A chance encounter with Chuck Curry in 2007 set our minds in motion and
inspired this trip that we embarked on July 17. We were camped at
the west end of Higgins Passage on July 18, 2007 when Chuck stopped by to
chat. A Puget Sound paddler, he was going solo from Port Hardy to
Prince Rupert. He had crossed Milbanke Sound earlier that day in the
same dense fog that Greg had unerringly led the 15.2 NM route from Milne Island
to Higgins. After about 20 minutes Chuck paddled off towards the
west. He still had some miles to make. We would meet up
with him later in Seattle and learn that he had taken a route outside of Aristazabal,
Trutch and Banks Islands. He had intended to go outside of Porcher,
also, but ducked inside because he was running out of food. We were
inspired to attempt his route, in reverse, and that is what we spent the
previous two years planning.
An extremely rough sketch of our intended route was to go through
Edye Passage at the north end of Porcher Island and hang a left, keeping open
ocean to our right until the time came to cross Queen Charlotte Strait for Port
Hardy. We didn’t have the expectation that conditions would allow
that but it was still the dream. The BC Coast isn’t known for
producing the perfect stretch of weather it would take to allow us to consider
that a viable route so an Inside/Outside Route is what we ended up doing and we
made choices each day as to what route to take. We had a two week
hard-date where we had to get Greg to Klemtu or Shearwater for his ferry ride
back to Port Hardy so we couldn’t afford to get pinned down by inclement
weather.
West Coast British Columbia
Map from Encarta World Atlas
For the benefit of family and friends Dave carried a Spot
Satellite Messenger on his back and we “sent off a Spot” each morning when we
launched, at lunch if we put ashore and again when we reached a campsite. When
we had no option to get out of our boats for lunch we activated it on Dave’s
back or not at all. These devices seem to have had some reliability
issues, however, Dave’s worked perfectly and posted each Spot that we sent. For
safety’s sake I wore an ACR Terrafix EBIRB that we would rely upon if we
required extraction.
Seattle to Prince Rupert
At 2:15 AM on the morning of July 16 Dave
arrived at my house. We loaded the truck and started north. Two
hours to Tsawwassen, 30 minutes on the dock, a two hour crossing to Nanaimo and
five more driving up the island would bring us to Port Hardy. On the
way up-island we made a stop at Campbell River to pick up Dave’s fishing
license and to mail the food supply for the second half of our trip (55 pounds)
to Klemtu where we would pick it up two weeks hence.
Waterfront Park
Port Hardy felt dead and most businesses were closed. It
seemed more run down than I remembered from two years before. Maybe
it was the dreary drizzle. Greg showed up several hours later and we
went to dinner. Sportie’s Bar was clean and alive and had good
pizza. They had a decent Pale Ale. Can’t recall the name
but it was “hoppy” enough that it didn’t discourage. Not perfect but
not bad.
Note to brewers: A really good Pale Ale should not be a commodity
and should be way too bitter for the masses. If your church-lady-accountant can
drink it don’t bother labeling it as Pale Ale.
The “Northern Expedition” sat proudly at the dock as we checked in
at 5:30 AM on Friday the 17th for our morning sailing. BC Ferries
has done it again. They really have some gorgeous boats and this one
is no exception. Americans may bristle to hear Canadians refer to
the Washington State Ferries as “rust-buckets” but even the aging “Queen of
Chilliwack” was better kept than our under-funded Puget Sound fleet The
Northern Expedition is a beauty! At this time the route does not use
a kayak cart for transport so we hand carried our boats on and placed them on
the rack at the far end of the car deck. Heading upstairs we claimed
three captain's chairs in front of the floor to ceiling windows and settled in
for the 15-hour sailing.
What a great trip. Sitting in front of large windows
and watching the world go by. This was a section of coast that I had
always transited at night, in my sleep, to the bumping and thumping of the
Queen of Chilliwack. This morning we could see everything, pick out
landmarks on charts, watch Humpbacks blowing and breaching plus witnessing the
charge of a pack of suicidal dolphins playing in the wake bow wake. It
was a wonderful ride and the sunset nearing Prince Rupert was spectacular.
Sunset on Chatham Sound
Once
docked, we carried the three kayaks a few hundred yards to the fenced off
“security” area where we would leave them and we called the “Black Rooster
Hostel” who sent the van to pick us up.
Prince Rupert to McMicking Island
7/18 Saturday, Day
Cool. Light drizzle in the morning, partly cloudy in the
afternoon. Winds south to 15 kt. Seas to 2 foot chop.
Map from the Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
In the morning we walked downtown to find breakfast. Now
you would think that in a working town there would be a lot of competition for
serving the first meal of the day but the trick was finding someone who would
actually sell us bacon and eggs. We worked up a real appetite
looking for a restaurant that was open and finally found a hotel where we were
the only customers. After shoveling down the last “good” meal we
would have for weeks we walked back to the hostel and called a cab that took to
“Fairview Floats”, a marina near the ferry terminal, where we would launch.
I was dropped at Fairview Floats with our gear and left with the
task of finding a water source and filling our Dromedary bags while Dave and
Greg made the 450 meters carry with our three boats. I got easy duty
while they took on the dirty work. I had 85 litres of water ready to
go when they showed up with the last boat. We changed into our dry
suits in the morning drizzle.
Dave, Jon and Greg at
Fairview Floats
Packing a kayak requires that every single piece of gear, drybag,
water bag, etc. is in the one and only place that it fits while allowing for
boat balance, hatch closure and a clear deck. Once I was packed and
the hatches sealed, they bulged upwards in a disturbing fashion from the 130
pounds of food and gear. I looked forward to reducing my cargo by
eating, drinking water and burning socks. It was time to go. The
drizzle had passed and we set off with the skies overcast and temperatures in
the mid 50’s. Perfect kayaking weather.
Prince Rupert is a major West Coast Canadian port so on the way
out of town we passed large ships and cranes for the loading and unloading of
containers. Passing the last container pier, we were suddenly “out
of town”. I love being able to leave a town behind so abruptly.
Right of Way?
We were leaving town at the end of the flood and things moved at a
reasonable pace until we approached the grain terminal where our progress
slowed a bit. It’s only around 6 NM to Kitson Island Marine Park
where many boaters stay and the north end of the island is within view of the
terminal so we stopped for lunch but nothing more. We didn’t want to
camp within sight of bright mercury vapor lights and were headed to McMicking
Island on the eastern shore of Porcher.
Kitson Marine Park
Greg was navigating and his plan was to travel SE past Smith
Island and across the first significant outlet of the Skeena River. The
flow of the Skeena is said to be ”entirely deflected
south down Telegraph Passage by De Horsey Island”. Our route
wasn’t taking us anywhere close to Telegraph Passage but it did take us along
the shallows that marked the unheralded outflow between Smith and Kennedy
Islands. Why was this area shallow? Outflow, of course,
but was not mentioned as an issue in any accounts that we had read. While
the most direct route from Kitson would take us north of Lawyer Islands it
would also maximize the amount of time we spent crossing the busy shipping lane
so Greg was leading us to Hanmer Island where we would cross to the south tip
of Elliot Island and then on to McMicking.
With 3 NM (1 hour) to go to Hanmer we crossed a very light rip and
thought nothing of it until sometime later we realized that our forward
progress had been slowed significantly. I had been using a buoy that
marked the shallows of the Skeena against the edge of a clearcut on the
mainland as my range marker and had been enjoying being on the water so much
that I had ignored what it was telling me. Dave turned on his GPS
and confirmed that we were barely making progress and that our planned crossing
point at Hanmer Island would take us well over 2 hours to reach. Realizing
that the outflow combined with the increasing ebb wasn’t our friend we needed a
new plan but couldn’t afford to stop paddling to formulate one so discussed the
situation while paddling in place. With no traffic in sight, we
opted for a 2 NM ferry glide to Lawyer Island.
For about 45 minutes we watched the light at the north end of
Lawyer march south from Prescott Island to Porcher, indicating the losing
battle we were waging with a current that wished to sweep us out into Chatham
Sound. The closer we got to Lawyer the more obvious it became that
we might miss the end of the group altogether and be in for a really long day. We
each took a slightly different line on that final stretch with Greg and I
sliding into the kelp bed surrounding the northernmost islet. I
grabbed a handful to anchor over my front deck and laid back to rest. Dave
slipped in a bit south of us. We all needed a rest so we chilled for
about 30 minutes and refueled.
Humbled, we inched south against the current along the east side
of Lawyer Islands and I led across Malacca Passage. Fun crossing
with a nice cool breeze, two-foot windwaves and a reduced current. I
mention that I led because I did it badly and missed Chrismore Channel between
Porcher and McMicking. That put us against more current for the
length of McMicking to the campsite near its south end.
Jon
and Greg Approaching McMicking Campsite
Image by Dave Resler
The
beach at McMicking is fairly shallow with barnacle covered gravel at the east
end. You won’t see that at high tide and I would suggest landing
more to the right as you approach. No big deal but it might save you
a few scratches on your hull. It’s a large beach with plenty of room.
The Only Tracks on the Beach
Belonged to Wolves
Prince Rupert to McMicking Island camp 18.2 NM
McMicking Island to Gilbert Island
7/19, Sunday, Day 2
Cool. Cloudy. Drizzle in the afternoon. Winds light and
variable. Seas calm.
Low slack was around 6 AM so we had a fairly long carry to launch. Once
on the water we worked against current as we made our way towards Oona River. Most
of the leg was spent inside the kelp working back eddies. As we
rounded Oona Point we saw what looked like three kayakers pulling in. They
were headed for the village but we had no intention of going out of
our way so we stopped for lunch among the boulders near what appeared to be the
place where the fine folks of Oona River dump their old appliances. After
a lunch of tortilla, hard salami and horseradish cheese we pulled back out into
Ogden Channel. It was my turn to lead so, checking my watch and
anticipating a tide change, I took us away from shoreline into what I was
certain would soon turn into the express lane to Gilbert Island. A
fisherman told us that the kayakers we had seen were from Seattle bound for
Prince Rupert. He didn’t know who their names. A missed
opportunity. Oh well, back to the business at hand. Now
where is that current? Gee, sure seems like we have been looking at
that same stretch of shoreline for a while.
“Hey Dave. Would you check
your GPS? Are we moving”?
“No. We aren’t”.
With that we retreated to the shoreline to search for eddies along
the rocks. We would remain there for the next 5.5 NM and earn every
single inch of progress through hard labor. About 3 NM out of Oona
River the air became noticeably cooler and moist and here in the middle of July
and we could see our breath. Nice!
Retreating
to the Shoreline
Image by Dave Resler
It was raining lightly when we reached Gilbert Island. The
beach was pleasingly “short” from the waterline to the trees. We
found the upland clearings very tent-friendly and the biting insects hungry. We
also made our first mistake predicting the height of the high tide.
McMicking Island to Gilbert Island 16.7 NM
Gilbert Island to Hankin Point
7/20, Monday, Day 3
Cool. Cloudy. Drizzle in the morning. Winds
light and variable. Seas calm.
Map from the Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
We were up around 4:30 AM and ate a leisurely breakfast of oatmeal
and coffee. While loading our boats Greg realized that the
square-ish lid to his Peak 1 (last seen holding two fuel canisters to Dave’s
MSR Reactor) was MIA. The tide had taken it during the night. It
had set sail. It had flown the coop. It looked like we
were going to be happy that I had brought extra fuel for my Jetboil.
Low slack was close to 7AM and by 5:30AM the water was a
longer-than-desired-slippery-ass-shoe-sucking-mucky-haul from camp. It
might have been epic by 7:00 AM and we were glad to be gone by then. Gilbert
is a nice site but best if you can arrive and exit closer to high slack.
Our route took us south down Beaver Passage to Hankin Point that
is fronted by Browning Entrance and near the westernmost point of McCauley
Island. A short paddle but the next “blue” campsite was at Anger
Island and that was further down Principe Channel than we cared to go in a day. We
left Gilbert with zero wind, light fog, and drizzle. A typical
summer day on the BC coast. The drizzle soon turned to a light mist. The
moisture and fog magically diffused the sunlight that occasionally slipped
through. It was wonderful paddling. It was a day where
you could see your breath, whales could be heard that weren’t seen and the
mountains of Pitt Island disappeared into the gray sky above.
A Typical Summer Day on the
BC Coast
Image by Dave Resler
The small cove that shelters the campsite near Hankin Point has a
sizeable stream on its southern edge, a rocky islet and a sand beach. As
the tide drops the islet separates the flow of the stream from the actual
campsite “beach” with a rocky tombolo and a large sloping rock facing the open
ocean emerges and dries. The upland campsites are obvious and
friendly. So are the biting insects.
Dave and Greg took off to go fishing while I hung around camp and
gathered water from the stream. The large sloping rock warmed my
body and dried my laundry while I filtered about 20 litres. This was
such a nice spot to hang out, it felt special somehow and obviously had a
history. Dave returned having caught and released a Salmon. Greg
was still out there and when he came back he had caught two salmon and kept one
that he prepared for dinner with mashed potatoes.
Greg Provides
Image by Dave Resler
As the afternoon waned and the tide receded we saw that there was
a fish trap across the cove that had been made by the early residents of the
area. It would have been used to capture salmon returning to the
adjacent stream who found themselves on the wrong side of the tombolo as the
tide dropped. A very special place, indeed.
Gilbert Island to Hankin Point 9.8 NM
Hankin Point to Ralston Island
7/21, Tuesday Day 4
Cool to mid-60
degrees.. Overcast, clearing in the afternoon. Winds NW
15-25, gusts
With
low slack at 7:48
AM we were up at 4 AM and on the water a little after 6:00 AM to get some help
from the current and make some miles before it changed and clashed with the
building winds. Heading east down Principe Channel the wind was at
our backs and we paddled easily just outside the kelp. When the
current switched the main part of the channel came alive with loud, standing
waves and as the wind built the waves showed more personality and started to
move. At that point we ducked inside the kelp just flew along the
shoreline dodging rocks and zipping in and out of kelp clumps. It
was a lot of fun to move so fast without putting much effort into anything
other than controlling our direction. The high clouds cleared and
the brilliant sun warmed our suits but not the air that remained cool enough
that we could see our breath. After 12 NM we were ready for a break
and pulled into a sheltered bay where a steep boulder beach served as a good
spot for an early lunch.
Greg Resting in the Kelp
Leaving the sheltered bay, we blew further down the channel until
we came to Canaveral Pass that separates Pitt and Squall Islands. Ready
for a change we allowed ourselves to be blown into the pass that narrowed and
eventually presented a mellow rapid as it squeezed between the shores and over
the shallows. It opened into a sheltered tropical blue lagoon that
was alive with jellyfish. There were billions of clear jellyfish
between a ½” to 4” in diameter pulsating in the magic multi-hued blue waters. They
were contrasted by hundreds of large red Lion’s Mane Jellyfish. We
had transitioned from high energy wind and water to a calm and quiet paradise
as though we had changed the channel and were watching a different movie.
Passing on to Squall Bay we stopped briefly on a rocky shore to
allow Dave to get out of his boat while Greg and I floated nearby. Without
seeing it we all knew that we were coming up to a textured crossing where
Petrel Channel meets Principe. After a brief rest we pushed out into
the wind along Wright Island.
The cloudless sky was brilliant blue and the water was marked with
long windlines and spilling waves that advanced southeast down Principe
Channel. They marched in continuous parallel lines stretching across
the 2 NM wide channel. What an amazing and somewhat intimidating
sight. The small waves were two feet and capping while anything
above that was spilling or breaking. We set our course for Foul
Point, the westernmost shore of Anger Island. That put the wind and
waves a little over our right shoulders and as we started the 3.5 NM crossing
we realized that the trick was going to be not surfing.
For once we stayed close together. I can’t think of
another 3.5 NM of our trip where we were paddling that close and it was really,
really fun. Greg was just to my left and Dave was just behind and to
my right. I’m used to seeing Greg’s back at a distance and this was
more eye contact than we ever had before. Several times I let my
Tempest wander a little too far offline resulting in serious broaching that
made me say some bad words loudly and took some doing to straighten out. Did
I mention how much fun this was?
We had been cheating a bit to the right so that we wouldn’t end up
in a spot where we had to go crosswind for any distance. Nearing
Foul Point we could see that the water looked decidedly unhappy in the channel
outside of Freberg Islet. Between the islet and Foul Point were
shallows where waves were breaking. I had been watching this spot
closely for a couple of miles and had seen a spot that didn’t appear to
be breaking. Of course, the backsides of waves always paint a
prettier picture then the fronts, right? Were we entering a trap? Still
as crunch-time rapidly approached the shoal looked a better option than the
channel. Greg was in the lead now and we were shouting back and
forth over the wind and sea as to what line to take. I was convinced
that going over the shoal was the better choice to going around Freberg Islet
in those conditions and shouted directions to Greg. He took the
perfect line and with whitewater crashing on both sides easily rode the
spilling wave across the shoal. Dave and I followed right behind. What
a great ride!
We still had a little over 3 NM to go to Ralston Island but we
were able to alleviate some of the drama by staying in closer to Anger Island
and ducking behind shoals and islets as the wind provided the impetus for our
progress. I led us into a dead end “shortcut” that dried at lower
tide levels. It turned out that my sunglasses didn’t allow me to
distinguish between light blue and light green on a chart. Yeah,
that’s it, my sunglasses were at fault or maybe my dog just ate my homework. Whatever,
Dave tried to tell me but I wasn’t listening. His GPS hasn’t steered
us wrong on tides yet. We had to backtrack a bit to find a passage
through the shallows but eventually came upon the first campsite that we had
marked from WC2. It offered a shallow mucky beach and looked like an
OK place for a single tent if you could time your arrival and departure for a
high tide. No such luck for us so we continued on to the site at the
far end of the largest island in the group.
Ralston Beach
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
This site has a beach comprised of fist-sized rocks. Interesting
geology. Lots of folded and multi-colored stones and a sheltered
view of windy, Principe Channel. Climbing up into the forest we
found a number of spots open enough for tents but none looked like they had
been cleared for that purpose. The ground was soft with thick moss
and I set my tent up between two large CMT’s. One bore the scars
from plank harvesting as well as numerous old “axe” marks. I slept
like a log.
Hankin Point to Ralston Islands 24.8 NM
Ralston Islands to Monkton Inlet
7/22, Wednesday Day 5
Cool to mid-6o degrees. Fog in the morning then clearing.
Winds light NW 0 – 10 in the afternoon. Seas calm to rippled
Winds NW to 25 were forecasted for the afternoon
so we were up at 4:00 AM but dawdled about camp tearing down, packing eating
oatmeal, drinking coffee, etc. We were three pretty happy guys just
being in this beautiful setting and just hanging out. Monkton Inlet
was the day’s goal and it was only about 15 NM. We launched and
savored our time in the boats on the glassy, smooth water as the sun rose over
the mountains of Pitt Island.
Calm and Clear Morning
A bit past Oar Point we started to see a string of large white
“chunks” in the water. We were hugging the shoreline while they were
further out in the channel so we didn’t get close enough to determine what they
were. Eventually we found that they were large chunks of floating
foam that had formed at the mouth of a creek and had been pulled out into the
channel by the tide. The creek was choked with foam, which in
places, was over two feet thick. I emerged from the mouth of the
creek with dirty foam all over my boat.
At the NW edge of Monkton Inlet Greg asked if he could fish. After
a radio check Dave and I continued on to find a campsite somewhere beyond the
far side. A fair amount of current was flowing into the inlet from
Nepean Sound and surprised us in a couple of places so we ferried across to the
shore and eddied upstream behind rocks.
The “blue” campsite from WC2 was marked in a narrow cove just past
the entrance to the inlet where the breeze and tide were flowing in against the
bright granite gravel beach that marked the edge of the forest. We
drifted in and bumped ashore. Exiting our boats we looked but didn’t
find any clearings in the trees. In fact, we could find no way into
the forest at all but it was a nice place for lunch so we basked in the warm
sun and feasted on tortillas, salami and cheese.
Monkton Campsite Cove
Energy restored, we moved our boats up a good distance up towards
the trees and walked across the beach to explore the far corner that was
blocked by fallen trees. Wading through waist deep turquoise water
we skirted a tree that had fallen at the extreme right end of the beach
blocking shore access. Beyond it a barely visible track rose into
the forest marked with some metal debris, broken glass and pottery. We
followed it up into the woods and found some nice mossy clearings. One
was in the log foundation of what had been some sort of building and further up
was another clearing that had once been home to another structure. We
had found our campsite.
We radioed the news to Greg and returned to the beach feeling
pretty pleased with ourselves until I looked across the cove saw that our boats
were gone.
“Oh shit, Dave! Our
boats!”
My mind quickly ran over the possible scenarios that might account
for the “vanishing”. Neither current nor meteorology could be the
culprits as the wind and the tide were both flowing into this beach and should
have been conspiring to keep the boats at the head of this inlet. What
the hell had taken them? My mind ticked through the complications of
losing our boats and our gear on the 5th day of our adventure. Not
only was it going to be very inconvenient but it was going to be totally
embarrassing. We needed a plan and we needed it now.
Dave, being a man of action, wasn’t waiting around for me to cop a
plan. He simply said, “We have to get our
boats!” With that he dashed into the water, pulling the
zipper of his dry suit closed as he ran. I stood transfixed. His
red drysuit rendered him a scarlet blur. A cross between an
enthusiastic water dog rushing off a dock after a tennis ball and a Marvel
Comics super hero. Here I was trying to formulate a plan while Mr.
Mellow (Clark Kent) was racing into the water becoming Superman. I
was awed by this jaw-dropping performance and felt inadequate for having felt
the need to formulate a plan.
“Why do I need a plan??!! Dave
is going to save us by swimming to our boats, wherever they are.”
I was sure that he would streak through the water like Michael
Phelps and save our trip.
What I witnessed next was predictable and utterly disheartening. His
transformation from magnificent superhero to something much further down the
food chain was shockingly complete before the initial splash was over. Immediately
he was flailing away on top of the water with his suit totally Michelin-Manned
out. He was going nowhere fast. I watched for a bit as he
tried and discarded various strokes. The crawl became the balloon-splash. Side
stroking resulted in uncontrolled roll-overs to one side and then the other. The
backstroke became four red-clad limbs slapping the water around a giant
kickball. After watching him for what seemed like five minutes he
had made only about 20 feet of total progress. If he ever made it as
far as the outside of the cove the current and wind would take him away. It
was clear that Dave wasn’t going to save our boats. Totally
depressed, I had to avert my eyes. I realized that I needed to come
up with something quick.
I ran along the beach looking beyond the thrashing red spectacle
to open water but our boats were nowhere in sight. The breeze and
tide still flowed into the cove and it just didn’t make any sense that they
could have been pulled out to sea. I tried to raise Greg on the
radio to tell him to start a search but had no reception. I was
ready to climb through the forest to the hill where we had last contacted him
when out of the corner of my eye, in the very far end of the “beach", in
the dark shadows beneath some overhanging trees I caught a glimpse of yellow. Looking
more closely I could see that it was the yellow shearline on Dave’s Explorer. My
heart soared! Our boats had floated free on the rising tide and the
wind and current had pinned them into a corner where they were nearly hidden.
“Dave! Dave! Our
boats are under these trees”.
The only reason I needed to shout was so that he could hear me
above the din of all the splashing that he was doing. It wasn’t like
he had swam out of earshot or anything. No, he was right there still
flailing away a short distance from where he had entered the water and he
gladly turned around and flailed back towards shore. I waded across
to the boats and pulled them out from under the trees tying them securely to a
stout limb. They weren’t going to get away again.
Dave was still trying to make progress to shore. I
considered getting into my boat and paddling out to get him but he was only
several boat lengths away. Instead I sat down and ate an energy bar
while he slowly progressed towards shore. Once he was on shore we
laughed about how that hadn’t gone the way he thought it would and how he had
looked like a young Joe Cocker learning how to swim.
When Greg returned we carried our gear up to the clearings and set
up tents. The tide was going to come right up against the trees so
we drug the boats up the steep hillside, tied them to a tree on the 45 degree
slope and hung our food from a thick limb of a dead tree that was leaning way
out over the water. In the morning we would have very little beach
to depart from.
Ralston Islands to Monkton Inlet 14.6 NM
Monkton Inlet to Campania Island
7/23, Thursday Day 6
Warm, mid-70 degrees. Fog in the morning. High
overcast in the afternoon. Winds light NW 0 – 10 in the afternoon. Seas
calm to rippled
We were up at 3:30 AM to get on the water and paddle a touch over 6 NM to catch
the slack at Otter Channel. Otter separates Pitt from Campania and
the crossing that we planned was 2.6 NM. Cautions of significant
exchanges and opposing winds here prompted our desire to make the most of the
short slack, hence the early departure. In the interest of getting
away quickly we chose to forgo breakfast and fuel with an energy bar. We
would eat later.
Tearing down by headlight had become the norm. What was
interesting were the two trips I made carrying gear from the tent site to the
section of beach that was exposed at 4:00 AM. I was the last to
leave the campsite and it was a weird trip times two in total darkness. Dave
and Greg were already on the beach and there really wasn’t a trail to follow. I
called down to the beach for advice and was told to traverse across a fairly
steep and mossy hillside, over and under fallen trees, then directly down the
slope to the section of “beach” that we could use to load our boats. Additionally,
we had to belay the boats down out of the woods. Did I mention that
it was dark? I figured that having to make this trip three times
(twice down and once back up) would make it easier but it didn’t. Funny
how things give way under your feet in the dark. I did mention that
it was dark, right?
Upon gaining the beach I learned that the thick limb that we had
hung our food from had broken during the night, dropping onto a mostly
submerged rock. Our drybags containing food had spent much of the
night underwater. My thoughts raced to the OR ultra-light drybags
that my oatmeal was in and my heart sank. I had never expected to
test the waterproofness of those bags. Their job was to keep my
breakfast from getting “damp” inside a drybag that was inside a dry hatch. There
was no expectation that they would spend the night underwater. Bummer
for me.
By the time we were loaded and left the inlet there was a bit of
light filtering through the fog creating a world of dark monotones. We
paddled southeast down the coast of Pitt as the sky lightened and introduced
some dark greys. After about two hours of paddling in fog we were
nearing the crossing point but we were a little ahead of schedule so we pulled
in to a narrow gash in the rocky cliffs and found a tiny shallow beach that was
crazy with life. There were starfish of all descriptions, anemones
of all colors and all manner of creeping “sea bugs”. As we ate our
400 calorie snack we watched a starfish slither across the seaweed at a speed
we didn’t know they were capable of attaining and watched another work his way
through a maze using one of his many arms as the leader while the rest followed
behind. This was some great Jacque Cousteau stuff.
Reluctantly we left this cleft full of life and upon exiting were
greeted by a humpback headed our way. A good omen. We
were right on time for our planned transit of Otter so we started across. The
fog was lifting but the sky, while still thick, was now silver-grey. The
air was cool and moist and each breath produced a wonderfully crisp and
silver-white cloud. Low overcast reduced the north shore of Campania
to a narrow line on the horizon while Pitt disappeared in the fog off our
sterns.
Crossing Otter Channel
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
There is a particular magic light that occurs when the sky has a
low overcast or a thin fog layer and the sun tries hard to work its way though. Everything
is in shades of grey and silver. The water is in motion and reflects
light like mercury. The cloud cover thins in places allowing beams
of sunlight to break through, explode then disappear. This was one
of those mornings.
Continuing across the channel the sea state changed as currents
intermingled and interacted with the building southwest wind. Accentuated
by the far shore we could see the mist from the exhalation of whales. The
plumes stood in the air, highlighted against the dark background of Campania’s
forested slopes. I counted seven of them rising up towards a low,
long snake-like cloud that formed beneath the cloud deck and capped their rise.
As we drew near it became clear that what had appeared to be a
large group of whales was actually a single adult and her calf resting outside
of the kelp. The sound of their soft breathing carried across the
water and their plumes stood like silver wraiths marching slowly up Otter
Channel. Each breath hung in the air long after the next was issued
eventually dissipating near the downwind edge of the snake-like cloud.
Our path took us just west of the pair over the silver-grey sea. The
"smoke" formed by Dave and Greg's breathing twisted and dissipated in
the vortices of their passage while the black backs of the sleeping whales
glistened in the magic morning light.
Within 20 minutes or so of gaining Campania Greg began to grumble
about needing a cup of coffee. He was falling asleep. Hard
to imagine but with the early departure and lack of breakfast he really was
falling asleep as he paddled. The BC coast is not generous to those
who want to get off the water at a whim and Greg, as a veteran, knows the
rules. Still he needed coffee to stay awake so we started looking in
earnest for an opportunity. Dave has a very good sense for where
these opportunities may lie and led us to a tiny little shell beach on the
backside of a rocky islet that would be covered within an hour by the rising
tide. I pulled out the Jetboil and made coffee for Greg.
Consciousness restored, we continued down the shore of Campania
for another two hours. The fog slowly lifted and allowed occasional
glimpses of Mount Pender. Nearing the end of Jewsbury Peninsula the
rocky ridge stood out above Estevan Sound with only it’s highest peaks wrapped
in cloud.
Mountains of Campania
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Passing through the rocky islets that trail off the end of the
peninsula our campsite stood out as a brilliant stretch of white sand. Greg
wanted to stay out and fish so Dave and I paddled around a bit and found a
nearby creek where we could get water. Returning to our intended
campsite we found nice tent-sized clearings just above the beach. Greg
arrived empty-handed so there would be no fish for dinner. We just
hung out, explored and took photos.
The beauty of Campania inspired me to spread some of my parent’s
ashes in the tropical blue waters. When my Mother died a year before
we mixed her ashes with my Dad’s. My three sisters and I each took a
portion of them to spread at the places that they would have appreciated. While
my Mom wasn’t a swimmer she did love a good sunset and they would see many
here. Aside from Campania and Hankin Point they are enjoying the
views from the summits of Mount Rainier, Whitney, Kilimanjaro, Cotopaxi and
Cayumbe. They are leaving soon for Bhutan. Together
forever here, there and everywhere.
Monkton Inlet to Campania 20 NM
Rest Day on Campania Island
7/24, Friday Day 7
Warm, mid-70 degrees. High overcast in the morning. Clearing
by afternoon. Light winds. Seas calm
Lazy
day. Greg and I were up around 10:00 AM while Dave slept until 11:45
AM. After brunch we dug a depression in a tiny stream by camp and we
did some laundry. After a week my long underwear and socks were
foul. Washing them with Dr. Bronners would help for a little
while. With laundry laid out to dry we sent Greg out to
fish while we filtered water from the creek. Greg returned with a
Rockfish for each of us. A stellar day. Absolutely
beautiful.
Boats Get a Day Off
Campania Island to Baker Point
7/25, Saturday Day 8
Warm, 80 degrees. Fog in the morning. Clearing
in the afternoon. Winds NW light in the morning building to 25 in
the afternoon. Seas flat in the morning building to 3 foot windwaves
in the afternoon
We were up at 3:30 AM to maximize the currents in our crossing of Caamano
Sound. It was approximately 6.5 NM from camp to the south end of
Campania where we faced a 7 NM crossing to Rennison Island at the north end of
Aristazabal. We hadn’t yet decided whether to go outside of
Aristazabal or travel along the inside of the island. We figured
that the currents from Estevan and Campania Sounds would trend out to Hecate
Strait so the direction would be good for our travel and we would be crossing
before opposing afternoon winds had a chance to kick up. The morning
fog was thick and we hoped that it would lift before that crossing.
Campania to Rennison foggy
We didn’t see anything along the way other than fog, kelp,
occasional rocks and each other. The shoreline of the island was
choked with bull kelp that extended quite far out. The Campania kelp
beds are epic and it was frustrating picking our way through the beds as it
seemed that no matter how far out we went we were still in the thick of it. The
trick was look ahead and find a line that forced the least contact with kelp
while allowing you to generally maintain your desired path. Since
the fog severely limited our sight distance we were often taking lines that
looked good but turned into winding struggles. A nearby whale
boosted our morale.
Nearing the crossing point Dave consulted his GPS. We figured that
we were close to where we planned the crossing so we pulled up on top of the
kelp near an off-shore rock. It had been long enough since breakfast
that I had burned off my oatmeal and was in need of fuel. Securely
anchored on top of the kelp I set my paddle down next to the boat and pulled a
Probar from my pocket. Dave and Greg were about 30 feet away
intently studying the chart and GPS. I leaned back, closed my eyes
and started concentrating on “Sweet and Savory Cocoa Pistacio” meal. Four
hundred calories of whole cashews, pistachios, peanuts, coconut, chocolate, all
kinds of seeds and other organic goodness. Oh, my!. I was
chewing and enjoying every little delicious morsel and when I opened my eyes I
realized that I had drifted about 30 feet from the kelp (and my paddle). I
called to Dave and Greg and asked them if they could bring my paddle to me. Without
looking up Greg said “Sure. Just a sec”. They
continued to peer intently at the GPS. Minutes passed and the
current took me further.
“Uh, anytime soon would do,
Guys”, I
called. When they looked up and saw what I had done we all had a
good laugh. Pretty careless of me to allow myself to get separated
from my paddle.
The crossing seemed pretty long and disorienting. Greg
and I were on a compass heading while Dave followed the GPS. Greg
pulled ahead to where he was very nearly out of sight in the thick fog so Dave
and I discussed whether we should just stop paddling for a minute and hide from
him. He stopped paddling before we could make up our minds so we
were soon together again.
2
NM From Rennison
Image by Greg Polkinghorn
Suddenly
Rennison appeared about two miles off through the fog and then quickly
disappeared again. The appearance let us know that the fog was
lifting but it showed up where Greg and I didn’t think it belonged. Fog
always messes me up. Since Dave had been watching it on the GPS he
wasn’t surprised to see Rennison but he was surprised to find that while we sat
and consulted our navigation equipment we were drifting out to sea at 1.5
knots. Time to get back on course. We continued on our
corrected course though it felt like we were going in circles and as the sun
began to brighten the thinning areas of fog drew me off course and towards the
light. Very disorienting. Once we gained Rennison we were
in brilliant sunshine. The white fog was on three sides of us but we
could see far down Laredo Channel.
It
was time to decide which side of Aristazabal we would travel. Turning
on the weather radio we learned that NW winds 25 – 35 were expected. We
didn’t want to get stuck outside so we continued down the eastern shore of the
island. With the breeze at our backs and the current against us we
paddled another hour to Baker Point.
Baker
Point offered a wonderful white gravel expanse that gave way to sand at the top
of the beach. There was one tent site that had been recently cleared
in the trees just above the Spring Tide line. In the trees above
that clearing resided a pair of eagles who were none too pleased to witness our
arrival. They flew out to “greet us” before we had even pulled our
boats up to the logs and circled around overhead in the increasing wind
vocalizing their displeasure. We set our tents up among the logs
that lined the forest.
Looking Back at Campania
The weather report was calling for NW winds 35 – 45 on Sunday. It
was beginning to sound like we would have another day off. After
dinner we agreed to get up early and decide whether to paddle or not. Laredo
channel was looking getting very rough with the increasing wind.
Campania Island to Baker Point 19 NM.
Blown Out at Baker Point
7/26, Sunday Day 9
Warm, 90 degrees. Clear Winds NW 25 – 35. Seas
3 to 4 foot wind waves.
At 4:00 AM Greg and I rolled out of our tents and woke up
Dave. We convened to a comfy log to
listen to the weather forecast and discuss our options while I boiled water for
coffee. At 4:30 the wind was just
starting to create a few whitecaps and we felt that if we could be on the water
in an hour we could make some progress before things got too strong but we
wouldn’t get far before it got really interesting. We figured that if we ran for it we would end
up on a way less favorable beach around Ransbotham Island, at the narrow point
of Laredo Channel. We chose to go back
to our tents and try to get some more sleep.
Greg’s Morning Coffee
Image by Dave Resler
Eventually there was too much light coming into the tent to
pretend to sleep so I crawled out to find a stiff wind building and walked out
to the beach. Immediately an eagle came out to hover over me and
disparage the presumed consequences of my birth. It chattered
constantly and within minutes it’s mate came cruising in downwind low at mach
speed, wings arched to control glide, talons extended to intimidate and join in
the verbal beat down.
Jon's
Second Cup
Image by Dave Resler
I
had experienced this posture before while hang gliding but it was usually a
female Red Tail Hawk that had a hatch to protect. On two occasions I
had been harassed, totally out of the blue, by Goldens but never by Bald
Eagles. They were always mellow and I had shared many thermals with
them. Hours of circling. Adjusting my bank to the surging
core while exchanging glances with the magnificent bird just off my outside
tip. Giving way when I required it and sucking in close as I rolled
up to tighten my bank. Co-existence was never an issue with Bald
Eagles until now. What had set these birds off?
Blown Out
Image by Dave Resler
The wind continued to build and really lit up the water. By
afternoon it was blowing a solid 35 kt. We walked the beach and
napped. Near 6:00 PM I awoke and crawled from my tent. We
ate dinner and went to bed long before it was dark. The plan was to
arise at 3:30 AM and run as far with the wind as possible.
Baker Point to Elbow Camp
7/27, Monday Day 10
Very warm. Low to
mid-90’s. Clear. Winds NW 15 – 25 Seas wind waves to 2
feet
I awoke a little before 3:30 and left my tent to check the
winds. The stars were spectacular so I
just stood staring up for a couple of minutes. A large yellow/orange meteor came into my
vision from behind the trees on a NE heading. It was colorful and shedding fiery debris. And then it was gone. What an incredible sight. Dave and Greg soon crawled from their tents as
they had been awake for 30 minutes. Seems
that Greg woke Dave at 3:00AM by mistake. We started tearing down camp, slamming oatmeal
and packing boats.
Dave
in Laredo Channel
By 4:30 AM we were on the water and being blown down Laredo
Channel. The plan was to cross to Princess Royal at Ransbotham
Islands but we were afraid that the wind would build and make the crossing
difficult so at Shotbolt Point we crossed Laredo Channel and continued down the
east side. With the building wind right at our backs we were making
good time and soon Disju came into view.
We had an awe-inspiring visit to Disju in 2007 and had come away
“changed”. I looked forward to revisiting, yet I was apprehensive. We
pulled onto the sheltered beach and walked into the forest. We were
shocked to see that one of the main vertical supports had collapsed and the
once horizontal beam that it had held now angled down to the ground. The
remaining vertical supports were all leaning and it was clear that the
longhouse remains would soon become more moss-covered lumps on the forest
floor. Nobody said much and when we spoke it was in soft tones. It
looked like an adjacent tree had fallen and jarred the support just enough that
it exploded and lay all around in giant splinters. Sad. Between
the three of us we had five cameras and took lots of photos. Not a
single one told the story.
Leaving Disju for Milne Island we were back out in the wind and
waves and moving fast down Laredo Channel. The time passed quickly
until we reached Dalain Point. The miles from there to Milne always
seem to slow and we pulled into our intended campsite a little before 11:00 AM. After
lunch Greg proposed pushing on to Elbow Camp which would set us up for an easy
morning paddle into Klemtu to get supplies and then on to Gale Passage. This
would allow him to catch the ferry from Shearwater and get more paddling with
us and less time spent on “the Queen”. From Klemtu “the Queen” goes
to Bella Coola where it overnights before moving on to Shearwater and
ultimately Port Hardy. If we could get to Gale in a day or two Greg
could paddle solo to Shearwater in the morning and board the ferry in the
evening. Elbow Camp was only another 7.8 NM with the wind at our
backs and the current in our favor. We had only been our boats for
about 6 hours total, were all having fun, the Ibuprofen was still working and
another 2-3 hours would be a piece of cake.
We had paddled Meyers Passage from east to west but never west to
east. It’s funny how different things look. Since you are
paddling towards mountains instead of away from them the eastbound route is
definitely more scenic and having the help of current and wind made for a very
nice afternoon on the water.
Eastbound on Meyers Passage
Elbow
Camp is on the outside of the sharp bend across from Saunders Point. Its
general location was obvious from charts and a previous visit but the specific
site wasn’t. We had stayed there two years before but large trees
had fallen and drifted up against the shoreline, blocking the obvious forest
access. A few branches had been cut off by previous campers to clear
a “doorway” but if you didn’t know it was here it would be easy to miss. We
unloaded our gear, threw our sticks in the upland tent sites and drug the boats
up into the woods. Once the tents were erected we convened on the
“beach” for Gorp and relaxation.
Looking North Up Meyers
Passage / Saunders Point on the Left
The view was restricted and Dave realized that loading in the
morning at high tide would be a pain. He challenged Greg to clear
the beach. Without hesitation, Greg stripped down and waded out into
the cold water. I’m thinking that if the air temperature hadn’t been
around 90 degrees F we would have seen Greg display a single digit in Dave’s
direction. Instead, dressed only in his sandals, he started dragging
logs and trees this way and that way and got rid of everything that he could
that blocked this campsite. He was a Bad Man! Dave and I
got the saws out and meekly cut more branches from the immovable log for Greg
to dispose of.
We had made some miles and were beat so turned in early.
Baker Point to Elbow Camp 28.5 NM
Meyers Passage (Elbow Camp) to
Klemtu
7/28, Tuesday Day 11
Warm. Low to
mid-90’s. Clear. Winds calm. Seas flat
We wanted to load our
boats while there was still beach to load on so we were on the water at
4:00AM. Beating the high slack provided that and the bonus of a
couple hours of “push” towards the intersection of Meyers Passage and Tolmie
Channel. To this point, the tides had dictated early starts and
there is just something really special about being on the water before
sunrise. The air was cool and still, the water was absolute glass.
Early Start
Image by Dave Resler
We
took our time and reveled in the fantastic visuals of constantly changing
colored sky and the reflections on the water. Initially the only
things that weren’t black were the sky and its reflection on the water. Eventually
enough light crept over the mountains of Swindle Island that vegetation began
to gain a dark green hue.
Fantastic Morning Visuals
Image by Dave Resler
We
paddled in dark shadowed water to Split Head. About 45 minutes
before reaching Tolmie Channel we could hear a distant, deep, thumping of a
marine engine. It’s always amazing to me how far the noise of boat
engines travel and how loud they must be on the vessel. We expected
it to be coming at us while on Meyers Passage but rounded Split Head with no
vessel in sight. Still the sound reverberated between the mountains
of Sarah and Princess Royal Islands. It just grew louder and deeper. We
were paddling south on Tolmie when, at last, a fishing boat appeared behind us
heading our way. It’s noise and wake disturbed an otherwise
perfectly still morning.
2 Out of 3 Working the Straight-ish
Shoreline
Tolmie
was flooding so we hugged the straight shoreline to work against the current. We
hadn’t worked against current for nearly a week and it seemed a little cruel,
but only a little. Once we were near Klemtu Passage the current let
us go and we paddled easily into town.
Klemtu
City Limits
By Dave Resler
Dave and I had
supplies for the second half of our trip to pick up at the post
office. We tied up our boats at the public dock and wandered around
looking for it. No obvious postal facility and not much was going
on. We asked the only resident that we found where it was and he
pointed across Trout Bay where another part of town climbed up the
hillside. We got back in our boats and paddled the short distance to
the rocky beach. Walking up the dirt street we asked a resident for
directions to the post office and their hours. He pointed to a
building about 50 yards away and said that they opened at 9:00 or
9:30. Since it was 9:00 we walked up to the door. The
sign said that they opened at 9:00 but they were closed. OK. I get
it. Today it’s 9:30.
Since we had ½ hour
to kill we walked to the grocery store that was located in the basement of a
house. The proprietor was just opening as we arrived. It
was insanely hot inside. The previous day’s record high temperatures
had rendered the space nearly uninhabitable in a drysuit but the store was
surprisingly well stocked. We were really hungry for whatever we
hadn’t been able to have and I was immediately drawn to a shelf full of Ding
Dongs. I hadn’t had a Ding Dong for at least 30 years but was
certain that I had to have several. Not one, but
several. The Siren was calling my name. Somehow, I found
the strength to tear myself away from her grip when I saw that the chocolate
coating hadn’t melted, in spite of the 100-plus degree temperature inside the
store. Better living through chemistry, I guess. I
settled for a can of pop and a bag of potato chips. I seldom have
either. Greg got a bag of Cheetos that turned his fingers orange
while Dave feasted on a Nutty Buddy. It all tasted great for a
while.
At 9:30 Greg
retreated to the sunny beach to watch the boats while Dave and I went to the
post office. Our supplies had arrived so we spent some time
unpacking the box and discussing the Kitasoo culture with the native couple
that worked there. They told us that a local burial site had
recently been robbed of remains and jewelry. They were having a Band
meeting about it later in the week. What a shame. What kind
of people do that?
We spent the rest of
the day showering, doing laundry, taking the Klemtu Walking Tour, settling in
at the campsite at the north end of the boardwalk and relaxing. We
were warned by a couple of different locals that there were wolves hanging out
at the dump just uphill from our camp and that they didn’t look like they had
been getting enough to eat.
While doing laundry
we met a couple of guys who had just arrived from a fabulous
adventure. They had attempted to traverse the length of Princess Royal Island on foot and using pack rafts to travel the length of the many large lakes in the PRI mountains. A broken toe put that goal out of reach and they had to "hike" to the nearest salt water access which was the head of Laredo Inlet where they boarded their rafts and paddled to Meyers Passage where they thumbed a ride on a passing power boat.
I can tell you, that
the toe was a color that I didn’t know existed in nature. They were
carrying packs exceeding 90 pounds. These guys were
buff. Think about it. Carrying 90 pounds over a paved
walkway for an extended period of time. Pretty tough,
right? Now let’s consider that carry taking place over game trails
that were 4 feet high and, if you were lucky, stream beds.
As the day slipped
towards evening Greg left for Boat Bluff to go fishing. About the
same time Dave realized that his own fishing pole was nowhere to be
found. He recalled taking it off the boat when we unloaded near low
slack and remembered setting it on the rocks beside the ramp. That
put his pole about 8 feet under cold water. Being the waterdog that
he is and seeing as how nobody seemed care what went on at this campsite he
stripped off his clothes and swam down to retrieve the gear.
I set up my tent at
the business end of a giant saw.
Klemtu KOA?
Elbow
Camp to Klemtu 10.6 NM
Klemtu to Cockle Bay
7/29 Wednesday Day 12
Warm. Mid-80’s. Clear. Winds SW to
10. Seas to 2-foot windwaves.
We were up at 4:00 AM
and packing tents and sleeping bags that were wet from the evening’s heavy
dew. Since it was quite warm when I went to bed I never pulled the
rainfly over the business end of the tent. The clear night sky
encouraged radiant cooling and serious dew. My bag and tent body
were very wet. I was warm and dry. Sure am glad that I
don’t try to force the characteristics of wet down into the realities of my
life and science.
South Down Klemtu Channel
We were away in less than two hours and leaving Klemtu while most
of the inhabitants were still asleep. It was a quiet paddle south
down Klemtu Channel to Swindle Point where we rafted up in the kelp to fuel
before starting the 2-hour crossing of Finlayson Channel to Keith Point. It
seemed like a long 2 hours as the angle of the Swindle shoreline yielded slowly
to open water while the far shore of Dowager Island grudgingly edged closer.
Once onto Keith Point Greg whipped out his pole. He
said it looked “fishy” and he proceeded to pull one Ling Cod after another up
to his boat. He said that it was the best fishing ever. His
favorite lure, “Scout”, got a real workout. In nine days Dave and I
would meet a retired 80-year-old fisherman from Prince Rupert who would tell us
that Keith Point was the best Ling fishing on the entire west coast of Canada.
Dave and I drifted several hundred yards while Greg fished and I
grew antsy to revisit Kayak Bill’s camp on Dallas. We tried to
contact Greg by radio but he hadn’t turned his on. He was also
looking the other way whenever we tried to signal to him that it was time to
go. He was having a “Ling Cod by the Dashboard Lights” moment and we
were too far away to hear him speaking in tongues. I told Dave that
I would meet them at Dallas and paddled off the remaining 1.5 NM. Greg
eventually tore himself away from his addiction and met us at Dallas.
Arriving at Dallas we saw a tent set up on the beach and met Jen
and Pierre from Vancouver. They were paddling from Bella Bella to
Prince Rupert. Very nice folks. While we had lunch
together and shared our adventures I was eyeballing Bill’s windbreak and
noticed that a new blue tarp had replaced the ones that were there before.
I was hot to show Dave the boardwalk that Greg and I had explored
in 2007. At that time it was being threatened by the forest but was
obvious and passable. On this day I found that the trail that had
wound from the shelter, between two trees, around the rock and across the gully
was disappearing like the rest of Bill’s physical legacy. The
“trail” showed no sign of foot traffic and a tree had fallen across blocking
the way. I picked my way through the branches and over the tree
trunk to search for any sign that would point the way but the forest had
overtaken the trail. The path was no more. I retreated to Bill’s
shelter and looked around. The “fireplace” had been disassembled and
replaced with a fire ring littered with beer cans. The bed and bench
was no longer in place, probably taken down and used as firewood. Bill’s
piles of odd and carefully sorted flotsam were scattered or gone altogether. The
windbreak had been modified and sections were missing, probably cut up and
split for firewood. While I hadn’t shared all of Bill’s choices I
had admired his execution. The evidence of his lifestyle forced me
to consider my own legacy. What would I leave? How long
before it was overtaken and I was forgotten?
Wishing Jen and Pierre a safe journey we paddled east on Moss
Passage bound for Cockle Bay. We enjoyed a nice push until our
beneficiary current joined the inflow of Mathieson Channel and turned north
while we grunted south. While it was a short distance to Cockle Bay
the effort clarified our decision to not push through Reid Passage and across
Seaforth Channel to the cabin at Gale Passage.
The rocky shelf in front of the Heiltsuk cabin in combination with the tide level didn’t encourage a landing attempt. Instead we paddled 50 meters past the cabin to a nice gravel beach, pulled out our night gear, drug our boats up onto some logs above the high tide line and tied them off. Wolf tracks were everywhere.
The
cabin was empty but had a recently lived-in feel. The cabin log book
spoke of much partying and debauchery by the locals. Every guy
seemed to know Melissa pretty well. Her parents will probably be
proud grandparents soon and the child's father will only be determined by DNA
testing. Quite a bit of garbage was strewn through the place,
containers of unfinished food and milk were in abundance and the revelry of the
night had clearly not settled well for one individual who had gotten out the
door and onto the deck before speaking in the ancient way. It took
us about an hour to clean the place up. We got everything packed
into garbage bags that had been left behind but not used. Not much
you can do with some smells as none of us had thought to pack a bottle of
Fabreeze. And what is it with discarding socks? I
understand burning a pair of socks that have become foul beyond redemption but
leaving them behind when you clearly had a fire? They were scattered
everywhere. All sizes, mostly white (originally) and thrown around. Under
furniture, on top of it, one here the other there. I really don’t
get it. Did they bring extras or go home barefoot? Otherwise, this
was a very nice cabin with lots of bunks, a nice view and a decent outhouse.
Cockle Bay Cabin
Klemtu
to Cockle Bay 18.8 NM
Cockle Bay to Gale Passage
7/30, Thursday Day 13
80 degrees. Clear Winds NW to 10. Low swell. Seas
rippled.
We
planned to stay the next night at Gale Passage where, after a night’s rest,
Greg would leave us and solo to Shearwater to catch his ferry back to Port
Hardy and real life. We had a short distance to cover and nothing
pressing so I was surprised to be wakened by Greg before sunrise. He
had been up a while just drinking coffee and relaxing on the front deck. He
whispered to me that he heard something walking on the rocks in front of the
cabin. He thought it might be a wolf. I got up and walked
as silently as possible to the deck where we sat in the pre-sunrise light and
listened. Sure enough you could hear an animal walking on the rock
shelf to the left of the cabin.
Soon,
a wolf appeared intent on scavenging the tide line. Greg and I held
or breath and sat still. Too soon, the wolf sensed our presence,
looked at us and froze a moment before his posture changed to prepare for
flight. He looked back towards where he had come from and then
walked quickly past us looking back as he went. We heard the soft
sound of more paws on the rock to the left and another pair of smaller wolves
stepped in front of the cabin. They quickly spotted us and took off
back the way they came. The larger wolf sat on the beach 50 meters
to our right and began to howl. The smaller pair answered him. I
hadn’t heard wolves sound like that before. They didn’t sound like
anything I had ever imagined. Back and forth they called in an
eerie, otherworldly language. The smaller pair was moving through
the forest behind the cabin to rejoin their alpha. What a wonderful
morning.
Cockle Bay Sunrise
We launched and
paddled south down Mathieson Passage and through narrow Reid Passage to Blair
Inlet. Here at Roar Islets Dave beached and searched for a known
Kayak Bill camp while Greg and I refueled. Our extensive search of
an adjacent islet in 2007 had been unsuccessful. Dave came up empty
again. Not so for Ron Caves and friends who camped here 2 days
earlier.
Gale Passage is a
short 3+ NM shot through Berrin Anchorage and across Seaforth Channel from Roar
Islets. We weren’t in a hurry to finish our day on the water and
Greg had been looking at the chart. He declared the west side of
Ivory Island to be “fishy” and lobbied for a detour to dip his
line. Seemed like a good idea so we paddled west out of Blair Inlet
and, well before reaching Rat Rock, Greg sent Scout down for a
look-see. Dave continued on around the island while I hung back with
Greg.
Greg was about 10
meters off the rocks and away from the sucking holes formed by the
swells. Right away a fish took Scout and Greg put his paddle
down. Whatever this was it was very large and began pulling his boat
towards the rocks. He was trying to figure out how to gain control
of the fish and regain control of his boat with one hand dedicated to
each. I was not only watching a battle between Greg and the fish but
I was also watching Greg’s mind prioritize between controlling the boat and
wrestling this monster to the surface. He knew that this fish was
the Mother of all Ling Cod and he wanted it badly. He never let
loose of the pole but he did let go of the paddle in spite of the growing
volume and proximity of the kayak-sucking hole.
I started towards him
with the intention of attaching my towline to his stern and backing him out
when suddenly his line went slack. The monofilament had exceeded its
breaking strength and the fish was gone. Greg knew it and wasted not
a single second grabbing his paddle and backing out.
Scout sleeps with the
fishes.
We caught up with
Dave around the point of Ivory Island where he was engaged in conversation with
the light keeper, Renata. She was inviting us up for lunch but we
could see no way, with that tide, at that particular part of the island of
getting ashore safely. We took our leave and arrived at Gale Passage
about an hour later.
Greg and Dave wanted
to stay out and fish a bit so I went to the cabin with the plan of gathering
water in the stream while they caught dinner. The stream, that had
been so robust two years before was reduced to the tiniest trickle
imaginable. I figured that there was no way that we could get water
to filter there. When Dave showed up later and listened to my description
of gloom and doom and told me to get my bilge sponge and the
shovel. We would dig a depression and extract the seepage with our
sponges. Wring out the sponges into a container and filter it into
the Dromedary bags. Seemed sketchy to me but we really needed
water. We followed the stream bed that was now nothing but logs and
chest high grass. Eventually we came to place where a tree had
fallen across the stream bed and behind the tree trunk some clear, brown water
had pooled. This was more than we had hoped for. We
filled our “dirty water” bags and hauled them back to the cabin to be
filtered. Nice!
The Sunset Was Spectacular
Image by Dave Resler
Huge cumulus clouds developed over the mainland producing thunder
that rumbled low in the distance and the sunset was made spectacular by the
warm, moist air. We just sat and enjoyed the show. During
the night a dry electrical storm moved through the area south of us rattling
the cabin with the booms of urgent flashes.
Cockle Bay to Gale Passage Cabin 9.6 NM
Gale Passage Cabin to Islet 48
7/31, Friday Day 14
65 degrees. Foggy in the morning, Overcast then
clearing in the afternoon. Winds light and variable to NW at 10. Low
swell. Seas rippled.
It was a lazy morning for sleeping late and having a leisurely breakfast. We all went through our gear and loaded Greg down with whatever extra food and supplies we wouldn’t need. He gave us his extra Ibuprofen, sunscreen, lip balm, glasses cleaner and water bags. Once packed, he disappeared in the fog of Seaforth Channel towards Shearwater where he would catch his ferry ride back to the real world. He had about 14 NM to cover and planned to fish along the way.
Greg Packing Up
By Dave Resler
Dave
and I hung around the cabin, cleaned the place up, split firewood and repaired
the front stairs. We didn’t want to leave until one hour before high
slack because leaving sooner would put us at the exit rapid when it was running
too fast and was too steep to climb.
Gale
Passage separates Dufferin and Athlone Islands and chokes down to less than 10
meters at the north end. The south end is wider but still quite
narrow and the current flows swiftly through both ends raising and lowering the
level in the lagoon (the bathtub) that further splits the two islands. In
2007 we didn’t follow the very specific advice that Ned and Nan had given us
about timing and we ended up waiting for the bathtub to fill in order to
escape. It’s about one hour from the cabin to the exit rapid. This
time we would do it right.
It
was still a little foggy with light drizzle when we left the cabin at 9:45 AM. We
hadn’t had any precipitation for 11 days and it actually felt pretty good. There
was no drama descending the rapids into the large lagoon. We were a
little ahead of schedule so we stopped for an energy bar on a pile of rocks. It
was still filling so we weren’t in a hurry. No creature comforts on
the pile of rocks, though, and we continued on. The south rapid
definitely had some current but we were looking upstream rather than uphill as
we had two years before. It was only running between 2 to 4 kt so we
grunted on. It would be different to catch the bathtub flushing out
both ends on a Spring. I wonder what that is like.
The
overcast skies began to rumble as we started across Thompson Bay. At
first it was low and distant sounding but began to get louder. We
didn’t think too much of it at first as it had rumbled all night. Suddenly
there was a bright flash with an immediate report. That was close! Do
we continue on in the open or hug the shore? The shoreline offered
no opportunity for getting off the water so we continued on. Soft,
low rumbling persisted for another 15 minutes and then ceased.
Rumbling Sky
By Dave Resler
The
sky began to lighten, not clearing exactly but definitely getting brighter. The
sun was peeking through as we approached the brilliant, white, welcoming beach
at Islet 48. We set up our tents in the most convenient clearings
and went paddling. Some light fog returned so we stayed close to the
rocks and islets that characterize the south end of Potts and Stryker Islands.
Welcoming Beach at Islet 48
Gale
Passage Cabin to Islet 48 8.4 NM
Islet 48 to Triquet Island
8/1, Saturday Day 15
70 degrees. Foggy in the morning, Overcast then
clearing in the afternoon. Winds light and variable to W at 15. Low
swell. Seas rippled to moderate.
Map from the Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
We
were off to a very foggy start and the limited visibility made us happy that we
had the GPS. We saw very little for the first 4.5 NM to the Tribal
Group, only occasional rocks and kelp broke the dull, slick grayness of the
morning.
Map from the Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
The cloud deck was slowly lifting and after a rest stop between
the Simonds and McNaughton Groups we found ourselves surrounded by Sea Otters. There
were at least 100 of them. Dave quit counting at 60 and we estimate
that there must have been another 40 at the very least. They were
everywhere we looked. A few groups ignored us and frolicked in the
kelp beds while scores of others swam towards us for a better look. All
around us there were otter heads and necks sticking high out of the water. It
was a little creepy to see so many curious otters approaching us from all
directions. It felt like we were in a Steven King novel, “The Queens Sound
Horror”? Dave and I plus our 100 new friends just sat and
looked at each other for a while. Feeling somehow blessed by the
Brotherhood of the Furry Neck and Whiskers we pushed on south accompanied for a
couple of miles by a dozen or so who swam alongside us they were replaced by a
territorial Sea Lion. I guess we had crossed into his territory and
he followed closely behind our stern’s exhaling loudly and huffing and puffing. We
left his area as quickly as energy would muster. As we fled past the
mouth of Cultus Sound Dave pointed out a north bound solo kayaker a mile west
in Queens Sound. We wondered who he/she was, where they were from
and where they had paddled from that day.
Swordfish
Bay
Once past Superstition Point the swells reflecting off the
westernmost cliffs of Hunter Island started to give some texture to the water. Approaching
Swordfish Bay the clapotis was very prevalent and kept us on our toes. The
swell breaking over the submerged rocks at the entrance made Dave a bit wary
but I had been there two years before in similar conditions and had found that
there was a deep slot where the waves didn’t break and safe passage was
possible. We passed through into the tranquility of the bay and
paddled to the lovely hidden beach. I was interested in camping
there but Dave was unimpressed. Only a single small tent site carved
out in the forest and neither of us wanted to camp on the beach with the threat
of getting wet. The grass on the tent site was flattened. Had
the solo kayaker slept here? Dave was right and we decided to push
on to Triquet.
Heading for Spitfire Channel we spotted tiny, brightly colored
specks in a cove at the northeast corner of Spider Island. A group
of paddlers? The 30 minutes it took to reach them gave us time to
determine that they were a nine person group. We stopped to talk and
compare notes. A very happy and loose bunch from Vancouver, they
were paddling north after spending the night on Triquet. These folks
were out for fun and looking for a nice beach to party on so we recommended
Cultus and I’m sure they had a great time.
Looking
North from Triquet Beach
We spent the night on the beach at the north end of Triquet. Before
evening fell a westbound humpback passed by on its way to Queens Sound.
Islet 48 to Triquet Island 21.1 NM
Triquet Island to North Beach
8/2, Sunday Day 16
65 degrees. Overcast in the morning, clearing in the
afternoon. Winds calm to NW at 15 Swell to 1.3 meter. Seas
rippled to moderate.
Overcast and semi-dark skies in the morning but no rain. Nice temperature to travel. We paddled a direct course across Kildidt Sound from Triquet to the southern tip of Stirling Island and the swell came up as we passed west of the Serpent Group. The texture of the sea increased as we approached Hakai Passage from reflected swell off of Stirling’s rocky extremities. Hakai would be flooding until nearly 1:00 PM so conditions favored our crossing. We stopped in the kelp beds of the North Pointers for fuel before starting the 3 NM across to Calvert Island.
1.3 meter combined seas on the way across offered a nice ride. A
pair of humpbacks overtook us on their way to an appointment and a pod of 7
Orcas passed going the other direction. Such a busy place. I’ve
always enjoyed that crossing and, once again, it ended too soon as Odlum Island
signaled the entrance to Choked Passage.
We planned on filling up our Dromedary bags at the fishing resort
in Adams Harbour in order to reduce the drama of a search for water that could
influence our decision of which side of Calvert to travel. If we
went outside we would be out there for 2 – 3 days with uncertain prospects and
if we went inside we could be on the mainland where water was plentiful within
a day. Water south of Seaforth Channel had proven to be as scarce as
the Kitasoo in Klemtu had said. Last time through Adams Harbour
employees were practically forcing water on us so we were surprised when we were
not offered any and then given a very discouraging response when we asked if
they could spare some. One worker finally told us to go in to the
kitchen and see Amy. “Maybe she’ll give you some”. We
weren’t expecting that.
We shuffled up to the kitchen and went inside. Two
young women were cleaning up after breakfast. Dave smiled and asked
for Amy. She stepped forward and he introduced us and described our
needs.
“No problem. Take
all you want”, she
said. “Would
you like some fresh coffee?”
We chatted, drank coffee, learned that they were from Vancouver
and heard about the exciting boat ride they had round Cape Caution. They
told us that a large pod of Transient Orcas had been in the area having their
way with the local seals.
North
Beach
Image by Dave Resler
It
was another 1.5 NM to West Beach which is the largest and westernmost beach on
Choked Passage. It is at least 3 times larger than Wolf Beach and we
didn’t find any cleared upland tent sites so we camped in the sand. It
was still early in the day and we had some damp gear so we laid it all out and
let the sun and wind dry it. Many of our charts had gotten wet so
these were held down on the warm sand with rocks, sticks and sandals. North
Beach is a very nice place to spend a day and a night.
Triquet
Island to North Beach 11.1 NM
North Beach to 13.8 Cove
8/3, Monday Day 17
65 degrees. Overcast in the morning, clearing in the
afternoon. Winds calm to SW at 15 Seas rippled to 2-foot chop.
When we started
thinking about this trip one of the things that I really wanted to accomplish
was paddling the remote outer coast of Calvert Island. I had thought
about it for more than two years and it had really been on my mind since we put
in at Prince Rupert. There was very little information available
about that stretch of coastline and I hadn’t been able to find anyone who had
traveled it, written about it or taken photos of it. The resolution on
Google Earth was poor and we were unsure what we might be getting ourselves
into. Dave, a much more skilled paddler than I, had lots of
experience in the surf zone while I had virtually none. He didn’t
say anything but I believe that he was every bit as apprehensive about how my
skill set would hold up if sea conditions worsened or if Blackney Beach was
closed out.
When the alarm went
off at 4:00 AM we hadn’t decided whether we were going inside or outside of
Calvert. We had agreed to sleep on it. We had planned on
going outside the entire route but schedules, tides and forecasted winds had
made the decision to paddle with options easy choices. We figured
that we were looking at about 3 - 4 hours of paddling to the beaches sheltered
by Blackney Island on the west side of Calvert. Sheltered, anyway,
if we arrived well before high slack at 1:02 PM. Otherwise, who
knew?
Map from the Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
Looking
out towards Surf Islets the sea state was already messy and the predicted 15 –
20 kt winds looked like they were on their way to becoming reality. I
felt that the conditions were well within Dave’s comfort range but outside of
mine. We had been on the water for over two weeks to be in this very
spot to paddle that very stretch of coastline and I was afraid. I
was afraid that I didn’t have the skills to manage what we might encounter. I
was afraid that I would become a liability and put Dave’s life in danger. I
was afraid of how disappointed Dave would be if I backed out.
In
the end I honored my fear and voted for the inside route which Dave accepted
without rebuttal. It was a decision that haunted me for the
remainder of the trip and the years that followed with second-guesses, “what
if’s” and self-doubt. It would be three years before I would return
to Calvert Island and understand that I had made the right choice.
Morning on North Beach
We launched as the sun was just coming up. About ten
minutes after exiting Choked Passage we turned right into Kwakshua Channel. Kwakshua
marks a fracture that splits Calvert and Hecate Islands between the mountains
to the south and the high ridges to the north. It makes a 90 degree
bend at Keith Anchorage and runs towards the rising sun intersecting with Fitz
Hugh Sound. Very shortly after passing the rocks guarding the
passage entry a humpback’s breath eclipsed the sound of our passage. It
surfaced several times before diving. It was heading our way
I was expecting to be bored for the couple of hours that it takes
to transit Kwakshua but the light, scenery and that whale made life
interesting. We were paddling directly into the morning sun which
was filtered by the low cloud deck. That morning light painted the world those
wonderful shades of gray that speak to me. Silver, mercury, pewter,
gunmetal gray, jet black.
The
humpback stayed ahead of us for an hour or so surfacing every five minutes for
several breaths before disappearing again. We were gaining and
hoping to create a photo-op by placing ourselves close to it when it surfaced. When
we felt that we were finally in the right place we stopped paddling and took
out our cameras. We were about 50 meters apart and were poised to
get that great photograph when something like a gunshot went off behind me. The
exhalation was so powerful and abrupt that I nearly dropped my camera and took
a swim. The breath tapered off to a whistle before the echo returned
from the steep ridges that lined the channel. After five echoing
breaths the whale dove without us capturing a single photo. We
watched it surface and breath every five minutes on its way to Fitz Hugh Sound,
each time growing smaller in the distance.
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 along Calvert’s eastern
shoreline for 2 NM 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 we would spend crossing
would be quick enough to counter any 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.
Addenbroke Senior Light
Keeper Dennis Rose
Dennis and Paul met us on the rocky shore. Senior Light
Keeper Dennis Rose had been stationed in 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. 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 remembered him well. What a small
world.
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 Whalen, the Junior Light
Keeper, regaled us with tales of the coast and took some videos.
Paul talked Dennis into showing us the banjo he had made from a
Cherry tree that had drifted out of Fish Egg Inlet. He said that he
had taught himself to play so I wasn’t sure what to expect as he started
tuning. When he started to play I was dumbstruck. I was
sort of expecting a bad rendition of “Deliverance” but Dennis played classical. Absolutely
beautiful, haunting, classical banjo, nothing like I had ever heard before. While
sitting in that warm kitchen with the sun flooding in through the window,
eating warm banana bread muffins and drinking fresh coffee otherworldly music
flooded over me I just sort of left my body for a bit and 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. The
wind had picked up a bit along with windwaves. As we took our leave
Dennis gave us a sealed packet of frozen salmon that he had recently smoked, a
bag of muffins and an invitation to return. What a great bunch of
people.
The 4 NM was a slog into the wind and waves and while it was slow
it was invigorating with wind in the face and water over the deck. We
arrived outside the cove north of Philips Inlet mentioned as a campsite in WC2. It
seemed interesting with a sandy beach right up to the steeply sloping forest
and sharp, black rock outcropping. The tide line made it clear that
the sand would not be an option for camping but the area to the left made up of
angular fist-sized rocks looked promising. It sloped up abruptly
from below 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 to ensure that we would
have a dry night. The charts 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. We
would be fine so after dinner we turned in and I set my alarm for 11:00 PM. I
was feeling a little uneasy about that tide.
13.8 Beach
Image by Dave Resler
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 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 thinking 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? Is an inch enough? 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 the gear from our 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 rocks where we had originally set our tents, looked at our
watches and went back to sleep. Good thing it didn’t rain.
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 tide exceeds
the name.
North
Beach to Bad Idea Cove 17.8 NM
13.8 Cove to Open Bight
8/4, Tuesday Day 18
65 degrees. Overcast in the morning, partly cloudy in
the afternoon. Winds NW to 10. Seas rippled
I
Slept Like (On) a Log
Sleeping on the log wasn’t bad but it could have been if it had
rained. I got up and saw that Dave was curled in a semi-fetal
position on some rocks that had stayed dry. He didn’t have much room
but he didn’t get wet.
Dave
After
our morning meal we packed and happily left this garden spot behind. I
figure that 13.8 feet is the highest tide I would want to tempt while staying
there. A storm could change the profile of those rocks and a 13.8
could be too much. We passed a couple of much better looking
potential campsites before slipping off the end of Addenbroke Point into open
water.
Map from the Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
Midway into the 1.8 NM crossing to Penrose we spotted two
humpbacks breaching about ¼ mile away. The sound of their impact
with the water was incredible. When not jumping clear of the water
they were rolling around and slapping the surface with their flukes and
pectoral fins. They were very loud and boisterous and, incredibly,
we could hear them communicating. Neither of us knew that you could
hear them “speak” without some sort of equipment stuck into the water but it
was very loud and clear. It sounded somewhat like elephants
trumpeting. After watching and listening to them for 15 minutes we
paddled on.
As we neared the Penrose shore we encountered a single humpback
bubble feeding. The animal submerged to set its net and then came up
with mouth open, expelled water and sank back below the surface. It
did this repeatedly and I attempted to capture the moment by camera but all I
accomplished was wasting the battery while the tide pulled me north away from
the island. I’ve never gotten a single decent photo of a whale but
have spent plenty of time trying. After 10 minutes of trying
to get a shot we started back out and it was a grunt to make up the ground that
our photographic efforts stole from us. Once we got around that
point and out of the current I told Dave that I was done with attempting to
take whale photos. Too much work.
We surfed in through a narrow gap between Penrose and Fury Islands
to find a gorgeous white beach and a sheltered lagoon where several pleasure
boats had anchored. A driftwood arch marked a trail leading into the
forest and on a tree were several mementos left by Inside Passage travelers. The
trail led to a large cabin that would make a good shelter for many people in
foul weather but it was dark and dreary inside. We sat on the beach
and ate lunch in the sun.
Fury
Island
Penrose
Marine Park is a labyrinth of islands and passageways clustered around Penrose
Island. It looks like it would fun to explore but we didn’t get the
feeling that campsites were plentiful. Dimsey Point is the
southernmost extremity of the park and from there it is ~5.5 NM across Rivers
Inlet to our intended campsite of Open Bight. The next few mornings
looked good for rounding Cape Caution and Slingsby Channel as currents would
allow us an early start with floods for passing both objectives. We
planned on staying at Open Bight and then having a short day to Red Sand Beach. Once
across Slingsby Channel we could camp at Skull Cove and, wind and weather
permitting, cross Queen Charlotte Strait to Port Hardy the following afternoon.
We
landed at Open Bight around 2:00PM and started setting up camp. The
beach is a large beautiful expanse of sand tucked in behind Cranstown Point
with plenty of large wolf tracks and something else. Brown Bear
tracks! These were the first we had seen and they looked to be a
mother and a cub. The texture and fragrance of the pile of poop told
us that they had been through very recently. I was surprised to see
that the wolves tolerated their presence.
Great!
Numerous game trails accessed the length of the beach from the
thick forest. We chose a spot located between two trails and
surrounded by large driftwood to set up our tents. Feeling very
vulnerable we dug deep into our drybags and pulled out every foul-smelling
piece of dirty laundry we had. I took a pair of nasty socks and tied
each one on brush at the entrance to the adjacent trails at what I guesstimated
to be the height of a mother bear’s nose thinking that any traffic would be
alerted to our presence and choose another route. Next, long john
tops and bottoms were hung on sticks and spread across logs to further
establish a perimeter and finally added a defense line of urine until we deemed
that Fort Apache was completed. Any animal ambling along the beach
or crashing through the woods couldn’t be surprised by our presence and should
smell us far off. We ate our meal and hung our food at least 100
meters away from camp. Dave slept with only one earplug.
Open
Bight
13.8
Cove to Open Bight 13.5 NM
Open Bight to Red Sand Beach
8/5, Wednesday Day 19
65 degrees. Overcast in the morning, partly cloudy in
the afternoon. Winds NW to 10. Seas rippled
Map from Wild Coast 2
Copyright John Kimantas
Thankfully
there were no bear sightings or bear noises during the night. I’m
pretty sure of that as I slept “on high alert” which is to say I wasn’t asleep
very much. We were up and away at 7:30 AM. The shoreline
from Cranstown Point to Extended Point was interesting and would be fun to
explore but looks like it could be a really bad place in rough weather.
We
pulled into the narrow cove at the end of Extended Point for a snack. Kayak
Bill had noted this on his charts as a campsite. Not sure what he
saw in it or how he got far enough into the woods to be out of the rocks and
drift logs. It was a nice place to rest, though.
Extended Point
The
crossing of Smith Sound from Extended Point to Red Sand beach is ~4.5 NM. The
crossing was uneventful and took about an hour. The color of that
sand really makes the beach visible from a long way off. We arrived
at the campsite about 11:00 AM.
Red Sand Beach
Image by Dave Resler
The beach sees a lot of traffic. There were plenty of
footprints in the sand as though it had just been vacated. I’m
guessing that families of power boaters, their kids, their dogs and fishermen
frequent the beach. Lots of nicely cleared tent sites in the forest
gave us soft spots to sleep above the sand. We had a very lazy day
just laying around, reading, napping and snacking.
Relaxing Afternoon at Red Sand Beach
Open
Bight to Red Sand Beach 8.8 NM
Red Sand Beach to Shelter Bay
8/6
Thursday Day 20
70
degrees. Overcast in the morning, clearing in the afternoon. Winds
NW to 10. Seas rippled
It’s about 8 NM from
Red Sand Beach to Cape Caution with low slack coming at 8:16
AM. Cape Caution is one of those places that you want to pay
attention to and we wanted to get around it early. Another 2 hours
south of the cape is Slingsby Channel that funnels a huge amount of water in
and out of the Seymour / Belize complex. Currents can run as high as
9 knots in Slingsby and a strong ebb flowing out into opposing swell or an
afternoon blow is very ugly. We wanted to transit the area during
the first twelfth of the flood.
We rode the ebb down Alexandra Passage to Hoop Bay and paddled against
weakening current past Blunden Bay towards Cape Caution. Cloudbase
was very low so even though it wasn’t exactly foggy the visibility was limited. Many
sport fishermen were working the area and some were doing well. Before
we knew it the light that marks the cape came into view and the place that we
had feared was transited in calm winds and flat water.
Dave Approaching Cape Caution
Instead of staying a mile or more offshore we slipped past just
outside of the battered and shredded kelp and into the fog of Silvester Bay. With
near zero visibility we passed Wilkie Point without seeing it and hugged the
shoreline of northern Burnett Bay where we stopped for lunch.
It was one hour into the flood and we were about an hour away from
Slingsby so we didn’t dawdle. Continuing south in fog past the
large expanse of Burnett Bay we could hear the intimidating booming of waves
breaking on the shore. I could imagine how scary it must sound on a
big day. The push from the building flood got us to Lascelles Point
and the mouth of the channel in short order. We were probably
crossing under ideal conditions but it was still a bit strange. The low swell
morphed into round lumps that moved in different directions reacting to
whatever the current was doing in that particular spot. It was
really hard to tell what was going on and after 10 minutes of weirdness I was
more than happy to leave it behind.
Another 4.5 NM and we were at the entrance to Skull Cove. It
is an interesting place and on another day, we would have been happy to choose
it as our destination but with the low overcast it just felt and smelled
dreary, dark and damp. We ate some energy bars and discussed
pressing on another 7.5 NM to Shelter Bay.
We were both feeling strong and ready to put in some more work. With
the flood in our favor until 2:30 PM it was an easy choice and the miles passed
quickly, the fog and clouds cleared, the temperatures warmed and the windwaves
pushed us south.
We landed at Shelter Bay feeling pleased with our progress and
ready to kick back. It’s a nice spot to camp but as a strategic site
for crossing to Queen Charlotte Strait in either direction it sees a lot of
traffic. Lots of footprints but none from animals including the
cougars that the signs warn against. There is some interesting
geology on adjacent beaches and the positioning of some boulders suggest some
First Nations intent.
Shelter
Bay
Red Sand Beach to Shelter Bay 27.4 NM
Shelter Bay to Port Hardy
8/7, Friday Day 21
70 degrees. Overcast in the morning, clearing in the
afternoon. Winds calm in the morning, NW to 5 in the afternoon. Seas
calm
Good conditions were
forecasted for crossing Queen Charlotte Strait. Unfortunately, high
slack was at 2:14 AM and it would be ebbing until 8:48 AM. That
meant that, initially, we would be working against the
current. There was no way we could bring ourselves to stay in camp
any longer so we headed out around 7:00 AM. It seemed obscene to get
such a late start but there was that current to consider.
We had read that many folks paddled up Richards Channel until directly across
from the Miller Group and then jumped. Likewise, Miller to the
Deserter Group. It was such a calm day with exceptionally flat water
and we could see right through Shelter Pass between the Deserters and the
Walker Group so we just charged straight for it with the intention of reducing
our distance traveled. None of this dogleg nonsense for us. After
paddling for what seemed a long time and with nothing to show for it Dave
announced that we weren’t moving. I was using the high point on
Negai Island against distant Vancouver Island as my range marker and I was
convinced that I was seeing some progress but Dave just laughed at me and his
GPS track confirmed his position. We ended up trying to find reduced
current in the lee of the Miller Group and inched, ever so slowly, forward.
Nothing
Going Up and Down, Only Sideways at 3 Knots
After resting in the kelp surrounding the northernmost islet we
pushed across Ripple Passage against diminishing current. Just shy
of the Deserters a Sea Lion took exception to our presence and repeatedly
surfaced with much threatening huffing and puffing right off our sterns. Nothing
to do but keep paddling. It was kind of nerve wracking as he was not
a happy animal. Reaching the Deserters we found relief from his
protest in the form of some slimy rocks that we crawled onto and had our last
lunch of the trip.
Deserters to Bell Island, Bell Island to Duvall Point and across
Hardy Bay to the boat ramp in Bear Cove. Nothing new but increasing
boat traffic. Kicker boats were everywhere fishing for Salmon and
judging from the smiles all around the fishing was good. Fifteen
minutes short of the boat ramp some anglers in a fast boat made a close
high-speed pass. We had heard them coming fast for 5 minutes and
they chose to pass within 10 meters. What jackasses. Their
laughter said it all.
Welcome back to the real world.
Shelter Bay to Bear Cove 18.3 NM
Previous
visits to the BC Coast had told me to expect that 1/3 of the days would be
nothing but rain. Another 1/3 would have some precipitation and the
final 1/3 would have some clearing.
This
trip offered spectacular weather with record high temperatures. We
had a couple days in the 90’s, unheard of for the area.
Out
of 21 days on the water it rained on only two of them and not all day at that.
We
had some fog but it always lifted.
We
had only a couple of days that were too windy for comfort.
Equipment
worked well
We’ll
probably never be that lucky again.
We
paddled 316.3 NM
Some
Kudos are due:
Thanks
to Chuck Curry for showing up that day at Higgins Passage and inspiring us to
do this trip.
Big
thanks to Dave for all his planning, grunt work and tolerance.
Much
appreciation to Greg for being so strong and even tempered.
Both
guys are great companions to share a trip like this with.
John
Kimantas has created a legacy with his Wild Coast series and provides a great
service for anyone who is planning a trip, thinking about a trip, needs some
inspiration for a trip or just wants to read something interesting. If
you paddle or think that paddling might be fun and you don’t yet own his books
you should. Check out your local outdoor retailer or kayak shop. If
they don’t have them Google “The Wild Coast John
Kimantas”
Dave
Greg
Jon
Revised 12/18/2019
