When Dave
and I started talking about a trip for 2007 we didn’t have approved time off
from our jobs.
We didn’t
have a route.
We didn’t
have a plan, really.
We were
inspired to get back to the coast and do something a little more ambitious than
we had done before.
The 2005
trip introduced me to the area and convinced me that I had to return again and
again and again until I could say that I had paddled the West Coast of Canada.
Bumping into Keith Webb at the conclusion of that trip in the bar at Shearwater
was amazing fortune as he introduced us to the legend of Kayak Bill and planted
some seeds for this trip. His on-line article for Sea Kayaker Magazine
fertilized those seeds. We walked into that bar motivated by pizza and beer and
walked out inspired by the legend of a dead man. If you are unfamiliar
with Kayak Bill read Keith's excellent online article here: http://www.seakayakermag.com/2005/Oct05/KayakBillReq.htm
John
Kimantas, a Canadian author and sea kayaker, had quietly released a book
called "the Wild Coast" which covers kayaking the
west coast of Vancouver Island. When I received the book for Christmas I hadn’t
seen or heard of it before. What a surprise. Detailed routes, great photos,
good natural history. Dave and I were inspired to start planning our next trip.
Work kept
me close to home in 2006 so I wasn’t able to travel but Dave did go back to the
Central Coast and spent a rainy week at Cultus Sound with Larry and Connie
Longrie. During that time John Kimantas released the Wild Coast 2 which covers
the coast from the north end of Vancouver Island to Prince Rupert. John’s
descriptions of campsites that Dave and I had stayed at were spot-on and gave
us confidence in using the Wild Coast 2 as a planning tool for the 2007 trip.
We wanted to spend as much time as possible “outside” and finding information
on the Outside Passage was not as easy as the Inside Passage. The Wild Coast 2
filled in lots of blanks.
Dave and
I both wanted to explore the area between Banks Island and Milbanke Sound but
recognized that we were challenged by logistics. We needed to try to fit our
trip into a two week window if we were going to persuade a third person to join
us. We felt that we needed a third partner to share this trip with and, as you
know, finding the perfect adventure travel companion is tough. We wanted the
safety and strength that a skilled and level-headed partner would provide.
I knew
Greg Polkinghorn a bit from work and had paddled with him a few times. I knew
that he was stronger than most paddlers had reason to be and had more
experience on kayaking trips than I had. Smart guy, strong, no hidden agenda. I
had shown him photos of the Bella Bella trip and knew that he was interested
but he had lots of competing priorities. I threw it out there to see if he
would consider it and to our delight Greg signed on!
Dave, the
best qualified to design a trip plan assigned the task to me. Not sure why he
did that but I shared my ideas with Keith Webb and John Kimantas. Keith was
very generous and spent time on-line and on the phone candidly discussing his
experiences and learnings chasing “Kayak Bill”. He also shared copies of Bill’s
charts along with GPS coordinates of campsites that worked and didn’t work at
spring tide levels. John Kimantas encouraged me where I wavered, confirmed the
validity of some thoughts and suggested that I re-examine my plan where it
didn’t pencil out for him. Eventually I submitted a plan to Dave who did the
preliminary chart work and made a few suggestions. That plan, for the most part
stuck and that was what we showed to Greg. Nothing extreme or crazy. Bigger
crossings than I had done before. Reasonable exposure with bailouts. Three
Kayak Bill campsites with the possibility of more. Maybe see a white bear.
Ton’s of new territory. A bit of time in familiar haunts. Sounded like a great
trip.
In the
wee hours of July 14 Dave Resler, Greg Polkinghorn and I piled into the truck
and traveled north arriving in Port Hardy, BC that afternoon. Port Hardy is
close to the northern tip of Vancouver Island. In Port Hardy we
would board the Discovery Coast Ferry and sail north through the night arriving
at Klemtu, BC at 2:15PM on Sunday, July 15. As the eagle flies Klemtu is about
440 miles NW of Seattle. From there a route was planned that would allow us to
catch the return ferry from Shearwater, BC in two weeks, however, we knew that
weather would dictate how much of that route we would actually achieve. Our
route allowed us several “outs” which provided security in inclement weather
while allowing us to catch that boat home.
Map from Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
We
planned to leave Klemtu as soon as we could pack our boats (4:30PM-ish),
traveling north up Tolmie Channel against an opposing ebb tide. That meant a
tough 6 miles uphill to the northern extremity of Swindle Island where we would
hang a left into Meyers Passage and catch the ebb current flowing towards
Laredo Sound. Meyers Passage separates Princess Royal and Swindle Islands and
bears south another 6 miles or so to a sharp westward bend. That bend is forced
by Saunders Point, the southern-most extremity of Princess Royal Island. We
expected to find our first campsite at the outside of that bend, about 10.5 NM from
put-in at Klemtu.
The next
morning we planned to paddle west out of Meyers Passage for a short 7.7 NM to
Milne Island near the north end of Laredo Sound, a body of water about as wide
as Puget Sound and open to the south. Milne would provide a good campsite above
high tide and offer an excellent springboard for our next day’s destination.
Weather
permitting we would paddle northwest up Laredo Channel to one of the best
preserved First Nations cultural sites on the coast. Disju holds the remains of
a Kitasoo longhouse that was in active use 400 years ago. The Kitasoo Xai’xais
inhabited this coast 10,000 years ago and their pictographs, rock art and
middens document their presence in the area thousands of years before Christ.
Traveling
south down Laredo Sound we would enter Higgins Passage which separates Swindle
and Price Island and bears east to Milbanke Sound. Cultural sites exist there,
both aboriginal and European, and somewhere in that area we planned to spend
the night.
An early
crossing of Milbanke Sound would be advised as it is a sizeable body of water
open to the south and we wanted to travel 14 – 15NM to Dallas Island at the
entrance of Jackson Passage between Dowager and Lady Douglas Islands. Noted as
a great campsite by all who have stayed there it offers comfort in weather and
access to sheltered routes should weather dictate. This site holds one of Kayak
Bill’s camps where we expected to spend the night. There are many references to
Kayak Bill in the Trip Log and I have included an article written by Keith Webb
who met and studied Bill and his exploits.
Map from Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
South of
Bardswell Group is the McMullin Group, a cluster of small islands that are
remote enough to discourage the casual paddler and always described by visitors
in glowing terms. Dave had been here before and knows the area. We planned to
spend a night.
South of
McMullin is the Goose Group, much larger and more remote, Goose sees a limited
number of kayakers and offers great campsites with an inexhaustible store of
firewood. I saw Goose as a thin horizontal line off shore two years ago and
swore to visit someday.
Traveling
east now we expected to cross Queens Sound early in the morning before the wind
built. In 9.5NM we would end up at Cultus Sound on Hunter Island, a beach where
I have spent a few wonderful nights.
This
would leave us two days to travel north to Shearwater where we would catch our
ferry back to civilization. It’s just 20-some NM from Cultus to the ferry but
if we took our time there is a wonderful campsite just 8NM away at a tiny
island off Soulsby Point. We call it Shell Beach and it was our first campsite
traveling south 2 years ago from Bella Bella. It’s fabulous but may seem
mundane at the end of trip filled with great beaches.
We would
be back in Port Hardy on the morning of the 28th. From the time we sailed north
until we arrived at PH there would be no cell coverage but we were carrying
marine radios.
Seattle to Port Hardy
7/14, Saturday, Day 1
Overcast with Clearing at times
Greg
showed up a bit before 2:00 AM while Dave arrived exactly on the appointed
hour. Nice to be traveling with folks who are punctual. We loaded up, I kissed
Jean and Koda and hit the road headed north with Greg wedged in the “backseat”
of my truck. Other than missing the Nanaimo ferry by four cars there was nothing
extraordinary to report. The drive from Nanaimo to Port Hardy was, likewise,
unremarkable and including our stop in Campbell River for fishing licenses took
about five hours to complete.
Greg and Dave on Nanaimo
Ferry
We did
have a great meal at a restaurant in Port Hardy whose name escapes me at the moment but
if you are traveling that way and want a reference I can give you directions.
Once on
board we spread our gear in the solarium and awaited departure. At 9:30 PM the
“Queen of Chilliwack” blew her horn and we left the dock for our nighttime trip
to the Central Coast.
We wasted
little time settling in for sleep as the drive had been tiring and tomorrow
promised to be a long, hard day.
Dave
Greg
Jon
Greg Polkinghorn
Port Hardy to Klemtu
July 15, Sunday, Day 2
July 15, Sunday, Day 2
Mostly overcast with clearing at times, light and variable winds
We awoke
to the stunning scenery of Fitz Hugh Sound. As the sun rose the visuals
intensified and were punctuated by a pod of porpoises that pursued the ferry,
jumping and dashing around the boat, surfing our wake and generally having a
great time. Dave pointed out a Humpback Whale about 100 yards from the ferry
traveling in the same direction and close to the same speed as the pod.
Eventually it sounded and we watched it’s great tail slip beneath the surface.
Morning on Fitz Hugh Sound
The ferry
stopped in McLoughlin Bay, where we had started our trip two years ago, and
again in nearby Shearwater. During this stop we met Ned and Nan from Sedro
Wooley, a couple who have been exploring this coast for many years. Our routes
were similar and their knowledge of the area vast. They showed us where to find
good water and which sources to avoid. They knew where campsites existed that
we weren’t aware of and what tides they would survive. Nan carried those
numbers around in her head and could spit out what level flood covered which
campsite. In their relationship that was clearly a responsibility that she had
assumed. Ned would suggest a campsite and say “Hon, what tide will that that
one tolerate?” She would quickly respond, “It will take a 16.2 maybe a 16.4
depending on wind and barometric”. When they learned about our plans to paddle
Gale Passage they told us exactly when to enter the rapids in order to insure
success.
After
passing Dryad Point on Seaforth Channel the bridge announced that the ferry was
slowing down to avoid a Humpback that was traveling ahead of us. I looked out
the windows and saw the great animal initiate its long dive, signified by its
tail rising high in the air then slipping beneath the waves. Greg remained
glued to the charts spread out on the table measuring and marking the critical
legs of our route. I knew this was going to be a great trip. Dave continued to
grill Nan and Ned and fleshed out portions of our route that were, to us, like
those blank areas on charts that you will transit but haven’t yet been
surveyed. Greg continued to scribble notes and incorporate newly gathered
information onto the charts.
Seaforth
Channel opens onto the southern end of Milbanke Sound which is about eight
miles wide. As the ferry made a gentle turn to the north it began to buck and
roll. The Sound is open to the Pacific and Hecate Strait which some
meteorologists view as the third most dangerous body of water on earth. If you
took a course due south from this point the first landfall would be Antarctica.
Looking at Price Island across the Sound was daunting as I knew that we would
be crossing this body of water in about a week and the scale of things made me
uneasy. It’s big water. Closing towards Klemtu didn’t erase my concerns. The
country is so vast with few people and lots of open water. Rain came and went,
never hard, but always threatening.
Greg looking NW on Milbanke Sound with Swindle Island in the background
Soon enough we passed Jorkens Point, the southernmost tip of Swindle Island and entered Finlayson Channel. The channel narrows to about 2 miles and maintains that dimension north past Boat Bluff. About this time the southern tip of Cone Island, which shelters Klemtu, came into view.
Cone Island on the Right
The ferry
traveled counter-clockwise around Cone Island, approaching Klemtu from the
north. The channel narrows here to a comfortable scale and the town lies at the
base of the mountains along the right shoreline. The clouds were breaking up
and bathing the area in sunshine as Klemtu came into view. I was being
reintroduced to the Central/North Coast weather. The day had started out very
cool and damp with low clouds and fog. The sun had peeked out from time to time
but had mostly remained hidden as had the peaks of the islands. Now, it was turning
into a brilliant day and would warm to near 70 degrees. But the thing about the
weather here is that it constantly changes and would change again before the
day was done.
Approaching Klemtu
The “Queen of Chilliwack” docked at 2:15PM and we waited about an hour before being allowed to disembark. I hadn’t anticipated this wait as I knew that we had a strong ebb tide to buck leaving town and I was hoping to be ready to leave by 4:00PM which was one hour into that ebb. Basically, we would be paddling against a current for the first 7 NM on our way to the first possible campsite. The current was predicted to be 3 kts. A normal traveling speed in a kayak is 3 kts. Do the math. The longer we waited to start the stronger that current would become. I was growing nervous by the minute.
The dock
here was not a typical ferry dock with the straight-on approach and large
bundles of pilings tied together with cable but rather an “L” shaped affair
where the boat tied up along the inside leg of the letter and nestled it’s bow
into the “foot” of the “L”. Exiting the ferry required a sharp right turn onto
the wooden dock. No big deal on foot but might be interesting for a passenger
vehicle.
When we
were able to disembark we walked off the dock and started looking for a good
place to launch. Because of the extreme high tide the normal spot in town was
not a good choice. The public dock was not going to allow an easy load or a
graceful entry either. Dave had pointed out a dock nearby that looked OK and we
asked around. A Kitasoo elder gave us permission to use that dock so we moved
our boats and gear. Dave went to fill water bags while Greg and I moved all of
the equipment down the ramp onto the floating dock where we would begin
paddling. Ned and Nan chose to launch from the rocky public area so we wished
them a safe trip and got to the business at hand. After driving 350 miles and
being on ferries for 15 hours we were ready to get on the water and get out of
Dodge.
Point of Departure
Klemtu to Meyers Passage
July 15, Sunday, Day 2
Mostly overcast with occasional clearing, light and variable
winds, rain at times
Map from Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
Looking North from Klemtu
With our
boats jammed full of gear we left the dock and headed north. Each of us carried
a minimum of 100 pounds of gear consisting of food, water, clothing and shelter
for the next two weeks. Our boats were sunk to the shear lines and some handled
it with more grace than others. Because of the delay in disembarking we were at
least two hours into the ebb and could expect little mercy from the current. We
also had one less hour of daylight to work with in navigating to our campsite.
It was invigorating to be on the water at last. Surprisingly we were not yet
experiencing any negative effects of the predicted current. In fact, for the
first mile we just breezed along enjoying the show. I was suspicious at the
ease of our travel and figured that it couldn’t last but what did I really
know? This was nice.
Low Riders in Klemtu Passage
After months of planning we were finally on the water and entering into the Great Bear Wilderness where one-in-ten black bears is white. Where ten thousand years ago the original people followed the retreat of the glaciers and established villages on land that is still rising through isostatic rebound. Where you walk into a forest and find 400 year old remains of a native longhouse. A place of magic.
After
20minutes of easy paddling we came to the north end of Cone Island where Jane
Passage connects Tolmie Channel to Finlayson Channel and provides an “easy out”
for the escaping tides. It was here that we encountered the opposing current
and the chatter of the rips began. They were still out away from the shore so
we stayed in close hoping to work back eddies against the flow that was now
clearly not in our favor. The shoreline offered some relief as small sections
protruded further out into the flow and we could make decent headway or rest
behind these points of rock.
Resting in an Eddy
Image by Dave Resler
The
current wasn’t yet oppressive but was becoming more work. Between Swindle
Island and Jane Island it upped the ante as the standing waves spread most of
the distance from shore to shore. At the 2 ½ NM mark Sarah Passage separates
Jane Island from Sarah Island and the light station at Boat Bluff comes into
view. It was here that the current really picked up and progress became a
chore. The shoreline is pretty straight here so there wasn’t much to work with
in terms of eddies. If you could stay right in against the rocks it was easier,
but my Chatham, loaded to the gills, wasn’t very responsive and wherever I got
in close I felt at risk of kissing granite. Greg and Dave worked where I didn’t
dare while I moved out a bit. The current was stronger here but I could make
headway by picking a path of reduced flow through the boils. At one point Dave
and I were close and both paddling very hard, unable gain and only able to
maintain our position against the current, when we took advantage of the slope
of a small standing wave to give us just enough of a boost to move forward.
This was fun but very taxing and, now, there was no place to rest. If you
stopped paddling you would just be flushed back south on Sarah Passage.
Boat Bluff Light Station
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Split
Head is the northernmost point of Swindle Island and it marks the entrance to
Meyers Passage which theoretically should provide the 3 kt. ebb from Tolmie
Channel another route to the open ocean. I was counting on this to give us a
well deserved free ride the final 5 NM to our campsite. While rounding Split
Head did provide relief from the chatter and angst of Tolmie Channel it was
very discouraging to find that the current was still flowing against us. As we
continued our uphill paddle the noise quickly faded behind us to be replaced
with only the sounds of our hulls moving through the water, our strokes and my
occasional cursing at the tides.
Meyers Passage
It was
really a pretty magical transformation from one “place” to another as the water
was suddenly glassy smooth (albeit moving in the wrong direction) and the light
was oddly filtered by the moisture in the air. The mountains on both sides of
the passage plunged steeply to the water, their peaks just lost in the clouds.
Rain could be seen approaching from the southwest while the sun, low on the
horizon, peeked under the cloud deck. This change from sun to clouds to rain to
clearing would become the norm and would make each hour of most days different
from the last.
A group
of some type of bird, that we never saw, called loudly from shore. I’m talking
really loudly, here. It was a very piercing Goose or Crane-like call. They were
scattered somewhere along the southern shoreline and their easternmost
representative would issue a loud call. Along the shore, for what sounded like
¼ mile, the chorus would answer as if acknowledging our entry and progress
through their domain. Their song was amplified by the otherwise silence of the
scene that our breathing and “boat/water” music didn’t eclipse. They would
raise a stink, settle down again and the eastern hell raiser would stir them up
again. The sound was welcome yet surreal. Almost too intense as it made me
forget, briefly, about how pissed I was at the fact that we were still pushing
against a current that, in my mind, owed us a free ride. Their calls were
reflected off of the mountains of Princess Royal Island and returned to remind
me that we weren’t in charge.
After
several hours of hard paddling we pulled up onto the shallow, slimy “beach” at
the elbow of Meyers Passage. It had been raining for the past hour and we were
all ready call it a day. We hung our sprayskirts and PFD’s on a stump that was
washed up on the beach, pulled our boats up into the woods, tied them to a
tree, found clearings for our tents and braved the mosquitoes and no-seeums
that greeted us. Dave tossed some odds and ends behind a log that had washed up
tight against the edge of the forest. We each fired up our stoves, boiled water
and picked our freeze-dried poison. The promise of a dry tent and a warm
sleeping bag called us. While a campfire would have felt nice none of us wanted
the deal with the responsibility of a fire and it didn’t take long for us to
drift away to our tents. Before we did, though, I had to inhale a lungful of
blood-thirsty flying insects, go into a coughing/gagging frenzy, recover and
then do it all over again.
Around
3:00 AM I awoke to the very different sound of water lapping near my tent. I
listened to it for a while trying to determine if it was a bad sound and
finally decided that I had to check the gear. I put on my headlamps and sandals
and stepped out into the rainy night. My headlamp penetrated the darkness to
reveal that the tide was up flush against the forest, Dave’s gear was awash behind
the log and our stuff hanging on the stump was hanging in the water but still
secure. Knowing that this was the high slack I tossed Dave’s gear higher for
security and chose not to move the sprayskirts and PFD’s as I had checked them
before inhaling the bugs and knew that they were secure but wet. I went back to
bed with dry feet.
Klemtu to
Meyers Passage Camp – 10.5 NM
Meyers Passage to Laredo Sound
July 16, Tuesday, Day 3
Cloudy in the morning with light rain, clearing by late afternoon,
light and variable winds
The goal
for this day was a short 7.8 NM jaunt through Meyers Passage to Milne Island.
The low slack was at 9:16 AM and we were up and fed long before that time. In
spite of bug bites we were in good spirits. Some of our gear was wet from the
previous evening’s high tide but none of it was missing. As the tide was still
falling on our shallow “beach” the packing routine went like this: carry gear
from tent site to boats across mucky beach, load gear in boats, move beached
boats into deeper water, repeat, repeat, repeat. Eventually we were loaded and
on our way.
Loading Boats at Meyers
Passage Camp
Expecting
a free ride through the passage on the falling tide we were discouraged to find
an opposing current. Nothing strong just a little annoying. I was wondering
when we would catch a break with the tides. Within 1 ½ NM we passed through
Meyers Narrows where the current was a touch stronger and the shoreline was
insane with the color of starfish, sea urchins and anemones. The odor of life
and death at the tide line was pungent and I couldn’t decide if it was
wonderful or repugnant. A reddish colored Mink ran up the rocks from the water,
paused to look us over and vanished into the forest.
About
this time we came upon the first of the Kitasoo Xai’xais pictographs that were
“painted’ on the rocky bluffs. At first glance the orange color appeared to be
a lichen or oxide on the rock but this wasn’t a natural occurrence. Upon closer
examination the smudge revealed a detailed figure that was very important to
someone once.
Orange Smudge
Image by Dave Resler
Upon Closer Examination
Image by Dave Resler
Once you
“see” it you start looking for it and can recognize it from a distance. We
found another pictograph a little further along.
Milne
Island lies along the edge of Laredo Sound just a little north of the west end
of Meyers Passage. Rounding Hartnell Point we skirted the shoreline of Princess
Royal Island approaching Milne from the southeast. Photos of Milne depict tents
set up on a sandy beach but we found the campsite nestled in a small rocky
cove. Two deer watched from shore as we carefully exited our boats. Once they
determined that none of us were going for a swim and that little gel coat was
being sacrificed they slipped into the forest. A clearing set in the trees just
above the high tide line would hold our tents. We hung our wet gear on a log,
set up the parawing and carried our boats into the woods where we tied them
safely to a tree.
Milne Island Camp “Beach”
Dave was
lulled to sleep on the beach by the chatter of the Ravens while I read and Greg
went exploring. Shortly Greg was back to show me a trail he had found that led
to the far side of the island. It wound through the trees and bushes and
emerged on a small beach that was jam-packed with driftwood and other debris.
It’s amazing what washes up in an otherwise pristine environment. Where do all
of these athletic shoes come from? Seems like they are always cheap but new.
Not somebody’s well-worn kicks that were washed from a deck but shiny new cheap
shoes.
We
gathered up all of the handy sized firewood that we could carry and started
back to camp. Greg, an unrepentant yet environmentally conscious pyromaniac
(every trip should have one) was much happier now as our campsite was bereft of
anything that we would consider burning. His day was looking up.
Before we
reached camp we spotted some Abalone shells just off the trail. We assumed that
a River Otter had gathered them up and carried them to the shelter of the
forest to be eaten.
Abalone Shells in the Forest
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Next we noticed that sections of bark had been stripped with surgical precision from several trees.. These were Culturally Modified Trees (CMT) or, as many of the First Nations people call them, “shaped trees”. A horizontal cut marked the beginning of the strip which tapered up as much as forty above the ground. For thousands of years the original people have used the bark of Western Red Cedar for fiber, food, medicine and even harvested planks, leaving the trees standing and healthy. Spruce and Hemlock have traditionally been stripped for their edible inner bark. Looking around we saw some much older trees that bore the marks of their symbiotic relationship with the indigenous culture. With new eyes we would see these trees in many campsites through the remainder of our trip.
Culturally Modified Trees
Aside
from being an unrepentant yet environmentally conscious pyro Greg is a
fisherman and will drop a line in the water at every opportunity. He also
brought a small collapsible crab trap that stored nicely up against his front
bulkhead. In the evening he paddled out to set his crab trap and do some
fishing. The real catch of the day, though, were the gorgeous photos he took of
the sunset.
Milne Island Sunset
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Meyers Passage Camp to Milne Island Camp – 7.8 NM
Day Trip to Disju
July 17, Tuesday, Day 4
Cloudy in the morning with light rain, clearing by early
afternoon, Winds NW to 17 with 2 ½’ wind waves changing to light and variable.
Morning on Laredo Sound
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
This was the day that we paddled to Disju (pronounced Dit-soo), the historic Kitasoo village site that holds the remains of the best preserved First Nations longhouse in the world. The longhouse was in use before the Europeans founded Jamestown. Over 400 years ago the Kitasoo had established a village where all of their food and clothing needs were satisfied. They built the longhouse to serve as the heart of their community. Today it is protected as a World Heritage Site and it’s location is not marked on any public maps. Dave and I had heard about it from a fellow paddler, Don, who we had met on our trip two years before. He knew the status of the site and that it’s location was protected by the Kitasoo but he had not been there himself. We were sworn not to divulge it’s location.
Don was
right about the existence of Disju and it’s status but wrong on it’s location.
Internet research offered little information on the site but one account
described the amount of time it took to reach it by kayak. Dave did some math
and calculations on a chart and pointed out a place that made more sense. It
was about an hour away from where Don had located it. I hoped that Dave was
right.
The tides
looked as though they would be in our favor as we could expect their ebb to
move us westerly up Laredo Channel for most of the 2 ½ to 3 hours it would take
to paddle to Disju. On our return we would have a nice flood to ride all the
way back.
The
morning sky was very dark and dramatic but showed signs of clearing. It just
depended which way you were looking. If you were looking east back towards
Milne it looked anything but inviting but it had rained only lightly and
briefly at that.
Laredo Sound
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
The west
wind began to freshen during our 3 ½ NM crossing from Aiken Island to Dallain
Point. The sea state became more animated and “noisy” making communications
tough but provided some very invigorating paddling. I was really looking
forward to surfing all the way back to camp. Before we reached Disju, though,
the tide changed and the sea laid down. “That’s OK”, I thought, “We’ll still
get blown all the way back to camp”. About that time the wind started to drop
and stabilized at westerly around 5 kts.
From far
off we spotted an eagle high up in a snag where we expected to find Disju. It
watched as we skirted the shoreline beneath it and continued to watch us
silently as we rounded the point and let the breeze blow us into the sandy
shore. Greg asked if I felt like we were being watched and I said that I did.
It was suddenly very quiet and still and we felt that we were entering a sacred
place were we didn’t belong. I hoped that the eagle, or whoever he was wouldn’t
object to our visit.
Approaching Disju
Image by Dave Resler
We exited
our boats and began searching the tree line for a way “in”. There were no
obvious trails and the trees were thick right up to the sand. Maybe this wasn’t
it after all. Then, a branch was pulled aside and the forest allowed our entry.
After a couple of steps, there it was!
Two huge
40 foot long logs were suspended horizontally atop four 10 foot tall cedar
posts. They defined the sides of the longhouse and had been the main supports.
Between the supports the rectangular “floor” was about 15 feet lower and
accessed by regular “steps” on each of the four sides. Had the steps been
benches that the villagers had sat upon around a fire pit? A theatre for
conducting potlatch ceremonies? A classroom where oral traditions were passed
down to younger generations? We didn’t say much as we were pretty overcome by
it all. We were definitely in a place that wasn’t ours and had to just wonder
what had gone on here over the past 400 years. I felt that we were intruding,
being watched but allowed our visit. Odd, I know, but that’s how it felt to me.
Longhouse Supports
Once out
of the forest Greg turned to me and said, “I never had much religion before but
I’ve got something now”. I knew what he meant. A deer exited the tree line
nearby. It walked along the rocky rise, noticed us, then trotted back into an
invisible opening in the woods and disappeared. This place felt special and
powerful. Maybe a little spooky.
“I never had much religion
before but I’ve got something now.”
Image by Dave Resler
We took
our time leaving but we didn’t feel that it was the place to eat our lunch.
That might have been pushing it. We paddled out of the bay, around the point
and into Laredo Channel, all the while under the watchful eye of the silent
eagle (or whoever he was) atop the snag. We had passed a nice beach a mile or
so east and chose that as the place to eat our lunch and discuss the
experience.
I called
this Lunch Counter Beach and wondered to myself what the inhabitants of Disju
had called it. At this tide it was very sandy with huge rounded boulders and a
jumble of logs to sit on and relax, A pair of deer tracks led from the waters
edge up into the woods atop the beach. The wind was down, the water flat, the
sun was breaking out and it was warming up.
Lunch Counter Beach on
Laredo Channel
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
On the 2
½ hr paddle back to Milne we did not benefit from a tail wind. We didn’t get to
surf back. In fact the flood current was so mild as to not be noticeable at
all. Seemed as much work going back as it was coming out but it turned into a
beautiful day and it was great to be on the water.
Greg in Laredo Channel
Image by Dave Resler
We passed Aiken Island just before arriving back at Milne. Aiken holds a campsite that is viable with all but the highest tides but it wasn’t readily evident. All “beaches” looked very rocky and uninviting but Don had camped here before and didn’t complain. Maybe we just didn’t see it. We did see some wild life, though. Lots of birds and some Sea Otters that are re-establishing themselves along the coast. The otters were wiped out by the fur trade and considered beyond endangered. They were just plain gone and the ecosystem of the sea had changed. Now, they are making a comeback in selected areas and these would be the first but not the last that we would see on the trip.
Aiken Island Bird Life
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Back at
camp we stripped off our drysuits and turned them inside out. Off came our
sweaty clothing and everything was hung out to dry in the sun. The adjacent
beach was sandy at this tide level and offered a nice place for a cold but much
needed bath. The rest of the day was spent exploring the island, reading and
napping. It was nice not to stink.
The
evening promised another beautiful sunset and didn’t disappoint. Dave got some
spectacular shots.
Sunset on Milne Island
Image by Dave Resler
Milne
Island to Disju and Back – 18.2 NM
Milne Island to Higgins Passage
July 18, Wednesday, Day 5
Fog in the morning clearing in the afternoon. Winds calm rising to
18 kts. with higher gusts.
Map from Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
On this
day we were paddling to a campsite at the west end of Higgins Passage. We
didn’t really know what to expect as none of the descriptions we had found
confirmed that it was viable with the predicted high tide level. We figured
that we would find something in the area as there was a Kayak Bill camp shown
on the copies of his maps that I had had gotten from Keith Webb. Also,
settlements, both First Nations and European had existed in nearby Grant
Anchorage so we would be fine or at least dry.
Dave and
Greg had drawn our course out in three legs.
From
Milne we would make a 3+ NM mile crossing of Kitasu Bay continuing south (191
degrees) past Wilby Point.
At the
4.2 NM point we would alter our course (to 152 degrees) for 2.6 NM at which
point we would be 2.7 NM (on a heading of 102 degrees) from our campsite. We
had figured that the headings on the chart were nice to have but that we would
basically cross to Wilby point and follow the shoreline to Higgins Passage
using VFR.
Greg Studying the Chart
The fog was a rude surprise with visibility very low. We had Dave’s GPS just in case but Greg stepped up and wanted to use the IFR conditions as a learning experience. He took the chart, checked his watch and led us away from Milne into the surreal world of the white-out. We decided that since missing Wilby Point by one degree to the west would lead to a place we didn’t want to be we would cheat a bit to the east of the original heading so that we “should” encounter the shoreline of Kitasu Bay. We figured that the crossing would take one hour of blind paddling.
It was an
interesting experience as I felt that I was paddling in circles while
constantly chasing a compass heading. We learned that my compass varied from
Greg’s by two degrees as I was repeatedly veering off to the left of our
intended path. Maybe it was my survival instinct kicking in as I knew that
making a mistake to the left would only lengthen the number of miles I had to
paddle while missing to the right would make for a very un-fun day. Nothing
much positive can be said, though, about the accuracy of a bungee mounted deck
compass. Mine was obviously at fault but what I couldn’t understand was how
Greg’s compass, identical to mine but mounted on top of a deck bag that was
velcroed to his deck lines, could be more accurate than mine. Dave’s GPS
confirmed that Greg’s was true so we followed him. I tried to learn from the
blind paddling experience and stubbornly followed my compass with my head
spinning until I found myself embarrassingly to the left of Greg and Dave when
I would regroup with them again. It was a pretty odd experience to be on slick
flat water with a couple of friends and see absolutely nothing.
After one
hour of weirdness we were really wanting to see the shoreline and squinting
very hard to make our eyes work better when suddenly, about 100 yards ahead
something seemed to darken about where we imagined the horizon should be. As we
paddled on it became more defined, individual trees beginning to show and then
we saw a figure walking down the beach towards us. Sliding up onto the sandy
beach we found Ned who said that they had been listening to us for some time
while had we discussed the blind crossing and I cursed my compass. Funny how
sound travels in those conditions. Soon, Nan came down to join us and the five
of us compared our experiences. They had chosen this campsite so that we
wouldn’t impose on each other’s evenings. They had stayed on a tombolo short of
our camp in Meyers Passage and had chosen this site knowing that we would be on
Milne. Here we had run into them again in a total whiteout in Kitasu Bay.
Taking
our leave we followed Greg out around the reef that extended far beyond Wilby
Point and back into the whiteout. The water surface was a slick, greasy-grey
merging with the sky at about 100 feet in any direction.
Greg Navigating Blind
The reefs, normally a problem, gave us contrast, comfort and a sense that we were still of this earth. The kelp beds that we paddled through confirmed that we were paddling against the current. Occasionally a salmon jumped and broke the trance. At some point in this grey, featureless space Greg stopped paddling and leaned over his deck to study the chart. He looked at his watch and returned to the chart. He looked in all directions, in vain, for any kind of a sign that would confirm his mental calculations that we were at a specific point on the earth where changing our heading to 102 degrees was the right thing to do. I looked at Dave with a raised eyebrow and he turned on his GPS. Once it had acquired satellites he smiled but didn’t say anything until Greg was disappearing into the fog and then whispered” I can’t believe that he is doing this. He changed course exactly where he was supposed to and he did it “blind”. Amazing! We followed him in the fog for another 40 minutes when bits and pieces of shoreline and islets started to appear. My chart was not as detailed so I wasn’t sure what I was starting to see.
After
leading us by his compass and watch for 3 ½ hours Greg stopped paddling and
leaned over the chart, read his watch, squinted into the fog for anything that
would act as a landmark, read the chart again, looked at his watch, squinted
into the fog and finally said, “I may be completely wrong but according to my
calculations this is the mouth of Higgins Passage”.
Fog Lifts at Entrance to
Higgins Passage
Dave
turned on his GPS and after a moment started laughing. Greg had nailed it. We
were exactly where we wanted to be and as if to celebrate Greg’s success the
fog suddenly lifted. Our destination was within sight and Dave led the way. We
paddled up to the rocky beach, exited in knee deep water and tied the boats
together. I attached the boats at the bows to a large rock while Greg tied the
sterns to another rock that he threw out into the water, firmly anchoring the
boats and protecting them from the sharp rocks. We pulled lunch from our day
hatches and waded ashore.
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
The beach
backed up to a steep 8 foot bank that rose into the trees. This spot hadn’t
gotten raves reviews as a campsite so we didn’t go explore the forest but sat
on the beach and ate lunch in the sun. It was a lovely but rocky beach
surrounded by islets and blue water. Up against the bank was a small pebbled
area that could hold a tent but we were unsure if it would be dry during the
predicted 14 foot flood during the night. Dave and Greg scrambled up the bank
and disappeared into the woods. They were soon back.
“Jon, you
have got to come look at this”.
Higgins Passage Campsite
I climbed the bank and saw the most beautiful tent site I could imagine, A large level area was covered with some sort of plant that grew about 8 inches tall. There were large stumps indicating that the area had once been logged but the loggers had left any tree that wasn’t straight so there were some misshapen giants back here as well as many healthy, slender and tall second growth trees. The sunlight filtered through and cast a green luminescence on the area. It was flat, soft and sweet smelling. A sleeping pad wasn’t needed. This was deluxe!
Dave in Higgins Forest
Once camp was set up Greg was hot to fish and I needed to go find a source of water. A creek was shown on the chart about ¾ NM east at the site of an Indian Reserve at Goo-ewe. I announced my intention of paddling to get water and to look for an old village site. The tide was rising and we waded out to our boats that were now in chest deep water. Before we could leave, though, a lone paddler approached from the east. He said that his name was Chuck Curry and that he was paddling solo from Port Hardy to Prince Rupert. We invited him to stay with us but he wanted to get further up the coast. After ½ hour or so of chatting we bid him farewell and he disappeared to the west.
Dave and
Greg readied their fishing rods and lures and headed outside to Kipp Islet which
guarded the entry to Higgins Passage. Greg said that the area looked “fishy” to
him as had pointed out the rocky prominences and steep drop offs on the chart.
The wind had picked up now and made my short jaunt to Goo-ewe effortless. I
couldn’t find any sign that a village had ever been along that shoreline and
the creek where I had hoped to filter some water was foamy brown from tannin. I
paddled up the creek until it was too shallow to go further then drifted slowly
back into the passage. It was very warm and sunny and it felt great to just
drift, feel the wind, smell the air and relax.
Searching for Kayak Bill in Higgins Passage
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
My trip back towards camp was against the tide and wind and was a bit of work but it felt so good. I radioed Dave and Greg to check their location and Dave said that they were out near Kipp Islet. Between myself and Kipp were a number of other islets, one which held a Kayak Bill camp. I told Dave that I was going to try to find it and that I would stay in touch. The convoluted cluster of islets was a pleasure to explore but I never did find the camp. Eventually I left my protection and headed out towards Kipp. It seemed a bit rough after zigging and zagging around rocks and reefs and eventually I saw Dave and Greg bobbing in the waves.
Greg Catches Dinner
Image by Dave Resler
Dave
wasn’t fishing but Greg was. Dave was “standing watch” while Greg calmly
fished in 2 ½ to 3 foot waves that were occasionally breaking. The wind was up
to 18 kts out here and without cover it was rough. When Dave saw something
coming that looked like trouble he would alert Greg who had already put a
Rockfish and a Ling Cod in his boat. He had released a 15 pound Ling shortly
before I arrived and almost capsized in the process. He had brought the fish to
the surface and was working to release it, all the while balancing in wind
waves. Holding a 15 pound weight over the side of your boat while trying to
shake it free isn’t easy in the best circumstances. Now add conditions and you
really have to pay attention. When the fish unexpectedly came loose Greg almost
rolled right into the water. I wonder if he could have rolled up using his
fishing rod instead of his paddle?
Greg Cleaning Dinner
Back at camp Greg prepared dinner of perfectly seasoned Ling Cod and Rockfish with rice pilaf. Dave and I fixed a freeze-dried Raspberry Crumble for dessert. After dinner we cleaned up and basked in the warm evening sun. Greg paddled out to set his crab trap and enjoy more time on the water.
The
evening just kept getting better.
Boats on the Beach
And
better…….
Higgins Evening
And
better……
Sunset Higgins Passage
Milne Island to Higgins Passage 10 NM
Milne Island to Higgins Passage plus exploration miles – 15 NM
Higgins Passage to Dallas Island
July 19, Thursday, Day 6
Overcast with rain, heavy at times. Winds SE 15 kts. with higher
gusts. Seas 3 foot swell, wind waves to 2 feet.
Map from Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
Wet
weather for a slog to a Kayak Bill Camp on Dallas Island. Today’s route would
take us east through Higgins Passage to Pidwell Reef where I would load up on
some much needed fresh water. My freeze-dried breakfasts were taking about a
cup more water per day than Dave and Greg’s oatmeal. I was really going through
it and needed to top up. Leaving Pidwell Reef we would make our first serious
crossing on Milbanke Sound to Dallas Island. The weather wasn’t looking like
fun.
We left
camp on a falling tide with a need to clear the south end of Lohbrunner Island.
Lohbrunner is about 1 NM mile long and is oriented north/south in a passage
that runs east/west. It’s south end forces Higgins Passage up against Price
Island into a pretty narrow and shallow channel but presents the most direct
route. It closes at very low tides and dictates a route up around the north end
of the island where the passage is wider and deeper. That adds a couple more
miles to a day that we hoped to keep to about 14 ½ NM. We paddled carefully
through the shallow passage against a bit of current while dodging barnacle
covered boulders above and below the surface. We zig-zagged in single file as
the leader pointed out and avoided submerged obstacles.
The rain
started shortly after leaving camp and was constant through Higgins. As the
passage became straight and broad the funneled winds off of Milbanke Sound
became a dominant factor. We were paddling against the wind and, according to
the kelp, against the current as well. We each just closed ourselves off and
paddled without commentary or conversation. Grey was the overwhelming color of
the water and the sky as the mountains of Swindle Island disappeared in the clouds
a couple of hundred feet above the water. This was just a wet, windy slog. We
tried to hide by tucking close to the south side of the passage while observing
the wind’s effect away from shore.
After
something over 2 hours we had reached the last point of land on Swindle Island
that offered shelter from the 15 kt. south-easterly. Anchoring ourselves to a
kelp bed by pulling it up over our decks we steeled ourselves with energy bars
and GU. From here it would be 2 NM of open water to reach the shelter of
Pidwell Reef. Out in the open the swell was 3 feet with 2 foot wind waves. Our
heading allowed us to encounter the waves at a slight angle. That made for some
really enjoyable paddling as the sea was textured but consistent and our boats
rode up and over the waves instead of plowing into them. As the crossing
progressed the wind dropped to 10 kts. and sea began to soften. Sliding into
the shelter of Pidwell Reef the rain stopped and wind dropped even more. The
water behind the reef was completely flat.
We headed
for the obvious beach and the reliable water source that Ned and Nan had told
us about. After a windy and “noisy” crossing the quiet luxury of Pidwell Beach
was almost shocking. Shorebirds followed the tiny waves in and out along the
sand, chattering among themselves but completely ignoring our sudden presence.
On a sunny day this would have been spectacular. Today it was a needed fuel
stop on the way to Dallas Island.
Greg and Dave at Pidwell Beach
We sat on the wet beach and made lunch. Dave ate his Buffalo Cheese and spiced salami with Pita bread. Greg ate tuna and cheese. I had cheese and beef jerky on Pita with coffee. Lunch done, Greg went out towards the east end of the reef to fish and we agreed to meet him on the water. I took my water filter to the stream and found a pocket behind a rock where I pumped 10 liters of tan but fresh water.
The sea
state outside of the reef was now nearly as flat as inside. There was some low
southerly swell but it was mostly flat. Grey, wet sky merging with and grey,
glassy water. Our boats and gear offered the only color in sight.
Grey Sky Merging with Grey
Water
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
The
crossing from Pidwell to Dallas was uneventful but tiring. At 5-plus NM it took
a bit over 1 ½ hours and we saw no other traffic. Just big empty water. It was
raining again. I had hoped that we had seen the last of it for the day but that
wasn’t to be.
Approaching
Dallas we started looking for Bill’s Camp with it’s signature windbreak. It
didn’t take long to find it tucked just inside the woods above the beach but
the landing in front didn’t look like it would work in all tides. Dave continued
around a point of rocks and called out that he had found the access. Greg and I
quickly followed and slid ashore behind him.
The camp
was just as Keith Webb had described it. A wind-block of driftwood tied up with
rope that had been collected from the beach. The rest of the shelter was sort
of an A-frame, constructed of driftwood. Long branches had been gathered from
the beach and the smaller limbs cut leaving supports for other structural
members to be tied into. The roof was made of blue plastic tarps that allowed
one to stand erect only under the center pole. The bed was a wooden platform
and the signature stove stood to one side. Firewood cut and split precisely was
stacked where Bill had left it four years before. An odd collection of “things”
was piled around that Bill had found and saved because he might someday have a
use for them. Much of it consisted of broken plastic crates. What could these
have been for? Other plastic pieces shaped like small rollers of some sort were
piled in a corner. I couldn’t figure out what they were. Maybe something to do
with fishing nets? Piles of plastic rope and sections of fishing nets were
stacked against the wind break. Fishing floats of all description were piled
together. Beside the shelter was a kayak rack and leading off behind the camp
was a trail that disappeared behind a large tree.
Looking West from Camp on Dallas Island
We chose our tents over Bill’s four 4 year old plastic tarps and tried to tuck them up under the trees for shelter from the rain. Dave settled into his chair under the Parawing with a book and was soon sound asleep. I sorted through my food looking for a freeze-dried meal that sounded appealing. Greg disappeared into the woods but was soon back.
“Jon,
you’ve got to come see this trail”.
Greg on Bill’s Boardwalk
I
followed him around the big tree and into the forest. The trail wound and
twisted and turned and didn’t follow a route focused on efficiency but one
inspired by whimsy. It turned where no turn was necessary and would detour
around an interesting tree or pass between a pair of trees just because they
were there. After a short distance we came to a fork that was marked by a
vertical post capped with a colored plastic “roller” from camp and two carved
arrows, each pointing the way. The way to what?
Greg
looked at me like “WTF?” and I just shrugged my shoulders. He chose the fork to
the right and I followed. The trail wasn’t exactly overgrown but it hadn’t seen
any trimming for the past four years. It passed over the moss and fern covered
forest floor surrounded by culturally modified trees. I wondered if Bill had
harvested cedar bark as these didn’t show the practiced skill that marked the
trees of Milne. At times the trail descended into boggy areas covered with
skunk cabbage and was “paved” with planks elevated above the bog by end cut
sections of logs. All had been carried up from the beach. Hanging from branches
at intervals intended to provide visual guides when needed were yellow and
orange bits of the plastic grid or fishing floats from the piles back at camp.
After many unexpected turns the trail ended on a slick wooden plank suspended
over a tannin-browned pocket of fresh water. This was where Bill collected his
fresh water. We followed the trail back to the fork and struck off the other
direction, eager to find where this one led.
This fork
was much more adventurous and a greater engineering feat. The ground was more
uneven with hills and ravines. End cut sections of logs that could have only
been carried one at a time were set into hillsides to provide stairways. The
use of plank boardwalks became more the norm. Twelve foot planks that had
washed up or been found floating had been carried or drug along this trial in
order to extend it another twelve feet. Where a forest giant had succumbed to a
major windstorm and blocked to way Bill had cut steps into it’s sides to enable
passage. A handrail of driftwood set into the surroundings provided a source of
security. At one point we descended on slippery end cut steps down a hillside
to a tree that had fallen across the ravine. It was about six feet off the
ground and while a fall wouldn’t have hurt you it would have inconvenienced you
significantly. The log was sloped at about 15 degrees off of horizontal and
Bill had sliced the top of this tree off in order to make a smooth, flat
(narrow) surface to walk on. After four years in the rainforest it was very
slippery from moss and disuse and it’s thirty-some foot span was kind of scary
to cross. We continued carefully on watching for the floats and colored plastic
grid that hung from the trees and marked the way. When the trail disappeared we
just looked in all directions until we saw a flash of color. The trail clung to
the side of the hill above a rocky pocket beach that was packed with flotsam.
Rope, crates, floats. We continued through the wet jungle as the trail led up
to the island’s crest.
Pyro-Meister Greg and Dave
on Dallas Island
We had
been eagerly following the trail and had not taken measures to stay in contact
with Dave. We had left camp without a radio. Dave had been sound asleep when we
left and we had been gone for a while. If he was awake he might be concerned.
We chose to turn around and return to camp. That thirty foot log bridge was
much worse to cross on the way back.
Once back
to camp we found that Dave had just awakened and had not had time to wonder
where we were. Greg started a fire in the light rain and we prepared dinner. It
rained hard during the night and sound of the pounding rain made me worry that
I would wake up with a tent full of water.
Dallas Island Camp
Higgins Camp to Dallas Island 15.1 NM
Dallas Island to Gale Passage
July 20, Friday, Day 7
Overcast with rain, heavy at times. Winds SE 10-15 kts. Seas 2
foot swell, wind waves to 2 feet.
It had
rained consistently through the night and was still coming down in the morning.
We prepared and ate breakfast in our drysuits under the Parawing. After
breakfast we broke camp. I had passed a dry night inside my tent but the
rainfly was soaked and the tent body got wet taking it down. I hate packing wet
gear in a dry boat. Reluctantly, I wadded up the sandy, soggy mess and stuffed
it into the rear hatch. Since I had eaten a week’s worth of food there was some
space in the boat and I could get away with such sloppiness. A few days ago it
wouldn’t have been an option.
The day’s
goal was the Heiltsuk cabin inside Gale Passage. It’s about 12 NM from Dallas
and involved crossing Moss Passage, traveling outside of Salal and Lady Douglas
Islands to a 2 NM crossing of Mathieson Channel followed by another 2 NM
crossing of Seaforth Channel. Dave cautioned that there was no place to land
once we committed to the outside route but the weather report sounded wet and
settled so we pulled our rain hats down snug and headed outside.
A Rainy Start, Grounded
Barge on the Rocks
Image by Dave Resler
Tucked in
close to the south end of Lady Douglas Island is tiny Roar Islet and the site
of another Kayak Bill camp. While we didn’t plan to camp there we did want to
visit and figured it would be a nice place to have lunch. From there we could
evaluate the conditions on Seaforth Channel and choose to cross or hole up at
Roar Islet and wait until morning. We weren’t in a huge hurry as our window for
transiting Gale Passage would open in late afternoon and the next preferred
campsite after the cabin made for a long day. We weren’t sure what to expect
from the tidal rapids in Gale.
The trip
to Roar Islet was wet and uneventful. The seas were without much personality
and everything was grey and wet. After two hours of paddling we forced our way,
against a mild current, into Blair Inlet that splits Cecilia and Ivory Islands.
Another 20 minutes brought us to what we figured must be Roar Islet. It matched
the point on Bill’s Map and looked right. We slid up onto a shell beach,
grabbed our lunches from the day hatches and walked up to the tree line. No
obvious campsite here. We poked around looking for an overgrown camp and Greg
beat his way around the island but no camp was found. We sat in the open under
the light rain and ate our lunch. Not really what we had in mind.
Looking Across Seaforth
Channel
Image by Dave Resler
We left
whatever wet islet we had just had lunch on and made a beeline for Gale Passage
which was about 3 NM to the south of our position. Crossing Seaforth Channel
was uneventful with 2 foot wind waves and not much current. The tide was still
ebbing so our drift was to the west and as we got closer to Gale Passage the
opposing outflow current became more noticeable. It was never more than
slightly annoying.
Entering Gale Passage
Once into
Gale we began searching for the cabin. We knew that it was on the east side and
were hugging that shoreline when we spotted a Wolf trotting along the beach
with something in it’s mouth. It disappeared around the corner that hid the
cabin. The cabin is made in the same style as the one that we had stayed at on
Joassa Channel two years before. No boats were on the beach. None pulled up
into the trees. We had it to ourselves. We quickly hung all of our wet gear
anywhere and everywhere to dry. The inside and outside of the cabin was
festooned with wet gear We really took the neighborhood down a notch. Greg
started a fire in the wood stove while we pondered the Wolf’s destination.
Drying Gear at Gale Passage
After
resting a bit and starting to dry out we were once again in our boats and off
to scout the first rapid to the south. The northern portion of Gale Passage
varies from as wide as 1/4 NM to as narrow as 30 feet and the moon’s pull on
the water flushes the current back and forth through the pass. The first rapid
is about 1 ½ NM from the cabin and at this tide stepped down between large
rocks on both shores. We tested the current above the drop to try to determine
if we could paddle back up it and get to camp. Greg got bored with our caution
and just ran it, exiting into an eddy about 30 yards downstream. Dave and I
soon joined him. Now we had to paddle back upstream through the gap. It took
some determined paddling but we all made back and felt better prepared for the
next day’s task.
Gale Passage Narrows
Back at
camp we kicked back, napped, wrote, read the cabin’s log, and relaxed. It was
nice to be inside even if the flue for the woodstove was falling apart and
constituted a safety hazard. The smoke mostly went up the chimney. Our gear was
drying out and we were warm and comfy.
Greg Reading the Cabin Log in Mid-Afternoon
Dallas
Island to Gale Passage including exploration 14.3 NM
Gale Passage to Joassa Channel
July 21, Saturday, Day 8
Overcast with rain, heavy at times. Winds SE 10-15 kts. Seas to 2
feet
Gale Passage Chart
Ned and
Nan had told us to plan on transiting the passage 2 hours before high slack.
High slack was at 6:49 PM. That gave us all day to do chores and relax. We
needed fresh water and there was a stream near the cabin that wasn’t “too”
awfully brown. It would do just fine. Dave passed the morning by patching a
hole that he had found in one of the socks on his Goretex drysuit. After that
he took a nap.
Dave Napping In Gale
Passage Cabin
Between
downpours we gathered several bags of water from the stream for filtering. Greg
and I pumped a couple of bags, waited for a break in the rain and dashed out to
gather more. Dave woke up, tested the Aquaseal goop that he had used to repair his
sock and deemed it dry enough for paddling. We weren’t used to sitting through
the morning and were all suffering from Cabin Fever. Greg and Dave couldn’t
stand it anymore. They suited up and went out into Seaforth Channel to fish. I
was more interested in staying dry while I could so I stayed behind to filter
water and listened to the rain beat on the roof of the cabin. It dumped rain
and set the roof to roaring.
The
Hunter/Gatherers returned fishless so we decided to pack up and started through
the passage even though it would put us two hours ahead of Ned and Nan’s
recommendation. We just couldn’t sit anymore and besides the weather radio was
announcing the approach of a storm that would bring even more rain with high
winds. We rationalized that the extra two hours would give us more time to
exercise our options once we cleared the passage into Thompson Bay. It was
sounding like we were going to lose Sunday to weather and wanted to find a
sheltered spot to sit out the storm.
We
paddled south with the flood and just prior to the first rapid we saw a cabin
cruiser at anchor. As we got closer it started looking more familiar. The
Seattle area-based “MV Dirona” looked in life at it did on the website that
Dave and I had used as a resource to plan this trip. (http://www.mvdirona.com/)
The smell of fresh coffee that drifted from the galley was intoxicating and
drew us like flies to a flame. James and Jennifer Hamilton stepped out on the
deck to greet us. They seemed pleased to know that we had used their cruising
website as a resource for our kayak trip. We chatted a bit before bidding them
bon voyage and entered the first rapid.
Jon in Gale Passage
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
There
were two short drops of little consequence. There was more water that was
moving faster than the day before. I couldn’t have paddled back against it
though Greg might have been able to. The narrow passage dropped us into the
shallow end of a large lagoon. It took us about 20 minutes of paddling in a
hard rain to reach the far end where we would climb back out. We were all
expecting to find a narrow slot with current that matched what we had ridden
down but as we drew closer to the end we noticed some floating trees and decent
sized logs. The rocky shore was home to some seriously large stumps and wood
debris that had washed up on the bank. They wouldn’t have made it down through
the north end so it was a bit disconcerting to ponder how it was that they
ended up here. The current increased significantly as we rounded one last
corner and saw the ingress route of the large debris.
A noisy
drop was bordered by ragged rock and topped with trees. It was a bit broader than
what we had descended and looking up, it seemed higher and steeper but that
couldn’t be, right? It had to be an optical illusion. The current was faster,
for sure, and we nosed up against it to test the strength. Dave attempted to
climb it and made little headway before losing his momentum and washing back
down. Greg (the Beast) charged into it and flailed away, madly paddling at a
comical cadence while inching slowly uphill. Sometimes he would gain a bit of
ground and then be stopped dead against the current still paddling like crazy.
It seemed to take forever before he had finally climbed far enough that he
could eddy in behind a boulder and rest. I knew that there was no point in me
even trying to push the Ugly Sister upstream since he had barely made it after
such a determined effort. After a bit he peeled out from behind the boulder and
continued his climb. He came to a steeper, faster section close to the top that
he couldn’t conquer, though, and retreated to his eddy. After that Dave and I
were content to poke around in the lagoon and wait until the levels equalized a
little more. What was it Ned had said about timing? Two hours before slack
flood?
Over the
noise of the falling water we couldn’t hear Greg as he shouted to us but I did
understand his gestures that we should look to the right of the drop. I paddled
along the bank and discovered that the shoreline was part of an island that
split the passage. More debris and obvious current was soon visible. Greg was
showing us another way up. The stream here was much wider, deeper and
unfortunately much swifter. There were few rocks near the surface to disturb
it’s green flow and looking up it was like looking up a long, green slope that
stretched for about 50 yards. I pulled into the current to see if it was as
strong as it looked and was quickly spun around and sent packing. Discouraged
at the realization that I wasn’t going anywhere for a while I pulled some kelp
up over my spraydeck as an anchor against the current and settled in to wait it
out in the rain.
I looked
across the lagoon and saw that Dave was out of his boat and on the shore. I
quickly paddled over to see what his plan was. I pulled up on the rocky beach
and asked what he was thinking.
What are you thinking,
Dave?
“I think
we should have waited, like Ned said” was his reply. “Let’s relax, have a bite
and see what it looks like in an hour. Besides, my ass is killing me”.
Now
Dave’s Explorer is a great boat but the seat isn’t user friendly and he was
realizing that once out of the lagoon we were facing some potentially long time
in the saddle. He couldn’t see any point in getting a head start on his
hurting.
Sitting
in a downpour isn’t real relaxing but our drysuits made it bearable. We just
sat and watched the water rise. The sound of the rapid was becoming less
obvious and suddenly, there was Greg. He had come down the far passage after
another unsuccessful bid against the final rise. He said that he just hadn’t
been able to overcome the last little bit but he thought that the current might
be lessening some. After a while we got back in our boats for another try.
Greg went
first and climbed up the initial section without too much drama. Dave went next
and I followed. It was hard work but do-able. The current was definitely
reduced now and the climb not as steep as an hour before. We all rested in the
eddy behind a large boulder where the stream split around the island. The slope
of the stream was very evident from here as we were sitting in the only “level”
spot in sight. Anyplace else that you looked was either uphill or downhill. A
sharp eddyline peeled past the prow of our boulder and threatened to grab our
hulls and sweep us down the wider, faster stream if we challenged it.
Ironman
Polkinghorn went first with a full-frontal assault. As Dave and I sat in the
calm of the eddy Greg charged across the eddyline and began flailing away just
a few feet from us. The current tugged at his chines and attempted to pull him
off of the course that he was trying to hold but not progressing on. He pounded
away with that paddle for a long time and moved very, very slowly forward.
Finally the current released him and he pulled up over the mild transition.
I was
discouraged that it had been so hard for Greg because I knew that I was a
slower paddler/boat combination and not nearly as strong. I told Dave that I
didn’t think that I could repeat Greg’s feat. Dave said that he was going to
try something else. He explained that from the back of the eddy he would paddle
right at the edge of the rock with as much speed as he could muster in a few
short strokes, sweep the bow just to the right of the rock and cross the
eddyline with a very sharp angle. As the current attempted to turn the boat
downstream he would plant a strong left stern rudder and ferry across the
stream to climb the slope 30 yards away. And, that’s just what he did. Once
across that eddyline he was just screaming sideways across the current until tight
against the far shoreline. He made it up with some difficulty and then ferried
back across the top to join Greg.
I yelled
up to him that his approach had too many moving parts and asked if he had
another idea. He paddled back down with one. This time everything would start
the same but the stern rudder would quickly progress into an aggressive sweep
stroke to face the current and then a straight ahead climb, which he did. It
looked do-able but I wanted to watch it one more time so he came back down and
showed me again. After that I followed his example and soon joined them at the
top.
It was
another 1 ½ NM against the lagoon-filling current to reach Thompson Bay.
Thompson Bay greets the ocean to the south with open arms. With a serious storm
coming we needed a good place to shelter for a day or so. We were interested in
camping on Islet 48 at the south end of Potts Island but once into Thompson Bay
we would have 3 ½ NM of exposed paddling to a campsite that we had never seen
and didn’t know what kind of a shelter it would provide. Nearby Cree Point had
been recommended by others. It sits on a rocky bluff and is accessed by a
sheltered cove. We stopped and looked at it but the trees there showed the
ravages of life on a windy point and would have provided little shelter from
the coming wind and continuous rain. We weighed the exposed run to Islet 48 and
it’s uncertain shelter with Cree Point’s guarantee of misery against the luxury
of another night in a Heiltsuk cabin that lay less than 2 NM to the north on an
islet north of Quinoot Point. The Heiltsuk cabin won hands down. Dave and I had
stayed there two years before and remembered it in to be in much better
condition than the one on Gale Passage. We paddled for 40 minutes to reach that
cabin on the last smooth water that we would see for 24 hours.
Joassa Cabin
We were
happy to be done after a hard and wet day. We drug our boats up into the woods
above the beach and hung our wet gear from the cabin’s rafters to dry. Greg
chopped wood for the stove, I fixed freeze dried spaghetti with meat sauce for
all and we read the cabin log while we ate. There were a couple of entries by
Ned and Nan and another that I had written two years before. Many of the
entries referred to the resident mouse, “Joey”, who had left signs of his
ownership in various places throughout the cabin.
The rain
began in earnest and beat on the metal roof. The spaghetti with meat sauce
contributed to the evening ambience in a most vile fashion. I had read a
cautionary review on this stuff but had not taken it seriously.
Hear me
now! Never eat Backpackers Panty Spaghetti with Meat Sauce!
Gale
Cabin to Joassa Cabin 8.5 NM
A Forced Day Off
July 22, Sunday, Day 9
High winds with heavy rain in the morning. Clearing in the
afternoon with diminishing winds
Windy Joassa Channel
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
I awoke
during the night and listened to high winds and heavy rain beat on the cabin
and surrounding trees. Snug in the dry shelter I couldn’t help but wonder what
sort of night we would have spent at Cree Point or Islet 48. When morning came
the worst of the rain was past but the wind remained strong. We knew that we
weren’t going anywhere for a while.
As Greg
was preparing his breakfast he noticed that Joey had left a calling card in his
oatmeal bowl. Kind of disgusting but pretty funny for Dave and me. We chuckled
as Greg scrubbed out the bowl and laughed out loud when he discovered that his
plastic coffee cup held another prize. Somehow, Joey had climbed into his cup
and left a solitary turd nestled there in the bottom. Dave and I roared with
laughter while nervously checking the integrity of our own eating utensils.
Greg was ticked and amused at the same time. How did a mouse crawl into a lightweight
plastic cup, crap and then back out without knocking it over? Why did he
defecate only in Greg’s cup and bowl when there were others to choose from?
With
breakfast dishes cleaned and made “Joey safe” we ventured out into the wind. It
was blowing hard and felt really good. Too windy to paddle, but perfect for
filling our lungs with fresh air. Dave and I reminisced about our years of
sitting on hang gliding launches, waiting for the wind to moderate and here we
were, 30 years later, waiting for the same thing. It was clearing up nicely.
Jon & Dave at Quinoot
Point
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Returning
to the cabin Greg began digging through a drybag for a goodie to eat. He pulled
out the plastic bag containing his snacks to find that it had been compromised.
Putting two and two together he quickly flipped the drybag over to find that
Joey had struck again. The Rogue Rodent had chewed through the drybag to get to
the Power Bars. Dave and I laughed while quickly surveying our own gear for
damage and finding none. So far Dave and I were golden. Greg was dirt.
Joey just
seemed to have a thing for Greg. Maybe it was all coincidence but it had to
feel personal and Greg was ready to waste him at his first opportunity. Joey
had made a couple of brief appearances as the morning progressed but we didn’t
get a good look at him. Just a little brown streak dashing here and there. Greg
headed out the door threatening to “take care of Joey” when he got back from
the outhouse.
Quinoot
Point Outhouse
Wilderness
travel offers new and enriching experiences, startling revelations and drastic
change to our mundane day-to-day routine. Mostly these changes are good but
sometimes they are not-so-good. Take indoor plumbing, for instance. You won’t
find that in the wilderness so you make do. When you do find some sort of a
commode in the wilderness it can range from a wonderful luxury to a deeply
disappointing experience. The outhouse at the Heiltsuk cabin is somewhere in
between. It is extremely civilized given it’s location yet it has a certain
“funhouse” aspect to it that is disquieting. It sits about 20 yards away from
the cabin beneath a large sheltering cedar. For those who seek privacy during
their outdoor experience, it has a blue tarp that hangs in front and serves as
a door. For those who prefer a view it flips up out of the way. The structure
lists oddly to the left as you approach it or to the right if you are, uh,
seated. It’s 10 degree tilt imparts a mild bit of vertigo as you anxiously draw
near (toilet paper in hand) and escalates once you are ensconced within.
Questions
that come to mind as you try to clear to your head include:
Why is
this thing leaning to one side?
Is this
about to tip over?
Is this
about to tip over with me in it?
Wait a
minute, is this tipping over right now?
What will
happen if it does?
These are
the very questions that Greg, no doubt, was struggling with when Joey or one of
his relatives decided that this visit was negatively impacting a favorite
family hang-out and burst out from beneath the box, passing like a brown RPG,
between Greg’s feet. Reacting to being startled with one’s pants around one’s
ankles can’t have a good outcome and didn’t. This was really beginning to feel
personal and was the last straw for Greg who came back from the outhouse with a
“Joey Must Die” point of view.
He took
up a broom that was leaning against the wall near the corner that Joey had been
frequenting and waited. Soon, like a gunslinger called out into the street Joey
emerged to face his challenger. Greg took a couple of half-hearted swings at
him which Joey easily dodged but he acted a bit odd. I’m no expert on rodent
behavior but this mouse seemed “wrong” to me. He could have hidden, but didn’t.
He could have run but didn’t. He could have been out of there but wasn’t. Was
he counting coup? What’s with this mouse, anyway. Was he possessed? Was he the
spirit of a Heiltsuk departed?
Great White Hunter
Greg put
the broom down as we figured that this mouse had something going on. With one
more night to spend in this cabin we decided that we had better just make sure
that our gear was safe and do our best not to piss him off any more than we
already had. Joey casually climbed the wall and sat up in the corner watching
us.
Joey
(Walks-with-White-Feet)
Satisfied
that our gear was safe we went outside to enjoy the windy day. The sun was
breaking out and the wind was very slowly diminishing. We considered paddling
out into the wind in front of our point so that a mishap would just blow us
back to shore but the shore was lined with razor-sharp rocks. Instead we hung
our wet clothing to dry and chased the garments that blew off of the limbs and
clothesline that we had strung. Dave and I read (napped) while Greg pondered
his strange connection with the brown mouse.
By
afternoon the wind had dropped off and we considered packing up and running
towards Islet 48 but we were too far from Thompson Bay to know what was really
going on out there and didn’t want to have to retreat and unpack. So, Greg went
fishing while Dave and I continued to read (nap). By late afternoon it had
turned into a beautiful day.
The Calm After the Storm
Joassa Channel to McMullin Group
July 23, Monday, Day 10
Calm winds and seas in the morning, increasing in the afternoon 10
– 15 kts, a few showers.
The Bardswell Group
The
Bardswell Group, like the rest of the coast, exhibits a general north to south
orientation in land features and waterways. These coastal “scars” were roughed
out by the advancing sheet ice during the last ice age and exploited by
fluctuating sea levels and isostatic rebound which have destroyed and created a
maze of pathways for tidal streams. While Seaforth Channel marks a clear
boundary from the island groups to the north, the extremities of individual
islands tend to either trickle out into the open Pacific as a series of
diminishing islets, or blend with other islands of the group at high tide. At ¼
and ¾ moon tides this island, owned by a Heiltsuk Chief, remains it’s own
entity by virtue or the water surrounding it. At full or ½ moon low tides (approximately
5 feet lower) Potts rejoins Dufferin Island while adjacent Stryker Island
forces a longer paddle for those bound for Queens Sound through the eastern
Joassa Channel / Boddy Narrows route or a schedule accommodation through the
“back door”. Departing the cabin we chose to slip through the back door where a
narrow crack between Potts and Dufferin allowed passage near high tide.
Leaving Joassa Cabin
Through the Back Door
The trees
closed in overhead while mild opposing current was evident. Just more water
going in the wrong direction and that seemed to be the theme of our trip. The
“back door” quickly widened and we were no longer forced to dodge rocks that
set just below the surface and defined our pinball course. Within 40 minutes we
were passing the cluster of islands that protected the passage from Thompson
Bay.
Approaching Thompson Bay
We
enjoyed calm winds and seas as we traveled the length of Potts Island on our
way towards the McMullin Group where we planned to spend the night. Dave and I
wanted to visit Islet 48 for a look-see. Such a cool place-name with good
reviews. Greg was more interested in doing some fishing as ¾ NM south of Islet
48 the area was closed to fishing and would stay that way until we reached
Cultus Sound, two days hence. Greg has got to have his fishing. It’s in his
blood and his pole is always within reach. It had been a couple of days since
his line was last in the water and the thought of going two more days was too
much for him. Dave wanted to get out of his boat and give his butt a rest while
I was content to sit and drift a while. We agreed to stay in radio contact.
Greg would meet up with us on the crossing to McMullin while Dave and I would
meet at Islet 48.
Greg and
Dave shrunk as they opened the distance between us. I closed my eyes and leaned
back against the coaming. When I opened them again only Greg was visible ½ mile
away. I closed my eyes again and when I opened them Greg, too, was gone. I sat
on the glassy water and bobbed on the low swell. Alone, I leaned back, dipped
my hands in the water and closed my eyes. The ever present scent of off-shore salt
water life flavored each breath. My lips had a mild salty taste. Perspiration
or salt water? The sound of the swell meeting the rocky shore a few hundred
yards to my left was distinct while the sound returning from 1 NM to my right
reverberated as though as though produced by a sub-woofer. My hands, freshened
by the cold water, began to tingle and then ache. I pulled them out of the
water and concentrated on the feel of them warming in the cloud-filtered
sunlight. The crackling of my radio and Dave’s voice brought me back. Dave was
on the beach and would meet me there. Reluctantly, I gathered my wits and made
my way to Islet 48.
Islet 48
Islet 48
is one of many islets at the mouth of Louisa Channel which splits Potts and
Stryker Islands. They were all one once and figuring out exactly which is which
can be challenging. I poked around looking for Dave in a wonderful little group
and was surprised when I saw his boat at the water’s edge between two forested
bumps. Landing here could be interesting, depending on the tide, as the tombolo
that blocked the Pacific breakers would yield at higher tides. Waves would wash
though creating two separate islets. Sand interspersed with boulders. It could
spell bad news for fiberglass but on this morning it was a lovely little
beach.. The back side of the tombolo looked 2 NM across open water to the
McMullin Group where we planned to spend the night.
McMullin Group from Islet
48
Dave had
been exploring and showed me around. The “bump” on the left held a few nice
tent sites with tables and benches made of drift wood. The taller and larger
“bump” to the right held more isolated tent sites that were inter-connected
with a winding trail that wound up the hill. They all offered shelter from wind
and varying degrees of protection from rain. A nice place to camp, for sure, but
we had made the right choice to hole up with Joey.
We hailed
Greg on the radio to tell him we were leaving Islet 48 for the McMullin Group
and would meet him on the crossing. He had made good use of his time fishing on
the edge of the Restricted Zone. He threw this one back
Ling
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
We
spotted him about ½ NM away and as we crossed our paths converged. The water
was a bit choppy and as we drew closer to McMullin an opposing current became
obvious.
Dave & Jon on McMullin
Crossing
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
The last
½ NM was hard work as the current increased to about 2 kts making headway very
slow. Even as we drew near the islands the current butted against us and it
felt as though we were barely crawling towards the large sandy beaches that
beckoned. Once fully inside the group the current relaxed and Dave led us to a
large white sand beach where we would camp.
If it had
been warmer you might have thought that you were on a tropical island. When the
sun broke out from behind the clouds the sand was very light in color and the
water a brilliant blue As the tide dropped the nearby islets and rocks became
one, connected by the white sand beach.
McMullin Beach
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
We walked
the beach to choose tent sites. There were some spots cleared out up in the
trees but on such a nice beach a sandy site was preferred. Since rain was still
threatening some coverage by overhanging trees was desirable. The wind was
picking up and not expected to go away so driftwood that would allow the solid
anchoring of a tent while providing some windbreak was a consideration. Dave
claimed his spot first by “throwing his stick” on a level, tent-sized area.
It works
like this; you walk along with any stick that you have picked up and if you
want to claim a spot you have to be the first to throw your stick on it. It’s
sort of like licking a cookie that you don’t want anyone else to eat. If you
later come across a place that you prefer and nobody else has thrown their
stick on it you can retrieve your stick to claim the new spot but it frees up
your old one. You can’t un-lick a cookie but you can un-stick a tent site.
After
setting up camp we ate lunch and relaxed. Dave crawled into his tent to nap
while Greg and I read and napped on the beach. When I woke up Greg and Dave
were suiting up. Looks like we were going to go paddling.
The sky
was mostly overcast, though clearing to the west, with fast moving clouds and
sun breaks. It would go from very dark and cool to a warm, brilliant blue and
back again in minutes. It was beautiful to watch as the water reflected the
changes and shifted from dull grey to tropical, transparent blue in the blink
of an eye.. The SW wind at the surface was about 10 kts and as we rounded the
end of our island we encountered swells that broke unexpectedly on submerged
shoals. We picked our way through the small boomers, zig-zagging around some
and timing our passage through others. There seemed to always be a wave breaking
over a shoal ahead of us and it felt like we were looking uphill at the
horizon. We paddled towards the blinding reflection of the sun on the open
Pacific.
Outside McMullin
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
At some
point it seemed to me that we were charging west without a plan and no visible
end to the breaking waves. I suggested that we turn north and circumnavigate
our island. Heading north we encountered an odd sea state that must have been
influenced by the southwesterly swell, west wind, a tidal current, shallow
water and reflected waves from the rocky shore. It was active paddling for
about ½ NM until we turned the corner and were sheltered from the confusion. We
continued around the backside of the group and found lots of sea otters in the
protected waters. I headed back to camp while Dave and Greg continued their
exploration.
Once we
were all back at camp it was time for dinner. After 9 days, freeze-dried meals
were beyond getting old. There were a couple of my selected meals that I could
barely consider eating.
Northbound Outside McMullin
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Joassa Cabin to McMullin Group including exploration 12.2 NM
Outside Goose
July 24, Tuesday, Day 11
Clouds in the morning clearing by afternoon. Winds SW at 10 kts
Clouds in the morning clearing by afternoon. Winds SW at 10 kts
The Goose Group
As the
McMullin Group is an ancestral remnant of the Bardswell Group so, too, is Goose
the ancestral body of a peninsula that once stretched out into the shallow sea
that has become Queen Charlotte Sound. The shelf that defines the Ice Age sea
level is about 6 miles west of McMullin and 2 miles west of the current Goose
shoreline. That means that lots of shoals and shallows affect the sea state for
many miles along this stretch.
On the
ferry to Klemtu Dave and Greg had charted out an exposed 13 NM route around the
outside of the Goose Group. Beginning at McMullin it tracked south to the end
of Duck Island, east beneath the tip of Gosling Island and north along the
eastern side of the group to Goose Anchorage, a protected bay surrounded by
Goose, Gosling, Snipe and Gull Islands . People who have visited Goose always
remark about how the entire west coast of the island is driftwood and sand
stretching for miles. Actual accounts from people who traveled the outside are
hard to find but somehow, all of these folks who camped at Goose saw the
western shore and it was all good. I was nervous about making the commitment to
the outside but the weather sounded settled and we agreed to reassess once we
were closer.
Queens Sound
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
The 2.1
NM crossing of Golby Passage to Goose was uneventful though I suspect that it
could exhibit lots of current during peak tidal exchanges. We discussed the
pros and cons of a direct route of only 5.9 NM along the eastern shore or the
longer, more adventurous route down and around the outside. The sky was much
like the day before, changing by the moment from very dark to sun breaks and
back but the weather forecast was not calling for increasing winds. As we drew
closer to Goose my comfort level on the outside route rose and fell depending
on how scary the sky looked at that particular instant. At ½ NM offshore a
route had to be chosen and we opted for the outside.
Decision Time
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Goose
stretched out for miles ahead of us as a low, rocky shoreline topped with
weather-beaten trees and dark sky. I didn’t see the “miles of sandy beach” that
everyone talked about, just lots of rocky shoals tripping the swells into
offshore breakers. After about 20 minutes of southward paddling we finally saw
a sandy beach set back in a bay about ¼ mile wide and protected by more reefs.
Dave’s
NDK Brotherhood of Pain seat was already causing him problems and he was making
noise about his butt hurting. About two miles ahead we could see a light band
of color set back in a small bay that might be a protected beach that would
offer a place to land and relieve the pain. I think that he had figured out
that we were in for a long haul and that there was more discomfort in his
future. The chart had a notation that said “SG” which we interpreted as “Sand /
Gravel”. Sounded welcoming, right? Not exactly a sandy beach but fine overall.
In honor of Dave’s aching butt we dubbed it Boo-tock Beach and Boo-tock Bay,
set that as our goal and forged ahead. We were doing a lot of paddling but not
passing a lot of shoreline. Dave’s GPS confirmed that we were only making 2 kts
and once again paddling against the current.
Goose Boomers
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
It took
us a solid hour of ducking behind reefs and bucking the flow to get close
enough to realize that the light band of color wasn’t a sandy beach. In fact it
looked like a bad idea to even get very close as it was a jumble of large white
boulders. Maybe “SG” stood for “Scratches / Gashes”.
It turned
out that Boo-tock Bay was very shallow for several hundred yards and the clear
water allowed us to see that the bottom was comprised of rounded, medicine ball
sized boulders that extended up into the treeline. We paddled very carefully
towards shore just barely clearing those rocks. Finally it was too shallow to
go further and we exited our boats. Because the bottom was made up of large
round rocks there were no graceful exits as footing was desperate at best. A
curious deer watching from the shore was the only witness of our flailing
attempts to land with dignity. I ended up sitting in water up to my chest with
my cockpit full of brine but with both ankles intact. I considered it a win.
Amused or bored, the deer, unencumbered by difficult footing, trotted off into
the trees.
So far,
this was shaping up to be a tough day. The water, though not difficult, wasn’t
smooth and the current and wind were both against us. Here we were resting
after just a few miles with many more to go. Even on dry land the boulders made
footing difficult. Boo-tock Bay definitely wasn’t a Club Med destination. None
of us really relaxed even though we could have used it. I pulled out my JetBoil
and made a quick cup of coffee. We each ate a snack and pounded GU as we knew
that this might be our last chance to exit the boats and rest until we got to
Goose Anchorage.
Suddenly,
Dave was yelling something about the tide and the boats. Moving as fast as
possible across the rocks we saw that the tide was retreating quickly from the
shallows of Boo-tock Bay and our boats were all grounded. The shallow water
that we had carefully negotiated had become a trap. “Shit!” I hadn’t considered
that but kicked myself for not thinking of it. Of course this shallow bay would
dry at low tide. We had arrived near high slack and now the water was receding
fast. Could we move our heavily laden boats to deeper water without damaging
them? How far out was deeper water? Just wading through the slippery medicine
balls was treacherous and I found myself falling and rolling in the water while
searching for secure footing. Avoiding a broken leg was much more important
than remaining upright. Greg’s poly Tempest slid across the rocks pretty well
while Dave and I struggled to find footing, lift and slide, find footing, lift
and slide, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat. Finally, we moved our boats into
water that was deep enough that they could float with our added weight and not
hang up on the rocks.
Once we
had made our escape we reflected on the experience and felt that this seemingly
benign shallow water rest stop had presented the greatest real danger we had
faced on the trip. A badly broken ankle here would have required a helicopter
evacuation by the Canadian Coast Guard and the temporary abandonment of a kayak
and gear. The abandoned kayak and gear would have to be recovered and the cost
would have been high.
Leaving Boo-tock Bay
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
The way
south was beautiful yet boring. The relentless opposing current and headwind
required constant effort to keep progress at 2 kts and it dulled the mind. We
were somewhat fortunate in that the wind and swell was off starboard bow so we
were air conditioned and could see waves approaching. The highlight of the next
1½ hour workout was watching an eagle diving at a fish. We watched for several
minutes as we slowly drew near. It would dive and disappear behind the swells
only to pull up and dive again and again. I must say that it was entertaining
and took my mind off of the painful progress. Finally, when we were about 40
yards away the eagle went behind the waves and didn’t emerge.
I had
read accounts that said that once an eagle was in the water it couldn’t take
off but could “swim” using it’s wings. We were pretty far out and I didn’t
imagine that it could swim that far. I figured that we would have to go try to
rescue the bird. How was that going to work? Would it let us paddle up, scoop
it up onto someone’s deck (not mine!) where it would dry it’s wings and take
off? Would we have to paddle it to shore? That would be interesting. This is a
shoreline bereft of beaches and easy landings and one of us (not me) was going
to be the designated driver for a wet eagle and take it in and set it loose on
dry land? Now, the designated driver would be endangered and if the other two
of us had to perform a rescue against the rocks we would also be endangered.
And why? Because an eagle had been a dumb-ass and taken a swim.
I quickly
figured it this way:
Greg is
Mr. Nature and would want to be the designated driver. I was using the largest
bladed paddle so I would scoop it up onto Greg’s deck and quickly back out
harm’s way.
Next,
Greg would paddle the wet and totally pissed-eagle who would be content to
stand quietly on the very furthest reaches of his deck while he was being
delivered to a hostile, rocky, breaker-beaten shoreline with no possible place
to safely land. (Did I happen to mention that there are no sandy beaches on the
outside?)
This is
where Dave’s practiced rescue skills would come into play. He would zip in,
attach his static tow line to the Tempest and pull Greg (assuming he is still
in his boat and breathing) off of the rocks while the grateful (and pissed)
eagle steped lightly to shore.
I’m not
proud of it but I think that I did a realistic skills/conditions assessment and
the value of this eagle’s life was in question. I wasn’t sure what was going
through Dave and Greg’s mind at this point in time but I figured that we were
going to paddle up to a flailing eagle and have to make a decision as to
whether to try to rescue it and place ourselves at risk or paddle away and
leave it to it’s fate.
We
glanced at one another as we worked against the wind and current, trying to
read each others thoughts. The bird had been out of sight for a significant
period of time when suddenly it struggled above the waves with a good sized
fish in it’s talons. Bald Eagles run 7 to 15 pounds and are capable of lifting
approximately ½ of their body weight. Somehow this wet bird figured out how to
take off from the water with a load. I figure that it used the lift on the face
of the combined swell and wind waves to get aloft. It was barely clearing the
tops of the swells as it struggled to stay aloft and I feared that a large wind
wave might clip the prize and pull it down again. Somehow that bird managed to
stay just high enough to make it back to shore. What a drama. Much better than
the movies.
The
narrow gap between Goose and Swan Islands was not visible from the water and
the “shortcut” between Swan and Duck Island wasn’t a reasonable option. It was
protected by breaking waves that swept through the gaps. On a flat day it could
have shortened our paddle by several miles. We were tired and fed up with the
headwind and opposing current and continued south, looking forward to reaching
the end of Duck Island where we would head east towards the south tip of
Gosling Island. From there it would be less than 2 NM to Goose Anchorage where
we would camp. It had been a strenuous day and in case you are interested it is
a fact that there are not miles of sandy beaches on the outside of Goose and
that the western shore of Goose is, in fact, rocky and uninviting.
Reaching
the southern extremity of Duck Island we were all dismayed to see that shoals
and boomer fields ran south for another 3 NM into open ocean. I was crushed
because I didn’t feel like I had another 3 miles of opposing wind and current
in me. In my head I was prepared to work hard for another 4 miles, not another
10. Two NM to the east were the bluffs that marked the south end of Gosling
Island and the protected home stretch into Goose Anchorage. We sat outside the
line of boomers that barred our progress and studied the pattern looking for a
safe slot. Finding none we moved a bit further south and were tempted. It
looked like this area was never completely closed out but if you watched long
enough there was no place that didn’t break at some point. I was seriously
tempted as I figured that safe water was just 50 yards away. I could pick a
line and paddle fast. I was surprised when Dave wouldn’t hear of it. I had to
respect his opinion as he had made many more of these choices before.
He and
Greg rafted up and studied the charts and GPS while I sat dejected and watched
the breaking waves that blocked our progress. They determined that there might
be a spot a bit further south and they were right. A little encouragement was
all I needed and turning east it felt great to have the swells and wind waves
giving us a push instead of slowing us down. Another hour and 20 minutes found
us throwing our sticks on the beach at Snipe Island.
Entering Goose Anchorage
Image by Dave Resler
The Goose
Group, while remote, shows the signs of traffic. The area is pristine yet
somehow scarred. The whole trip down the outside was remarkable in it’s
“wildness”. No signs of humans anywhere. Once into Goose Anchorage that all
changed. I felt like we had entered the suburbs as we passed the remains of an
enormous driftwood structure on the beach where we would eventually set up
camp. When we came upon the powerboat pulled up on another beach with the
sunbathing couple and their two barking dogs I knew that we had crossed the
“Goose City Limits”. What a shock. Greg and Dave pulled in to talk with them
while I kept paddling to a large deserted beach across the way. Several steps
brought me to a much larger beach at the head of the bay between Duck and Gosling
Islands with Goose defining it’s northern boundary. As far as the eye could see
was an east facing, sandy beach with tons of driftwood. This was clearly the
legendary beach on the “outside of Goose” that people referred to. It was
beautiful and would have been well worth paddling a long way to reach if we
hadn’t spent the last week in areas that folks didn’t frequent nearly as often.
Crowded Goose Beach
The visit
with the power boaters concluded, we all paddled back to Snipe Island to set up
camp. It was a very nice and sheltered west facing beach It had the remains of
a giant structure that had been constructed of driftwood and ropes and was far
too involved to have been made by one group on a weekend trip. Either the
weather or vandals or both had conspired to bring about it’s destruction and it
was now nothing more than an eyesore. In it’s best day it couldn’t have looked
better than a Hunter S. Thompson-esq binge. The backing forest was crisscrossed
with trails and lots of tent sites. A box toilet was the crowning jewel
overlooking the back bay. On any other kayak trip this would have been heaven.
Coming from where we had been this seemed to me to be an Animal House party
site.
Kayak
Bill’s charts showed a camp to be ¼ NM to the south on Gosling Island. We could
see the driftwood windbreak and a hint of a blue tarp. Dave stayed in camp
while Greg and I paddled over to pay our respects. It was on this beach where,
after 28 years of solitary camping, Bill’s life ended. He was found in March of
2003 sitting among the logs that lined the beach and protected his campsite.
His shelter stood on the soft, mossy ground at the edge of the Hobbit-like
forest with sunlight filtering down through the trees.
Kayak Bill’s Last Camp
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Bill’s
neat piles of organized artifacts had been scattered and were intermingled with
empty potato chip bags and candy bar wrappers. This desecration wasn’t the work
of kayakers. Inside the shelter we found that his signature stove, bed and
bench were intact but the details that we found on Dallas were missing. Too
much traffic. At the foot of a tree near the entrance to the shelter I found a
single piece of footwear. A rubber pack boot had been cut down to oxford height
with a V-shaped notch cut over the instep. A single hole on each side of the
notch had been made to accept a shoe lace. Bills shoe.
It was
odd to look through the estate of Kayak Bill, a man I had never met, and try to
recreate an accurate picture of the man, his life and his values.
McMullin
Group to Goose Anchorage via the Outside 17 NM
Queens Sound
July 25, Wednesday, Day 12
Calm winds and fog in the morning. Clearing with winds SW at 10
kts
Queens Sound
The
morning brought thick fog and the promise of a very long, blind crossing. I was
ecstatic. What could be more fun than doing the “Blind Boy Boogie”, AKA “Kitasu
Bay Times Two”? A real adventure in disorientation. I couldn’t wait to chase my
compass in vain. Who wouldn’t sign up for two hours of weirdness? Move my name
to the top of the list! Don’t consider other takers! This pleasure must be all
mine! Memories of the “Sky River Rock Festival” of 1968 crowded my psyche and
produced an uncontrolled “tick” that manifested itself in verbal outbursts of
obscenities.
We had
drawn out a couple of routes. The shortest crossing (5.2 NM) was on a heading
of 060 degrees to the Purple Bluffs in the Simonds Group. The direct route to
Cultus was on a heading of 078 degrees and would be 7.5 NM. Both presented
plenty of exposure but the direct route would have us in open water for another
40 minutes of fun. Depending on the sea state that 40 minutes could be
significant. Since we were starting without visibility we opted for the short
crossing.
For the
first 10 minutes we could only see each other in the grey gloom but then a thin
line of light began to emerge and my heart soared. The fog was lifting and soon
we could just make out the lower elevations to the east. After an hour the fog
had given way to low clouds which, in turn, began to dissipate setting the
stage for a remarkable event.
Pondering the Crossing
At a
distance of ½ mile on our 2 o’clock position we spotted a humpback whale that
surfaced several times. As we continued on our course we noted that it’s route
was similar to ours and it looked as though it’s speed and heading would have
it crossing our path ahead of us. We didn’t expect to be anywhere close. When
it was something less than ¼ mile away it altered it’s course by 90 degrees and
came in our direction. Greg was about 50 yards ahead and Dave and I decided to
raft up and see if we could get a decent picture.
”Hey Dave. We are going to
get a really good look!”
Image by Dave Resler
The whale
kept coming in our direction and it appeared that we would get a good look. Soon
it was obvious that we would get a VERY good look as it was coming straight at
us. When it surfaced about 100 feet away and was still on a collision course I
became agitated and began to speak in tongues but Dave reassured me that it
meant us no harm. Not totally discounting his show of confidence I began
planning for how to climb onto the back of his deck. When it surfaced less than
a boat length away and it's back passed me within a paddle's length I was
shocked and could only utter a single expletive that I will leave to your
imagination. It had no sooner passed us when we heard an exhalation on Dave's
side and another Humpback passed within 20 feet. With that, the second whale's
tail came up and it sounded.
Really Close!
Image by Dave Resler
Dave and
I looked at each other in disbelief and called out to Greg to see if he had
seen it. He confirmed that we had all just had an out-of-body experience.
Neither whale made enough of a ripple to rock our boats and, other than the
sound of their breathing, there was only the hissing of the tiny surface
bubbles generated in their passing. I followed Dave as he drew his boat over to
the smooth, silent boil where the second whale had sounded. We sat in silence
on the passage-slickened surface and considered our good fortune as the water
roiled around us. Until the second animal surfaced next to Dave we hadn't even
been aware that we were watching a pair. We didn’t see them again. They came
over to check us out and, having done so, went on their way.
That really
livened up the conversation for a while and when we saw the splashing and plume
of more marine mammals about a mile or more on a straight line towards Cultus
we altered course and Greg took off like a shot determined to have a close and
personal encounter. Our 5.2 NM crossing turned into an 8.5 NM crossing just
like that. We didn’t have a chance of catching them and we soon settled back
into a more sensible cadence. The water was flat and the sky almost clear. It
had turned into a lovely day.
Turned Into a Lovely Day
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Greg’s
sprint, coupled with the emerging sun had conspired to make him overheat and he
needed to remove a layer. I rafted up with him while he removed the top of his
drysuit in order to take off his sweater and suit back up. Dave, in the
meantime, had used his GPS to locate a favorable eastward flowing current and
was making very good time towards the entrance of Cultus Sound. By the time
Greg and I were ready to start again Dave was a distant spec on the water. We
started paddling and we paddled and paddled and paddled. We expected to close
on Cultus quickly, as Dave had, but it didn’t go that way. It seemed to take
forever to draw close and, then, even longer to actually get inside the mouth
of the sound. Whatever flow Dave had found we didn’t find and bucked a current
all the way into the mouth. Satellite photos on Google Earth show large eddies
in Queens Sound. Dave had found a favorable flow and we hadn’t. That last mile
was tiring.
Sport
fishing boats were working the cliffs and rocky points as we approached. When
we rounded the last point and came in sight of the beach we saw Dave chatting
with another camper. Bummer! Someone had beat us here. It turned out that a
nice couple from Vancouver had been camped at the beach for a day or so. We
quickly threw our sticks and set up camp.
Cultus Campsite
Greg was
hot to fish and Dave was game. I wanted to explore Swordfish Bay which is about
2 NM south past Superstition Point. I had read a report once about a couple who
came upon a “Kayak Bill” camp in or near Swordfish Bay. Bill’s chart shows an
“L” inside a circle with an arrow pointing to the bay. I didn’t have the page
with the legend that referenced point “L” but I figured that I should be able
to find it. The seas were reasonable for a solo foray and after a radio check
and promises to stay in contact I left them trolling for salmon in front of the
big cliff on the south edge of the entrance to Cultus Sound.
Looking NW Towards the
Simonds Group
The sea
had a bit of bounce to it as I rounded Superstition Point. A fairly abrupt
underwater ledge can make even boring waters interesting along this section so
I was paying attention and watching for changes. The vertical shoreline reflects
whatever the ledge excites and the resulting clapotis should surprise no one. I
was wishing that I hadn’t taken my waterbags out as the added weight tends to
smooth the ride. Small bays and narrow slots in the rocks looked interesting
but were showing confused water and closing out with breaking waves. No place
for me to go into solo.
I
continued down to the Swordfish entrance and was discouraged with the waves
breaking over submerged shoals. I checked in with Dave by radio to report my
location and reception was not great. I sat and bounced in the reflected waves
for about 10 minutes while studying the water at the entrance. There was one
section about 50 feet wide that never broke. Reassured, I paddled through
without drama and was immediately into a very calm and quiet place. There was
no sign of swell and almost no wind at all. I called Dave on the radio. No
response. I called again. No response. Why would there be? I was in a fairly
confined space surrounded by rocky shorelines and tall trees. I felt that I
should leave and regain contact but I had wanted to see this place for so long.
The
quiet, clear water was unruffled by breeze and it allowed me to steer clear of
the rocks just beneath the surface. My stone enclosure radiated the sun’s
stored heat and without the wind I began to get really warm. I followed the
shoreline into a narrow cove with steep rocky cliffs. It was very close and
warm. The sun was scattered by the salt spray on my sunglasses making it
difficult to see. I sat in the boat, closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of
the rising temperature. No wind. No noise other than a soft and low frequency
vibration made by the crashing swells outside the bay that reverberated in this
stone enclosure and could be felt deep inside my stomach. Oh, God. The sea
smells so good.
I sat
there for about a minute before placing my paddle down across the cockpit
coaming so that I could drape both hands in the water. When I did I was
startled by a loud seal bark and sudden splashing all around me. I had drifted
into a sunny seal haul-out but hadn’t noticed them. When I set my paddle down it
spooked them and they all took off. It scared the heck out of me, too. Good
thing that they weren’t Stellar Sea Lions. They could have had their way with
me
Feeling a
bit shaken and guilty for being out of contact with camp I was headed back
outside when I noticed a brilliant white beach off to my left. Paddling in I
found a wonderful sheltered shell beach between the main body of Hunter Island
and a small island that joined it at low tide. It was beautiful. I scanned the
tree line for a buoy that would mark Bill’s camp as I felt that this was surely
it. Exiting my boat I walked up the slope of the tombolo and was greeted by the
squawking and honking of some large birds that I had disturbed. Protesting my
presence they took to wing and flew away, their voices fading with distance. At
the top of the beach I looked south towards the entrance to Spider Channel and
saw that the southern approach was hampered by large barnacle covered rocks.
I
searched the Hunter Island tree line for an entrance into a camp. Finding none
I crossed the crest of the tombolo to the small island. The southern edge of
the island soon discouraged my exploration with tall jagged boulders and
vegetation so thick that entrance seemed impossible. Landing on this margin
wouldn’t be more than a desperate and misguided option. Simply walking here was
ill-advised. Backtracking towards the northern end of the island I found a
single rectangular clearing cut out of the forest. It was just above the high
tide mark and no larger than a three person tent. The short vegetation stood
straight, testifying that no one had been there for at while. The shell beach
showed no footprints since the Spring floods two weeks prior. Continuing around
the edge of the island I came upon a small grassy area where I found a white
plastic bucket set into the ground. It’s placement wasn’t random as it had been
fitted into a hole. This must be a “well” where Kayak Bill collected dew and
rainwater. But where was the camp? I never found it or maybe I did and didn’t
know it. Maybe “L” was a bivi-camp. Whatever, I will return to this spot and
camp in 2009.
The
paddle back took a bit of attention and bouncing around Superstition Point I
spotted Dave and Greg trolling in front of the cliffs. Dave had a Salmon in his
cockpit and Greg had a rockfish. We would eat well.
Cultus Sound to Shell Beach
July 26, Thursday, Day 13
Clear and calm in the morning becoming overcast with rain in the
afternoon
Sunrise on Cultus Sound
Other
than Dave’s solid week of rain in 2006 it seems that everybody who camps at
this beach comes away with great sunrise photos. It is so still, quiet and
gorgeous in the morning. Nice day for a short paddle to Shell Beach near
Soulsby Point.
I didn’t
mention that I had experienced a gastrointestinal event on Wednesday evening
that had kept me from enjoying the fish that Dave and Greg provided. Being two
days out from Shearwater that was a troubling thing as we did have a boat to
catch and we all had to be healthy to make that departure. I’m not sure what
the issue was but everyone was curious to see if I would be able to hold
breakfast down. No problem. I was hungry and ready to go.
Nothing
much to report on the paddle to Shell Beach. We traveled north on Sans Peur
Passage, we chatted, we stopped on a rocky shore so that Dave could strip a
layer off from under his drysuit. Having only paddled this route heading south
I was still surprised that it didn’t look familiar heading north.
Sans Peur Passage
The
island that holds Shell Beach is visible from about 3 NM on this route but the
beach is not. I quit guessing where to head after a while as I knew that we
could locate it on the GPS and somehow, I wasn’t looking forward to finding it.
I really wanted to keep paddling and Shell Beach was just another signpost
pointing the way back to reality.
We could
see rain north of Hunter Channel and somewhere mid-channel it moved far enough
south to touch us. Dave and I donned our rain hats. Greg wasn’t fazed and
paddled on in his orange ball cap. Honestly, I was just along for the ride and
sort of hoped that we would miss our beach and have to spend some time looking
for it. Backtracking maybe. I didn’t care but I just didn’t want to arrive at
Shell Beach in the rain.
Well,
Dave and Greg are good navigators and they paddled right to the beach through
the backdoor. I didn’t even realize that we were there until we were 20 yards
away. We landed in a light drizzle.
Drizzly Arrival at Shell
Beach
Two years
ago this campsite had been my initiation to the Central Coast experience when
we had arrived on a brilliantly warm day on our way outbound. Keith had fired
up the Dutch Oven and made chili and cornbread for lunch. For dinner Larry had
produced and broiled the best steaks that I have ever eaten while Keith
prepared fresh clams with butter sauce. We sat around the fire sipping bourbon.
Today we were arriving during the rain with prospects of dehydrated food for
dinner. We had spent the past two weeks at campsites much finer than this one.
Shell Beach just wasn’t the same. Maybe a big part of my disappointment was the
general melancholy that creeps in as these trips wind towards a close. I know
for a fact that the Backpacker’s Panty Chili Mac dinner that I made was so vile
that I couldn’t decide which chemical it was trying to taste like. It was
nothing like food. That was discouraging and on my third bite I threw it all away
and opted for some other meal choice from my drybag.
Cultus
Sound to Shell Beach 6.9 NM
Shell Beach to Shearwater
July 27, Friday, Day 14
Overcast with rain, heavy at times. Winds south to 10 kts
The Red Men Suiting Up
We tore
down camp in a light rain. The last thing to come down was the parawing as we
wanted a dry place to eat breakfast and don our drysuits that were still clammy
from the day before. Not much conversation as I suppose we were all dealing
with our feelings about this trip coming to an end. Something that really irks
me is packing up a wet tent so I had one more thing to feel moody about. It’s
about 13 NM to Shearwater and the prospect of paddling it in the rain wasn’t
very appealing. Not today, anyway.
Morning at Shell Beach
Hunter
Channel floods to the north so we did have the current in our favor. The
passing shoreline didn’t look at all familiar even though I had seen it in
2005. After about 40 minutes we came to the narrow entrance of a tidal lagoon
on Campbell Island. On my first trip here we had paddled into this rocky crack
to the foot of a six foot waterfall. With the current tide level the water was
flowing in, not out of the lagoon and no waterfall existed. Very strange. No
wonder nothing looked familiar. We were being drawn in by the flow so we played
a bit with the current but none of us wanted the complications that being
sucked downstream into the lagoon might bring us. We dug our way back out into
Hunter Channel and continued on. The good news was that we had picked up a nice
tailwind and the current was in our favor. We were traveling along at 5 kts
without really trying. Was this the first time that we had current working for
us? It might have been.
Lama Passage
We
stopped at Dave’s Walker Island campsite near the intersection of Hunter
Channel and Lama Passage. Seemed like a fairly desperate place to camp but I
tucked it away as a possibility for another trip. Not much to see in the way of
scenery. The only excitement came with the passing of the Prince Rupert ferry
and our ineffective attempts at surfing it’s wake with our heavily loaded
boats.
Soon
enough our free ride was over and as the ebb commenced our progress slowed. The
rain came and went. More signs of habitation dotted the shore and waterway.
Bella Bella appeared out of the rain and fog. Shearwater was right around the
corner.
Bella Bella in View
Sooner
than we would like yet not soon enough the luxury yachts tied up at the
Shearwater dock came into view. A hot shower at the Laundromat followed by a
beer and pizza was sounding better all the time.
We
arrived without fanfare on the concrete ramp at the Marine Center. We walked
away from our boats and rejoined society.
Shell
Beach to Shearwater 12.8 NM
Re-entry
When you
are out you adopt a routine and when you land after a day on the water you go
through your process of securing, unloading, setting up camp, preparing a meal,
checking that your gear really is secure and going to sleep. When a trip is
over the routine is still there but it no longer applies. Instead of landing on
a beach we landed on a concrete ramp. Instead of the sound of Eagles and Ravens
in the trees we were greeted by the sound of a loud grinding wheel and the hiss
and snap of an arc welder from the Marine Center.
While
Shearwater isn’t exactly a bustling town everything seemed loud.
We
carried our dirty clothes to the Laundromat and the machines seemed loud. While
the other patrons spoke above the sound of the dryers we spoke softly.
We took
showers and the shower seemed loud.
The TV in
the bar seemed loud.
The
conversations of others in the restaurant seemed loud.
The voice
of the French speaking man on the pay phone next to me seemed loud.
It was a
as if after living out we were struggling to find the skills for living in.
We were
reunited with Ned and Nan at the ferry dock and recounted our adventures. We
met a group from France who had paddled from Port Hardy to Shearwater and
another group from Vancouver who had been out for a week.
Greg, Dave & Nan (Guess
who needs to shave?)
As soon
as it was dark we curled up in our bags and went to sleep. During the night I
awoke to the slow rocking of the ferry as it rode the swells in the unprotected
waters of Queen Charlotte Sound. I listened to the air shift back and forth
between the cells of my air mattress as I rolled from side to side.
Arriving
at the Bear Cove terminal in Port Hardy we wasted no time loading up the truck
and hitting the road for the long drive home. At the southern edge of Port
Hardy a bear rambled across the highway and disappeared in the forest behind
the city limit sign. Greg assumed his “astronaut” position in the jump seats of
my truck that were not meant for adults but not bad enough to garner his
complaint.
The drive
to the Nanaimo ferry was long but allowed the hope of an afternoon departure
and an early evening arrival back home. The ferry lines moved at a tantalizing
pace.
“We’re
going to get on this boat!”
“No,
we’re going to miss it!”
“No,
we’re going to make it!”
We missed
the 2:15 PM sailing by zero cars. We were the car that didn’t make it. Everyone
else was behind us. Oh well. Nice try. Bad luck. We’ll be the first on the next
boat in 2 hours. We had missed the Tsawassen Ferry by four cars and this one by
zero cars. Tough re-entry.
It turned
out that the next boat was delayed by a bomb threat. We didn’t know if we would
end up camping here at the ferry terminal or catch the next boat whenever that
would be. People in line were angry and threatening the ferry officials, as
though it was their fault. Loud voices filled with angst. Very tough re-entry.
I reverted to my comforting routine, got out my stove and fixed a freeze-dried
meal. I thought I was done with these…………..
The bomb
dogs finished sniffing the cars and cleared the ferry at the Tsawassen dock for
sailing.. Eventually we were able to load at 10:20 PM after eight hours in
line. BC Ferries felt so bad that they offered free meals to everyone on the
boat. Since we were the first in line to load we were very nearly the first in
line for free food. It was free “ferry” food so nothing was exceptional but it
was a very nice showing by BC Ferries and much appreciated. The line for free
food stretched the length of the deck and many of the passengers were compelled
to order way more food than they could possibly eat. The BC High School soccer
team was a particular offender. I hope they lost their asses in the tournament.
Their pure greed meant that the people who loaded the boat last and waited in
the food line for most of the Georgia Straight crossing were told that there
was no food left and went hungry. Very, very tough re-entry.
I arrived
home around 3:30 AM, helped Dave and Greg load their gear and went to bed. I
was happy to be home but feeling oddly out of place.
Coming
back from life on the coast is hard to do.
Reflections
In reflecting
back on this trip I am so pleased in how it turned out.
Dave and
Greg are great trip partners and both are such good paddlers. I will gladly go
paddling with them for a day or a month or for whatever period of time that
they will have me.
We worked
well as a team and with the help of Greg and Dave I was able to accomplish some
things that I wouldn’t have done otherwise. I hope I didn’t drag them down.
The route
was a good one and the conditions allowed us to accomplished the whole thing plus
more. Many thanks here go to Keith Webb, John Kimantas, Ned and Nan for their
input and advice.
While we
didn’t find them all but we did visit two of Kayak Bill’s camps and got to see
more of the workings of his mind. The Dallas boardwalk needs to be seen before
it is overcome by the forest.
We
paddled 146.9 NM or 169 miles total.
We
averaged 12.24 NM or 14 miles per day.
The
weather was very good to us.
The
temperatures averaged between 50 and 65 degrees F. Ideal paddling temperatures.
Of 13
days spent on the water there were:
• 3 days
without precipitation
• 6 days
with clearing
• 4 days
with showers
• 5 days
with rain that could be described as heavy at times.
• Only
one day was blown out and kept us ashore.
That
probably sounds awful to some folks and if you are among them I discourage you
from planning a paddling trip to this or any other coastal rainforest. a
rainforest. If you need warm temperatures and sunny skies to feel like you are
on vacation this is not the place for you.
This was
exactly the right place for us to be in July of 2007 and I look forward to
visiting again. Maybe I can talk Dave and Greg into paddling from Prince Rupert
to Port Hardy with me in 2009.