Photos by @renan_ozturk I'm on assignment with @m_synnott. We're taking his Stevens 47 from Maine to Alaska via the Northwest Passage. We're also working on a National Geographic story about the Franklin expedition that disappeared in the passage in the 1840s. Here's an update (in Mark's words). Taya, the yellow boat, was rafted up next to us. It come in the night before, the sound of metal crunching against rock as they motored over a shoal to reach a safe haven within this icy bay. The wind had finally died down and the sun was shining, so I decided to go ashore with a dinghy to stretch my legs. When I got back to the boat in the afternoon, chunks of ice were breaking apart all around us, sending mini tsunamis through the bay. The "boulder" where we sheltered for a day and a half now appeared ready to topple—and possibly crush the boats. There was nowhere to go, but we couldn't stay. Taya set off first, and our boat, the Polar Sun, followed. At first we were only looking for a new spot to tie up. But after muscling past two huge floes, it became clear that we had to free ourselves from Pasley Bay. A light wind suddenly created small leads along the shore. Where there had been a glacial wall of ice the night before, we found an opening. And then another. And another. At one point, the Polar Sun was so close to land I could have almost jumped off. Taya, which draws only three feet—meaning the depth of its lowest part in the water—was in front, radioing back the conditions. Two meters (six feet), the crew said. The Polar Sun draws six feet when it's not massively overloaded. I throttled up. If we hit the bottom, we'd somehow just have to power through. Renan was up front calling directions. An hour later, the Polar Sun and Taya were in open water. But the ice was not done with us yet. According to the most recent ice chart, it was closing back up. Through the binoculars, I saw another wall of ice ahead... Until next time. @expedition.studios #OnAssignment @natgeointhefield