The Race to Alaska is 750 cold water miles along some of the most beautiful coastline a sea kayaker could ask for. It is also some of the most challenging and exposed water you can paddle. Wearing Reed Chillcheater gear for the full crossing, I raced north for 21 days, from Port Townsend, Washington, across the Juan de Fuca Strait to Victoria, then on along Vancouver Island, through the Inside Passage and finally into Ketchikan, Alaska.
A distance like this is usually covered over around two months by paddlers exploring their way north at a relaxed pace. Racing it by sea kayak demands something else entirely.
From watching the race to taking the start line
In July 2024, I was glued to a computer screen, watching little dots move slowly northwards every day. Big trimarans, solo rowers and everything in between were racing the 2024 edition of the R2AK. I was in Australia at the time and could not really have been further away, not just geographically but in terms of the tidal conditions, landscape and weather you experience along the British Columbia coast. Some of the largest tidal exchanges in the world happen along this coastline.
In 2024, no human powered teams finished. Watching the race unfold created an ambition in me. I decided I wanted to race the R2AK as a soloist. Maybe canoe. Maybe kayak. That was still to be decided.
Fast forward to June 2026 and I was standing on the start line in a borrowed Rockpool Taran 18 sea kayak. I had managed to get six weeks of paddling time in Australia. While that sounds like a lot, it was only one or two sessions a week and only a few sessions in big conditions and messy water. Fortunately, the Taran 18 paddles exceptionally well when loaded. My first overnight camping trip before the race also proved the kayak was going to work for me.
Preparing for cold water sea kayaking with Reed Chillcheater
Coming from Sydney, I was exceptionally fortunate to be supported by Reed Chillcheater for my kayaking gear. I had their drysuit for a while but had never actually worn it. For this race, it was going to be essential equipment. I paired the Reed Chillcheater drysuit with Reed thermals, taking both thin and thick layers with me. I knew I would be spending huge amounts of time exposed to cold water, rain and wind, so keeping warm and dry was going to be critical. The last seven days of the R2AK involved paddling for 14 to 18 hours a day. Around 80% of the time it was pouring with rain and around 60% of the time it was also windy. Both on land and while paddling, I never took my thermals off.
When you are putting in those kinds of hours, there is very little time for stopping. There were no long lunches. All food and drink was consumed in the kayak as finding a good landing spot and getting in and out of my kayak took too long. Some of that distance was against the tide and, generally, I faced headwinds.
That is when good sea kayaking gear really starts to matter. When you are sitting in a kayak for 14 to 18 hours, day after day, you need your clothing system to work with you rather than against you.
The first half of the race
The race had two very different halves. Early on, the paddling followed a more populated coastline and, during the first week, it was actually too hot for my drysuit. Getting water from campsites or marinas and making tidal gates at the right times were the main logistics.
The group of human powered soloists and tandems in rowboats, kayaks and SUPs leapfrogged each other and often camped together, building a strong sense of community. We helped each other and pushed to see everyone finish. At this stage, around 50km a day was the goal.
Then everything changed.
Four days stuck at Cape Caution
The wind kept building through the second week. I reached Cape Caution with another paddler, Eric, racing a SUP called Apple Bottom Boy. Cape Caution is fully exposed to the Pacific and needs the right combination of tides and wind to cross. Instead, we got a four day gale.
Eric and I were stuck on a small beach at Indian Cove, with fresh water and a chance to catch up on sleep, but mentally it was hard to sit still knowing we needed to be making distance. Twice a day we were tied to the VHF, listening to weather reports from offshore buoys and lighthouses, waiting for a safe window to cross into Fitz Hugh Sound. The weather was completely dictating our progress.
The final push north
The delays meant the final week had to be tough. We needed at least 75km a day, ideally 80km, and as we raced further north it got colder and wetter. Coming from Australia, I was cold almost all the time.
I had packed thin and thick Reed thermals and a down jacket, and wore everything whether paddling or sleeping. The drysuit became a critical part of my sea kayaking gear, keeping rain and water out while the thermals handled the insulation. At this point, staying comfortable was not about comfort. It was about being able to keep going.
What does a typical day look like?
Nothing glamorous about a typical day on the Race to Alaska.
2am to 4am: Wake, pack the tent, move the bear proofed kayak from the beach line to the water. Paddle away by first light at the very latest.
4am to 9 or 10pm: Race north. Two or three short shore stops a day, five minutes or less, just for a bathroom break. Everything else, food, drink, snacks, endless tea, happened in the kayak.
9pm to midnight: Find a camp spot, check for bears, haul the kayak above the high water line. Cook a dehydrated meal, prep the next day's food and drinks, hang wet gear, put the tent up, sleep.
Then do it all again.
What the Race to Alaska taught me about sea kayaking
The Race to Alaska was an incredible test of endurance, but it was also a huge lesson in preparation. Sea kayaking in this environment is about far more than paddling. You are constantly reading weather, tides and water, managing your energy and equipment while covering huge distances every day.
Your sea kayaking gear becomes part of that equation. For me, a reliable Reed Chillcheater drysuit paired with thin and thick thermals meant I could keep paddling through cold, wet and windy conditions. The drysuit kept the water out, the thermals kept me warm, and together they gave me a clothing system I could trust when conditions were at their worst.
After 21 days, 750 cold water miles and an awful lot of tea, I reached Ketchikan as the first woman to finish the Race to Alaska in any type of craft, arriving by sea kayak.
Esther Wheeler - @wheelerest
© all photos taken by Apple Bottom Boy, Eric Strickler