Race to Alaska: Johnstone Strait

I’m laying on my stomach in the quarter berth, which is about fifteen degrees off level, slurping Backpacker’s Pantry chili mac out of the bag in absolute darkness. Outside, I can hear the howling of wind and water streaming against the hull. I have no idea what time it is, but my body is saying late.

It’s been a wild ride down Johnstone Strait. It was smooth, sunny sailing until Helmcken Island off of…