Hakai Morning
65 degrees. Overcast in the morning, clearing in the afternoon.
Winds calm to SW at 15
Seas rippled to 2-foot chop
Silver Morning on Kwakshua
Channel
Rounding Wedgborough Point we turned south out of Kwakshua Channel
down Fitz Hugh Sound. It was 9:00 AM and the flood was reaching maximum flow.
While the current didn’t amount to a lot it was definitely against us and it was
teamed up with a 15 knot headwind. We didn’t have much going in our favor
as we eddied, dodged, scratched, cursed and crept for 2 NM along
Calvert’s steep eastern shoreline to the spot that Dave had marked as our
crossing point to Addenbroke Lighthouse. Fitz Hugh Sound was capping and just
starting to streak. It looked a bit awkward but not difficult. We
estimated that it would be a 45-minute cross wind/current ferry glide to
Addenbroke so we took a few moments, clung to a kelp bed and fueled on energy bars
before starting across.
Dave called Addenbroke for a weather update and they immediately came back, “Southwesterly at 10 knots, seas rippled”.
We
took that to mean that the wind we were experiencing against Calvert’s shore
was a localized effect and that the estimated 45 minutes that we would spend
crossing would be quick enough to accommodate any major changes. Dave
told the lighthouse that we were coming their way and that we would check in
when we got near. About ¼ of the way across the wind decreased to a
genteel 10 knots and provided a pleasant crossing. Ten minutes out we hailed
Addenbroke and they invited us ashore for a visit.
Dennis and Paul
met us on the rocky shore. Senior Light Keeper Dennis Rose had been
stationed at several lights along the coast and spoke of meeting Jennifer Hahn
when he was the Junior Keeper at Ivory Island. That meeting is detailed by
Jennifer in her book “Spirited Waters” and John Kimantas speaks of Dennis and
his family in the Wild Coast 2. When he learned that we were from Seattle he
told us that he had lived there as a child and that his Dad had been a teacher
at Meany Junior High School. I nearly fell over because I had been a student at
Meany. When he told me his Dad’s name I was blown away as I had known Mr. Rose
as a teacher and remembered him well. What a small world.
Addenbroke Senior Light Keeper Dennis Rose
Addenbroke Junior Light Keeper Paul
Whalen
They
took us on a tour of the station and invited us in to the living quarters where
we met Dennis’ teenage daughter, Sylvia. She was plopped down on the sofa
watching TV. Dennis made fresh coffee and served banana bread muffins. Paul,
the Junior Light Keeper, regaled us with tales of growing up on the coast and
took some videos of us that he posted to YouTube.
Paul
talked Dennis into showing us the banjo that he had made from a Cherry Tree
that had drifted out of Fish Egg Inlet onto the rocks below and that he had
taught himself to play. I wasn’t sure what to expect as he started tuning but
when he began to play I was dumbstruck. I was anticipating a bad rendition of
“Deliverance” but Dennis played classical. Absolutely beautiful, haunting,
classical music on banjo. It was unlike anything I had ever heard before.
Sitting in that warm kitchen with the sun flooding in through the window,
eating warm banana bread muffins and drinking fresh coffee Dennis' otherworldly
music flooded over me and I just sort of left my body for a bit. I just
floated away.
Too soon it was
time for Dave and I to float away for real as we had another 4 NM miles to go
to the place we intended to camp. A cove north of Philip Inlet mentioned in the
Wild Coast 2 and located at N51 33'99" W127 47'61" was
our destination. That 4 NM was an invigorating slog into the wind and
waves. Lots of cooling wind in our faces and water over our decks.
Approaching 13.8 Beach at 8.5’ tide
It was an
interesting site with a sandy beach that led right up to the steeply sloping
forest and a sharp, black rock outcropping. The tide line made it clear that
the sand would not be an option for camping. The forest offered nothing
but the area to the left, made up of angular fist-sized rocks, looked promising.
It sloped up abruptly from the water forming a “bench” that was backed by a
small salt water pond filled with very large logs. There was just barely enough
room to set the tents up between the logs and the previous night’s tide line.
We checked and double checked the tide charts we had made. They indicated that
there would be a 14.1 high tide at 12:16 AM while the previous night’s tide had
risen to 14.8 feet. We would be fine. Still, as we turned in I set my alarm for
11:00 PM. I was feeling a little uneasy about that tide.
The Bench
When
my alarm went off I listened carefully to the sound of the water. It sounded
close. Really close. I put on my headlamp and poked my head out of the tent.
“Whoa!”
The
water looked much closer than I thought it should have for an hour and 16
minutes before high slack. I ran through the rule of 12ths trying to remember
what the tidal range was with the knowledge that in the next hour we would see
another 1/12 of it. I realized that the tide tables that we had made were
in my chart case securely strapped to the deck of my Tempest which, along with
Dave’s Explorer, was stuffed up into the woods and tied to a tree behind a
stretch of beach that was now underwater. I would have to walk over the sharp,
jagged outcropping and wade through chest deep water in the black of night to
get to the logs which I would have to scale in order to get to my boat to check
that one stinking number that we had checked and double checked before going to
bed. The detritus at the tide line said that we would be fine but my mind was
saying something else.
I
got my head down next to the “beach” to try to measure the difference between
the water and my tent. My headlight was in the way and bumped against the stony
beach as I tried to get a better look. I took it off, pressed my cheek hard
into the sharp rocks and pointed the headlamp on the small distance separating
my tent from the water level. I looked at my watch.
“Is
that an inch? Do I have an inch? Let’s see, it’s 45 minutes until high slack so
I have .75 of 1/12 of what? Was that 7 feet? So maybe it’s .75 of 1/12 of 7
feet equals………………????
I
have to admit that math has never been my forte and doing it in my head in a
sleep deprived state while the water level threatened my tent was a hindrance
to accuracy and shattered my self-confidence. I figured that this problem
was going to exceed my capacity for math and this beach’s capacity for
supporting dry camping. With 30 minutes to go and the water a scant 2 inches
from my tent I woke Dave up.
Dave
sleeps with earplugs so he isn’t easy to wake up and when he does waken he
isn’t immediately coherent and is given to speaking in tongues. The normal
morning routine is to scream his name several times at which point he will
mumble, “OK……..I’m awake”, but he really isn’t. He doesn’t fall back to sleep
but he isn’t capable of doing math. When he is fully awake, though, the rule of
12ths rolls through his mind and off of his tongue like water through a
hose. I didn’t feel like we had time to worry about whether he had a
pleasant transition into conscientiousness or not. I wasn’t worried about how
the volume or the tone of my voice might affect his psyche.
Regretfully, I couldn’t concern myself what impact my voice might have on
the wildlife of the Great Bear Rainforest. I just needed to make sure
that he was fully awake so that my numbers could be checked and appropriate
actions executed.
I
suspect that the Addenbroke crew were jolted from their beds by the sheer
volume of my shouting and probably wondered if an earthquake had disturbed
their slumber. It did the job, though, and Dave awoke quickly and any
prejudice that he may have felt vanished when he heard me say, “Dave, we have a
problem. I think we’re screwed”. He was out of his tent, alert and poised for
action.
He
looked at the water and asked what time it was and what time high slack was. He
checked his own watch and looked closely at the water. He squatted down to
focus his headlamp on a single fist-sized rock that was 3/4 submerged he said,
“If the water takes that rock we’re screwed”. So we squatted at the water’s
edge and silently watched as teeny, tiny little-bitty waves lapped at the rock
and then………….it was gone. We were screwed.
Without a word we
both stood up, pulled our gear from the tents and lifted them up onto the logs
floating in the pond. I laid my air mattress and sleeping bag on a fat,
flattish log while Dave took the footprint off of his tent and spread it out on
the very highest point of the rocky bench. We watched the water take the bench
where we had originally set our tents, looked at our watches and went back to
sleep. Good thing it didn’t rain.
My Log
After
returning to Seattle and agonizing over how this could have happened I found
that there was a typo for the previous night’s high tide. Our table said 14.8
feet when it was actually 13.8 feet. The tide that chased me onto the logs was
14.1 feet.
Write
this down: Never plan on camping at 13.8 Beach if the tidal prediction
exceeds the name.
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