting process is something we take really seriously,” Wiegel says. “It ultimately boils down to: Do you have what it takes to keep yourself from getting killed? Do you have the judgment to make good calls, even if it’s sometimes going to be the call to quit?”
Our team definitely took the “keep yourself from getting killed” part seriously. We’re mothers, after all. We borrowed a life raft, installed personal locator beacons and lights on our life jackets, mounted a SailProof tablet in the cockpit to navigate easily in all conditions, attached an AIS transmitter so that cargo and cruise ships would see our tiny boat in big seas, and practiced a lot of woman-overboard drills. We had extra pedals, extra tools, backup navigation lights, backup batteries to charge them, and a medical kit that could outfit a small village.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t worry. After sailing more than 10,000 miles across various oceans, I know that stuff goes sideways. Like that time a decade ago when I had to dive overboard in a shipping lane to pull bull kelp out of the engine’s intake while the boat spiraled in a whirlpool amid pea-soup fog. Or the time our mainsail ripped while my family was sailing closehauled in a motorless Sea Pearl in the Bahamas (with me four months pregnant and our 3-year-old napping in the cockpit). That time, we managed a controlled shipwreck on a sliver of sand amid sharp coral to avoid getting sucked out to sea. And don’t get me started on all the times our engine has died, the electrical system has fritzed, or a line has jammed at the worst possible moment—usually right around 2 a.m. in a squall.
When things get hairy, I’ve learned to deal calmly. To think carefully about potential next steps. To rely on the skills of the friends or family beside me. And, most important, to pull the plug if our combined skills are no match for the problem at hand. Our team motto for getting to Ketchikan was easy to agree upon: “Push ourselves, but be safe and have fun.”
Of course, fun is relative on the R2AK. My first time flying the spinnaker was a perfect example of that: Wait five minutes, and the weather will change. Wait another five minutes, and your sky-high confidence will plummet to the seafloor. We faced big winds and opposing tides. We beat for hours and hours (and hours) up Johnstone Strait in 25 to 30 knots of wind—which was, in all honesty, harder than childbirth. We accidentally jibed in the middle of the night way, way too close to a rock in the roily waters of Hecate Strait while careening down 6-foot swells. We ran out of water in the Dixon Entrance and were too tired to eat after sailing 40 hours straight to the finish line. And we changed headsails 7,458 times, give or take.
Shelley Lipke/Courtesy R2AK
But we also saw orcas at sunset and bioluminescence under a full moon. We hobbyhorsed happily over the whitecapped swells on an easy reach all the way across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. We laughed a lot more than we cried. And by the end, we flew that beautiful black spinnaker like it was second nature.
On Day 9, we decided to head offshore in hopes of riding steadier south winds the last 140 miles to Alaska. We also, it turns out, got surprisingly competitive at the end. A handful of teams had been leapfrogging us the last half of the course, and we knew that we could beat them if we took the open-ocean route instead of the winding inside channels.
But keeping pace with those teams also boosted our morale along the way, especially our daily VHF radio chats with soloist Adam Cove on Team Wicked Wily Wildcat.
“One of my biggest wins from this race was the level of camaraderie,” says Cove, who snagged two R2AK records this year: fastest singlehanded monohull and fastest monohull under 20 feet. “It’s nice to know that if something goes wrong, we’ve got one another’s backs.”
As an avid offshore and coastal racer on the East Coast, Cove said that the R2AK was the most challenging race he’s ever done. The captain of this year’s first-place winner, Duncan Gladman of Team Malolo, agrees.
“The R2AK has every difficult element,” Gladman says. “You’re constantly navigating. The weather is constantly shifting. And it just gets harder the farther up the course you get.”
Gladman is well-versed in the unpredictable nature of the R2AK. He attempted the race aboard the same trimaran twice before, only to be crushed (literally) by logs. The third time was the charm: His team finished in five days this past June.
On Day 10 of our voyage, we saw the light at the end of the tunnel—or, in this case, the narrow channel that was our exit for Ketchikan. Dall’s porpoises ushered us through the last rolling swells of the Dixon Entrance. Even in my disheveled, hangry-zombie state, it still took all of my willpower not to push the tiller to starboard and head south to Hawaii. I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to the rhythm of our days aboard. But we held our course, enticed by hot showers, a real toilet, dry beds and the warm welcome awaiting us.
When we rang the bell at the finish line at 1:03 a.m., the dock was brimming full of fellow racers and well-wishers. I cried happy tears and hugged my teammates.
And then I promptly started planning my next sailing adventure.
Fear the Grim Sweeper
The R2AK committee isn’t playing around. It’s a race, not a leisurely stroll. The trusty sweep boat, affectionately dubbed the “Grim Sweeper,” is on the move as soon as the first racer reaches Ketchikan, or by June 21, whichever comes later. From Port Townsend, it cruises north at about 75 miles a day. If you see it heading your way, you’re out of the race. They’ll collect your tracking device and say hi, but don’t expect a free ride to Ketchikan. They can help you figure out your next steps though. —CW staff
HONOLULU (KHON2) — It’s the biggest milestone yet in the Hawaiian Airlines merger with Alaska Airlines.
Starting Wednesday, April 22, Hawaiian Airlines and Alaska will operate as one, powered by a single passenger reservation system, essentially the technology behind your entire travel experience.
“The system that connects all of the programs that our guests use, things like our websites, our app, our Atmos rewards program, our Huaka’i program, all of those systems, including employee tools, will be updated as of tomorrow to a more modern single passenger service system that will allow a more stream streamlined and seamless guest experience for all those that are traveling on either Alaska or Hawaiian that will allow a more stream streamlined and seamless guest experience for all those that are traveling on either Alaska or Hawaiian,” said Alisa Onishi, Hawaiian Airlines Marketing Manager.
By midnight tonight, the Hawaiian app goes dark, replaced by a new combined Alaska-Hawaiian platform, marking a major shift in how you book and manage your flights.
“If you download our new single Alaska-Hawaiian app, you’ll be able to manage your bookings all in one place, make changes, cancellations and a lot more self-service features that our guests have been asking us for for quite some time now that you couldn’t do on the old app,” said Onishi.
Behind the scenes, this moment has been three years in the making. Alaska announced its $1.9 billion acquisition back in 2023, with approvals and integration steps unfolding through 2024 and 2025.
At the airport, much will look the same, but the process is getting an upgrade. Travelers are encouraged to check in ahead of time, using the new app, then use updated bag tag stations to print tags and drop bags faster.
“You scan your boarding pass, prints out the bag tags. You can pay or prepay online or pay at the stations and then drop your bag, so you’ll get through the airport a lot quicker,” said Onishi.
Airline officials said the goal is a more seamless, self-service experience, something customers have been asking for.
Still, not everyone is convinced.
“Even today, when I was trying to get my boarding passes, there was a Hawaiian-Alaskan app that I went to, and then it referred me back to the Hawaiian app. So I didn’t know what application I was supposed to be using, but ultimately, it worked out to a point,” said Ethan Christensen, who was standing in line at customer service to confirm his flight for tomorrow. “But yeah, we’ll see. Hopefully, it gets better. I mean, I know these things take time, especially when you’re kind of merging two big things like this, but the outlook is positive for me because I know it’s a good airline. Hopefully it stays that way.”
The call centers are not going away, and customer service desks will remain at the airports for those who need one-on-one help.
Airline leaders acknowledge the transition so far hasn’t been perfect, but said this milestone is meant to fix many of those issues.
The state agency leading some of Alaska’s most polarizing development projects has approved a new communications budget, saying it needs to do a better job telling its own story amid attacks from critics.
The state-owned Alaska Industrial Development and Export Authority is run by a former chief of staff to Gov. Mike Dunleavy and is charged with promoting economic growth and expanding natural resource extraction and exports.
It is leading work to develop state-owned oil leases in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and also hopes to build two controversial new roads to access mining prospects in Northwest Alaska and outside of Anchorage.
Those projects have drawn sharp opposition from conservation organizations and other critics, including lawsuits, critical op-eds and campaigns that have labeled the agency “Bad AIDEA” and caricatured its leaders.
At a meeting in Ketchikan this month, board members, with no public discussion, authorized AIDEA’s staff to spend up to $700,000 a year on a new communications budget — formalizing a plan that the agency says was previously budgeted inconsistently through spending on individual projects.
The new communications plan, the agency said in its formal resolution authorizing the spending, will “ensure proper public engagement, transparency, and stewardship of the authority’s mission.” The money could go toward trade shows and conferences, responding to media inquiries and “other communications-related needs,” according to the resolution.
The agency’s executive director, Randy Ruaro, referred questions about the plan to Dave Stieren, an AIDEA employee who ran an advertising agency and hosted a conservative talk radio show before joining the Dunleavy administration.
Stieren said he could not provide exact figures on AIDEA’s past communications spending, but he acknowledged that the new plan should allow the agency to meaningfully boost its public profile.
The $700,000 a year, he added, is a limit, and the agency will set a final budget through a request for proposals process.
“Mothership AIDEA has done, frankly, little to nothing on a consistent basis to tell our story,” Stieren said in an email — particularly when it comes to its loan programs that have helped finance tourism and hospitality businesses, like the Alaska Club fitness chain and Anchorage’s Bear Tooth pizza restaurant and theater.
“We’re far more than roads,” Stieren said. “But since we’ve really not promoted or showcased our efforts in traditional finance areas, I understand the narrative or lack thereof that folks may have.”
Stieren has also personally defended AIDEA on social media, including over the weekend — when he posted a conservative news website’s positive story about an agency-owned shipyard and said that “when commie libs attack AIDEA, they attack projects like this.”
AIDEA’s board chair, Bill Kendig, declined to answer questions about approval of the new communications budget when reached by phone.
At the Ketchikan meeting, one AIDEA critic, Melis Coady, credited the agency with formalizing communications spending as a “step toward accountability.” But she said that the plan doesn’t “deliver the transparency it describes” because it gives Ruaro, the executive director, authority to approve communications spending, and only requires that he report it to the board if asked.
“The authorization is broad, the dollar amount is undefined, and expenditures are approved solely by the executive director,” said Coady, who leads a conservation group called the Susitna River Coalition.
Ruaro, in an email, said AIDEA will issue reports on communications to board members “whether requested or not.”
Nathaniel Herz is an Anchorage-based reporter. Subscribe to his newsletter, Northern Journal, at northernjournal.com.
In exchange for living in what is perhaps the country’s most beautiful state, Alaskans sometimes have to do without: professional sports teams, Trader Joe’s and, well, sunlight for half the year. But we make up for it with the Iditarod, reindeer sausages and chasing the aurora borealis. In other words, we often have to make our own fun. And by “fun” I mean “beer.” Those words are interchangeable, right?
Beer is a big part of life for Alaskans. We hike with it, camp with it, boat with it, cook with it and pair it with foods like the stuffiest of sommeliers. We throw it monthly birthday parties like the First Tap events at Broken Tooth Brewing Co. (otherwise known as Bear Tooth Theatrepub and Moose’s Tooth Pub & Pizzeria), complete with national musical acts like Modest Mouse, Clinton Fearon, and Norah Jones. We even occasionally do yoga with it (at downtown’s Williwaw Social). In other words, we take it everywhere and we take it seriously.
Beers from the state’s biggest brewery, Alaskan Brewing Co. based in Juneau, might already be in your refrigerator if you live in one of the 25 states where it’s available. Established in 1986 by Marcy and Geoff Larson, it was the 67th independent brewery to open in the country. With a steady line of signature brews, including their most recent “Wildness” beer, it’s the most well-established of all the state’s breweries. Expect seasonal specialties that incorporate ingredients like cranberries, raspberries, locally roasted coffee, locally grown white wheat from the Matanuska-Susitna area and even Alaska spruce tips. Ubiquitous around Alaska, this is our Papa Beer, if you will (I’ll show myself out).
But Alaskan Brewing is just one out of the more-than 50 breweries, distilleries, meaderies and cideries in the state (for an excellent list visit brewersguildofalaska.org). And while almost half of them are in Anchorage or within a short drive of our state’s largest city (including the relatively populous communities of Girdwood, Eagle River, Palmer and Wasilla), some of our most remote ports of call and tiniest towns are also in on the brewing action (I’m looking at you, Cooper Landing Brewing Company in Cooper Landing, population 231).
The ever-expanding Denali Brewing Co. in Talkeetna (population 997) may be a small-town hero, but it’s anything but small. Their four signature beers — Mother Ale, Chuli Stout, Single Engine Red and the ever-popular Twister Creek IPA, as well seasonal brews like Slow Down Brown and Flag Stop Milepost #3 — are year-round mainstays of summer barbecues and winter bonfires around the state.
This brewery is also home to the more recently established Alaska Cider Works, Alaska Meadery (featuring “Razzery,” a mead made with raspberries, sour cherries and apples) and Denali Spirits (featuring vodka, gin, whiskey, and “smoke” whiskey), because when you’ve fermented one, why not ferment them all?
(Denali Spirits’ canned cocktails, especially their blueberry mojito, have been so popular in Anchorage that at one time there was a Facebook page largely dedicated to tracking them down. Luckily, supply has since caught up with demand.)
Some breweries are even more remote. Ports of call and island hopping here can be one way to get your fill of hops. Breweries can be found in Ketchikan (Bawden Street Brewing Co.), Kodiak (Kodiak Island Brewing & Still, Double Shovel Kodiak Cidery, and Olds River Inn), Homer (Homer Brewing Co. and Grace Ridge Brewing Co. for beer, and you can also check out Sweetgale Meadworks & Cider House for hard cider and locally sourced meads featuring ingredients like nagoonberry), Sitka (Harbor Mountain Brewing), Seward (Seward Brewing Co. and Stoney Creek Brewhouse), Valdez (Valdez Brewing and Growler Bay Brewing), and Skagway (Klondike Brewing Co. and Skagway Brewing Co.).
Of course, many trips to Alaska begin and end in Anchorage. And if, during your travels, you’ve foolishly left some beers untasted, you can make up for lost time in our state’s biggest city which boasts — let’s face it — a ridiculous number of exceptional craft breweries.
Downtown’s Glacier Brewhouse specializes in oak-aged English and American West Coast-style beers, 13 of them, from blondes to stouts. Beneath the floor of the Brewhouse is a “Wall of Wood” comprised of casks of special release beers that are conditioned in oak barrels once used to age wine and bourbon. The history of the oak imparts “mother tongue” flavor characteristics, like vanilla and coconut, into these limited edition brews. Opt for one of these unique beers or choose from their flagship choices like raspberry wheat, oatmeal stout, imperial blonde, Bavarian hefeweizen or a flight that includes them all.
Down the street is 49th State Brewing Co., which expanded into Anchorage from its original location in Healy, at the edge of Denali National Park and Preserve. If you are unable to visit their flagship location, where you can sip beer while playing bocce or horseshoes on the lawn, you can catch up with them here. There’s a unique selection that includes beers like Smok, a smoked lager, as well as seasonal offerings like the Tiger’s Blood Sour, an homage to shave ice described as ”ferociously fruity.” Or there’s “Apple Fritter Ale,” with hints of cinnamon, icing, caramel, and vanilla. This location also boasts some of the best views in Anchorage and an expansive outdoor rooftop patio.
Just about all of the full-service restaurants in downtown Anchorage proudly feature some variety of Alaskan beers. In the heart of downtown, Humpy’s Great Alaskan Alehouse prides itself on a huge selection of beers, both international and local. Tent City Taphouse offers a diverse and carefully curated list of 24 rotating local brews, including their house beer, Tent City Tangerine IPA brewed by Glacier Brewhouse. Tent City regularly hosts “Taste of the North” beer dinners featuring Alaskan brewers. One, in collaboration with Grace Ridge Brewing Company, featured smoked salmon canapes with Black Pepper IPA, classic beef Wellington with an Oystercatcher stout and roasted honey lamb chops with a Winter Cranberry Ale.
If you have transportation around the city, treat yourself to a brewery tasting-room tour. Found in unassuming little side streets in the more industrial areas of Anchorage, some of our best beers can be sipped and savored at the source. Finding these funky little spots can feel like being invited to a secret party. And it’s a glimpse into Anchorage’s most authentic beer culture.
In midtown, Onsite Brewing Co. has unique, small-batch brews in a funky relaxed environment. Further south, King Street Brewing Co., Turnagain Brewing, Cynosure Brewing, Magnetic North Brewing Company, Brewerks, and one of our newest, Ship Creek Brewing Company are all within a stone’s throw of one another. If you’re lucky, you might run into one of Anchorage’s popular food trucks parked outside, so you’ll have something to wash down with your flights. Depending on the day, you might find reindeer sausages, pad Thai, cheesesteaks or pupusas. On the weekends, Anchorage Brewing Company features a top-notch in-house pop-up restaurant, called Familia, with a rotating menu featuring local Alaskan ingredients.
One of the newest and furthest south breweries, while still in the Anchorage bowl, is Raven’s Ring Brewing Company, which is a brewery/winery and meadery. From a traditional IPA to a Concorde grape wine called Grape Juice to a rotating Vintner’s pour like Sweet Peach Jalapeno mead, this ambitious operation is challenging the notion that you can’t please everyone.
Other Anchorage points of interest for non-hoppy but still home-grown adult beverages include Anchorage Distillery, Zip Kombucha, Double Shovel Cidery and Hive Mind Meadery.
If your travels are over and you still haven’t had your fill, check out the Silver Gulch Brewing & Bottling Co. inside Terminal C at the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport on your way out of town. An offshoot of the flagship Silver Gulch brewery in Fox, Alaska (about 10 miles north of Fairbanks), this location has a bar and restaurant, and a retail shop carrying growlers of their own brews as well as those of other Alaskan brewers and distillers. Last-minute souvenir shopping never tasted so good.
Before you start your great Northern beer safari, bear in mind that tasting rooms often have limited and varying hours, so always double-check before planning a visit.
Whether your travels take you to fine-dining restaurants, low-key alehouses or even rustic cabins in the woods, make like an Alaskan and fuel your adventures with one of our beloved, home-grown brews. When in Alaska, drink as the Alaskans do.
Mara Severin is a food writer who writes about restaurants in Southcentral Alaska for the Anchorage Daily News.
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