A Summer Week Exploring Southern Cook Inlet

Arriving in Homer in mid-July felt like a significant milestone in our journey, an anchoring point on our odyssey that marked the furthest west we would sail upon the Alaskan mainland before setting our course toward Kodiak Island. Nestled at the  transition point from South Central to Southwest Alaska, Homer is the hinge between the familiar coastlines of the Kenai and the more remote and wild western reaches of the state.

A Home Near Halibut Cove, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — A Home Near Halibut Cove, Kachemak Bay

Before reaching Homer, we paused in the hidden harbor of Seldovia, a place so quietly tucked into the coastline. Accessible only by boat or plane and home to a close-knit population of around 174, it seemed to drift at its own unhurried pace. We docked for the night and strolled its famous boardwalk, which hovers over the Seldovia Slough and is just barely wide enough for a single car to pass and is lined with charming local shops. The town brims with endearing details, from whimsically painted fire hydrants to a small army of life-size wood carvings standing along the streets. Once home to a Chainsaw Carving Festival, its legacy lingers in these sculptures, though the event, we learned, has remained dormant since the pandemic. We set out along the fondly named "Otterbahn" trail, winding through damp, mossy rainforest to a rocky outcrop at Otter Point, where the sea spoke in hushed tones. The town itself buzzed with excitement for an impending wedding, and nearly everyone we met asked if we were guests. It was the kind of place where a single celebration ripples through every corner.

Seldovia Slough, Seldovia, Alaska — Seldovia Slough

Buildings on the Seldovia Boardwalk, Seldovia, Alaska — Seldovia Boardwalk

The Homer Spit, a slender finger of earth reaching 4.5 miles into the glittering waters of Kachemak Bay, tells a story written by ice. Formed some 15,000 years ago as a terminal moraine from the great retreat of Pleistocene glaciers, it stands today as both a geological marvel and a lively harbor. Though the Spit hums with the energy of tourism – souvenir stalls, charter boats, and cheeky signs from fish processors like "Buttwackers" (a playful nod to the area's reputation as a halibut fishing haven) –it possesses a charm that defies kitsch. Among the unexpected treasures was Carmen’s Gelato, the most spectacular frozen treat we’ve yet found on this journey with creamy, dreamlike scoops, each bite tasting of summer’s indulgence. The Salty Dog Saloon, walls lined with fluttering dollar bills, offered a frontier-style revelry that felt both timeless and unapologetically Alaskan. We found ourselves captivated by the rich views of the Kenai Mountains across the bay, their summits often swathed in mist or gilded by the afternoon sun.

Homer Harbor with views of the Kenai Mountains

Venturing into the town of Homer, we enjoyed visiting a few local eating establishments such as The Twisted Goat and Sweetgale Meadworks & Cider House. During our visit, the air was perfumed with the delicate bloom of peonies, their heads nodding in the breeze like old friends greeting me as we passed them on the side of the road. It stirred something personal. After over a decade photographing weddings, I’d framed these blushing blossoms by the hundreds in countless flower arrangements. Many of the peonies grown for the wedding industry were harvested in Homer for Florabundance Inc., a supplier I worked with closely from my life behind the lens… It felt tenderly full-circle.

Friends from Girdwood, Alaska joined us for a couple days, eager to try their hand at dipnetting, a traditional method of salmon fishing reserved for Alaskan residents. Picture a fishing net enlarged: a wide hoop with an extra-long handle, designed to scoop salmon directly from the river. Along with a local Homer companion, we crossed the bay to China Poot, where the bay lured us to a river, which we hiked up donning waders and laughter alike. Five humans, one spirited puppy, and a waterfall for company.

We quickly found salmon in abundance, but also learned that those lingering in the shallows were farther along in their spawning process, making them discolored, soft, and less desirable to eat. The bright, healthy fish gathered in deeper pools, where the water ran swift and cold. Waist-deep in the river, just shy of flooding our waders, we braced ourselves in the eddies of submerged rocks. With nets held parallel to the current, we took turns plunging them into the flow, then twisting them perpendicular to scoop the salmon thrashing at the surface. Each successful catch was walked to shore, where the next person stepped in. Once landed, the fish were dispatched with a swift blow from a wooden bat – gruesome, chaotic, and mesmerizing to the puppy, who observed with great fascination. We clipped the fins of each salmon to mark them for personal use, a legal requirement of the fishery.

Dip Netting at China Poot River near Homer, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — Dip Netting at China Poot River

Within 45 minutes, we’d netted thirty gleaming fish. In one dramatic sweep, Louie caught six large salmon at once. As he took them to shore, the net strained, and he nearly lost his footing as the river pulled with the force of their collective will. Swept a few feet downstream, he regained control and landed every one, his waders flooded nonetheless.Then came the pack-out: our backpacks dripped with blood and fish slime, one so full that salmon tails stuck out from the zipper. We scrambled over the boulder-strewn riverbed, Louie bounding from rock to rock like it was his natural terrain, in his element. At the raft, we transferred our haul into a cooler, and jet-boated back across the bay to Homer.

But the work wasn’t over: At Homer’s fish processing station – a covered, open-air pavilion near the harbor with fenced sides to deter gulls – we joined other locals and visitors alike. Two 40-foot tables lined with freshwater hoses stood ready. Our rubber boots gently splashing through puddles of fish blood on the paved and well draining floor, we pushed in our heavy cooler on a wheelbarrow and laid the fish out. Fillet knives in hand, we gutted and sliced, each of us claiming a task as seagulls circled hungrily. Behind the building, large trailers were staged for dumping fish waste. By evening, the harbor officer hauled them off, trailed by a riotous cloud of birds seeking their feast. With our twelve-fish share packed away, we returned to our sailboat,  where we proceeded to vacuum-seal and freeze pressure-cook and jar our salmon filets, as our catch was to last us far into future adventures.

Trail to Grewingk Glacier, near Homer, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — Trail tO Grewingk Glacier

We spent a few days under a sapphire sky across the bay exploring the base of the Kenai Mountains. Hiking to Grewingk Glacier, the trail opened onto a glacial lake, luminous and still, scattered with icebergs that bobbed like ancient sculptures. We lay on the sun-warmed rocks and basked in the quiet, our reflections shimmering beside those of jagged peaks. That evening, we marked our one-month wedding anniversary with a meal at The Saltry Restaurant in Halibut Cove, an elegant outpost perched on stilts and accessible only by sea. While we predominantly prepare meals aboard our boat (with Louie at the helm of our galley, concocting flavors that rival any restaurant), this meal felt quite special — a celebration not just of love, but of place.

Grewingk Glacier near Homer, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — Grewingk Glacier

The Saltry Restaurant, Halibut Cove, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — Lerina & Louie’s Anniversary Dinner at The Saltry Restaurant

View from The Saltry Restaurant, Halibut Cove, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — Halibut Cove, Kachemak Bay

Kachemak Bay surprised us. Remote as it felt, many of its shores were peppered with refined homes, water taxis darting between coves and islands with rhythmic grace. We ventured to Tutka Bay, where the world seemed to exhale in stillness. There, we hiked the steep and winding path to Grace Ridge, the trail lifting us swiftly from sea to alpine, where wildflowers danced on the wind and the world below looked carved in emerald and snow. The view was dizzying with verdant hills unrolling into glacial peaks, snow clinging to their spines like a final breath of winter. The angle of the August sun cast long golden streaks across the bay, and that evening, as we watched one of the most beautiful sunsets of our journey ignite the water in hues of fire and rose.At the trailhead, a few scattered yurts stood quietly among the trees. They seemed a wonderful option for others, an invitation to linger longer, imagining a friend’s retreat or a writer’s solitude under northern lights.

View of Tutuka Bay from Grace Ridge Trail near Homer, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — View of Tutuka Bay from Grace Ridge Trail

View of the Kenai Mountains from Grace Ridge Trail near Homer, Kachemak Bay, Alaska — View of the Kenai Mountains from Grace Ridge Trail

We soon prepared to set off for Kodiak. As we slipped away from Homer’s embrace, two sentinels watched us go, Mount Augustine and Mount Iliamna, volcanic giants rising from the sea. Augustine had once been a possible stop on our route, but we chose to sail past. Yet its silhouette haunted the horizon all week, a siren song of lava and solitude. In the end, we left it untouched, a wild shore still waiting.