Image
by Dave Resler
Dave and I planned to paddle from Port Hardy around the north end
of Vancouver Island…..sort of. I say sort of because normally there are
months of detailed planning that precedes these trips but both of us were so
busy with family and work that planning was crammed into very short, individual
and last-minute time slots. Dave, the fastidious planner, would normally
have three routes carefully worked out with different timelines for each.
We would pick one as conditions presented themselves and stick with it. I
had learned a lot from him and incorporated his style into my solo trip plan in
2012. During that trip, however, I found that I was very comfortable
going off-plan and switching from one to another as conditions and
opportunities presented themselves.
Our basic plan was to paddle up Goletas Channel towards Cape
Scott, the far end of Vancouver Island, and down the west coast to Quatsino
Sound ending in Coal Harbour. Conditions and whim would determine our
exact path to Cape Scott and our daily distance, overall. We weren’t
pressed for time as we had three weeks. We could finish early or afford to get
pinned for days somewhere with no way to get off the beach.
Ultimately, tides, winds and sea state would dictate progress and
we could choose to cross Goletas Channel to the God’s Pocket complex, Nigei
Island and Hope Island areas to just poke around and hide from high winds and
weather or just hang out. We could also choose to benefit from the
favorable morning ebbs that should push us up the channel and on our way.
Current in Goletas Channel runs up to 3 knots with intersecting currents
running to 5 knots providing an environment where rips and ragged water can be
generated. Throw a west wind against the ebb and progress could become
arduous and busy.
Between Vancouver and Hope Islands Goletas Channel escapes into
the open Pacific where Nahwitti Bar rises up from the depths to confound and anger
the current, winds and swell. Vessels of all size consider conditions on
the bar and it can go off.
With the timing of the ebb we could be staged to round Cape Scott
within a few days of leaving Port Hardy. Cape Scott is a serious open
ocean objective and most uneventfully rounded during slack with no wind or
swell. It sticks a long way out into the path that the tidal stream would
like to take and whenever that happens the water expresses its displeasure in
some fashion. Best to sneak around.
Swells traveling from Alaska, Asia and the south-eastern Pacific
can bring their special gifts to bear on Cape Scott and the wild coast of
Vancouver Island. The 30 NM of convoluted shoreline between Cape Scott
and the entrance to Quatsino Sound are guarded by shoals that recommend
distance while presenting a collection of capes, points and bays that can
reflect, amplify and re-focus the force of the sea while offering scant pockets
of protection from it all.
Once into Quatsino Sound the open ocean experience can fade to
friendly mornings on flat calm water with high winds and waves in the
afternoon. The final significant objective is Quatsino Narrows which runs
at up to 5 knots. Timing is the key to experiencing an enjoyable transit
of a pretty cool tidal feature. From Coal Harbour we figure out a ride
back to Port Hardy to retrieve our vehicle.
Port Hardy to Nolan Point
July 29, Day 1
Visibility obscured by fog. Winds Calm becoming West @ 15-20
in the afternoon. Seas Smooth with Low Swell increasing to Moderate with
3-foot chop.
We launched at 6:44 AM, high slack from Carrot Park. There
was a low overcast and fog but you could just make out the lights at the Bear
Cove ferry dock. Dave would be paddling his new Sterling Grand Illusion
while I would be ensconced in my trusty white Tempest. The GI doesn’t
have a recess for a deck mounted compass so I had lent Dave my bungee mounted
Suunto Orca with the caveat that it had seemed to be off a few degrees from
other compasses during our 2007 trip and hadn’t been used since. We
figured that it would generally point in the right direction.
Port
Hardy departure
Minutes into the trip we
began paddling in different directions as our compasses gave us conflicting
information and I struggled to interpret the information my GPS was providing. It had been a year since I had last depended
on it and the orientation was displaying the route up rather than north up. Also, I didn’t recall that the unit had to be
level for the orientation of the direction icon to display accurately so you
could say that I was confused. I don’t
like GPS’s. Not a great start.
Dave got me squared away on
the GPS orientation, which helped, but we still paddled off in different
directions. We figured that with the fog we would cross directly from Duval
Point to the Gordon Islands and then bump our way west towards Nolan Point on Balaclava
Island but we disagreed on exactly which way it was to Duval Point. Easy, right?
The degree of our disagreement exceeded the degrees of error we assumed
were inherent in Dave’s compass but didn’t exceed the number of degrees that it
would take to miss the Gordon Islands altogether so we left Duval with me
wondering what the issues were but assuming that the extraordinary handling of
Dave’s new Grand Illusion was going to take some getting used to (for both of
us).
Dave agreed that something
was amiss and asked me to grab a heading of 335 degrees and hold it (a task
that I dislike but excel at). As much as
I hate the disorientation of flying under the hood a 335 course would insure
that we wouldn’t miss the Gordons and end up out into Queen Charlotte Strait. This was the first of several blind crossings
we would make.
Trying to make sense of the
compass
Bumping into the Gordons we hung a left and felt our way towards
Gods Pocket. Since we were going to pass by Bell Island we decided to
swing by the midden campsite for a look-see as Dave hadn’t been there
before. There were a couple of groups camped there. One consisted
of several folks from Vancouver who had been taxied out and were using it as a
base for their explorations. Another couple was on their way to Port
Hardy from Kitimat. They had been out for some time and were going to
meet a friend and then paddle down the west coast of Vancouver Island.
Nice trip. She was writing a book on Bears and Camp Cookery. While
we were chatting three more paddlers arrived from Vancouver in a single and a
double. Time for us to move on.
Our course towards Nolan Point continued to bob and weave as Dave
wandered a bit following his errant compass but once we sighted the southern
end of Balaclava we locked on and started looking for a place to camp. A
string of campsites extend from Nolan Point up Browning Passage separated by
rock formations entirely given over to the largest mussels I have ever
seen. Each looked like an entire meal to me. The first site was
already taken and the next couple looked like they would have access issues
through rocks and sharp mussels at some tide levels. The forth was empty
and welcoming. A gentle shell beach that was topped with a six-foot
midden and offered access a very open forest floor.
Balaclava Beach
The fog was lifting so we set up camp atop the midden and went paddling up
Browning Passage. The current had switched to flood and the afternoon
wind was kicking in so we paddled against both and made our way up along the
Balaclava shoreline. The going was slow but invigorating and it felt
great after slogging through fog.
Dave in Browning
Passage
Attaining the northwestern most point of Balaclava we turned and
rode the wind and waves back down the passage to camp. It was a very fast
return trip and after tending to boats and gear we just hung out and enjoyed
the warm weather.
Afternoon wind on
Goletas Channel
Image by Dave Resler
Port Hardy to Nolan Point camp ~11.75 NM
Mileage including trip up Browning Passage ~16.6 NM
Nolan Point to Cape Sutil
July 30, Day 2
Visibility Obscured by fog. Winds Calm becoming West @
10. Seas Smooth with Low Swell becoming Rippled with 2-foot Chop.
We set
off in thick fog towards Boxer Point on Nigei Island. Dave wanted to believe his compass but his
wandering convinced him not to. I locked
onto a heading that would be a miss to the safe side of Boxer Point and with
the ebb current ended up about ¼ mile to the right of the point. I can live with a miss like that. We felt our way along Nigei’s cliffs for the
next 4.5 NM to Loquilla Cove where we stopped for a break.
Cliffs of Negei
Image by Dave Resler
Just as we left Loquilla Cove the fog started to lift a bit so we set off
across Goletas Channel for Vancouver Island and made our way up to East Cove,
just shy of Shushartie Bay. East Cove is an intimate spot with a rocky
beach and a nice place for lunch. Shushartie Bay is a pretty place, too.
Nahwitti Chart
Passing Jepther Point’s sloping shoreline we entered the fog again
just in time for Tatnall Reefs and Nahwitti Bar. We were hoping to be
able to see what we were doing here but that wasn’t to be. Paddling a
line that followed mostly within sight of the shore meant that we were usually
in the kelp-zone and all the joys that brings. Grey sky. Grey
water. Grey waves. Grey swell bent by the reef and current and
reflected from rocks created an odd grey environment where waves came at us
from all grey directions. Nothing was big or scary but it would have been
much more fun if we could have seen what was going on. Instead we just
reacted and paddled. Pretty strange.
Tatnall
Reefs Weirdness
Image by Dave Resler
Eventually we cleared the reef and the fog transitioned to low overcast. We rested in the eddy of Weser Islet, a foul-smelling rock covered with bird guano and Sea Lion poop. The scent added so much to the enjoyment of my Probar. That and the knowledge that we were less than 1 NM from our campsite encouraged us to push back out into the light headwind and waves. It seemed like a long .9 NM.
Cape Sutil was once the site of the large fortified Kwakiutl
village of Nahwitti. In 1850 they killed three Hudson Bay Company
deserters from Fort Rupert and the British Navy came after them. They wanted
the individuals responsible for the deaths. The citizens didn’t rat them
out so the British shelled the village. The Kwakiutl rebuilt it and in
1851 the Brits came after them again and destroyed it for good.
Dave
at Cape Sutil
Today the British are gone while the spirits of the Kwakiutl walk
the beach and forest.
Nolan Point to Cape Sutil 18.4 NM
Cape Sutil to Experiment Bight
July 31, Day 3
Visibility obscured by fog. Winds calm becoming West @
10 in the afternoon. Seas smooth with low swell becoming Rippled
with 1-foot Chop.
Not much to say about
the slog from Cape Sutil to Experiment Bight other than it was about 17.5 NM in
fog and low overcast. I think it was at this point that I started
referring to this route as the "Nearly Never Noticed North Island Circle
Route”. August is called Fogust up here for a reason and really, the
conditions for racking up miles had been great…..if you don’t mind paddling
with your eyes closed. Today, or was it yesterday, we paddled with a
whale for about 30 minutes. Not sure what kind it was. Humpback I
suppose but we never saw it. Just heard it breathing nearby as it became our
traveling companion.
Maybe the high point of this day’s route would be Dave realizing that his spare fuel cartridges were
stuffed in the bow hatch directly below the compass so we weren't going
completely mad. After moving the fuel cartridges there was still the
issue of the few degree error but it was consistent and we could live with
that.
Cape Scott Chart
After hours of slogging in a grey void our GPS's suggested that
Nissen Bight was an option for lunch and that the west end might provide a
sheltered landing. We took it and slid up on the shallow beach. As
we ate lunch in the fog and overcast we basked in the glow of the multicolored
buoys hanging in the trees that marked the North Coast Trail.
Seemed absolutely festive after gazing at grey………………I guess that
fog has a way of adjusting my expectations………..
Trail
Markers
The goal for the day was Experiment Bight, a large sandy beach
just shy of Cape Scott and our staging area for rounding the Cape. It was
another 5 NM to the west or about 1.5 hours of paddling. We were looking
forward to camping there as it would give us a chance to explore the unusual
sand neck that steps across the island to Guise Bay. The area was once
the site of a major battle between warring First Nations tribes, later a Danish
settlement and finally a World War II coastal defense site. Today it is a
deserted geological oddity with few signs remaining of previous occupation.
Low Overcast on Experiment
Bight Beach
Image by Dave Resler
I guess I was thinking of that instead of concentrating on making
a successful landing. I got lazy about the timing of the waves and pulled
my spray skirt off before beaching so the wave that I should have landed ahead
of broke over my stern with a full load of sand, turned me sideways and planted
me firmly in a manner I preferred to not be planted in. Water is about 8
pounds per gallon and wet sand weighs more than that. I figure that I
suddenly had over 30 extra pounds of weight and was flailing. Pretty
embarrassing. It’s one thing to get thrashed by killer surf but something
else to geek in small waves for no reason. Welcome to Experiment
Bight. After removing water and sand from my cockpit we set up camp above
the high tide line and took a walk across the sand neck.
Low Overcast on Experiment
Bight Beach
Image by Dave Resler
I guess I was thinking of that instead of concentrating on making
a successful landing. I got lazy about the timing of the waves and pulled
my spray skirt off before beaching so the wave that I should have landed ahead
of broke over my stern with a full load of sand, turned me sideways and planted
me firmly in a manner I preferred to not be planted in. Water is about 8
pounds per gallon and wet sand weighs more than that. I figure that I
suddenly had over 30 extra pounds of weight and was flailing. Pretty
embarrassing. It’s one thing to get thrashed by killer surf but something
else to geek in small waves for no reason. Welcome to Experiment
Bight. After removing water and sand from my cockpit we set up camp above
the high tide line and took a walk across the sand neck.
Experiment Bight to Helen Islets
August 1, Day 4
Visibility obscured by fog. Winds Calm becoming West @
10. Seas Smooth with Low Swell becoming Rippled with 2 foot Chop in the
afternoon.
Light overnight drizzle and heavy dew made for a wet
morning. I hate packing up a wet, sandy tent. Dave cheered me up by
finding a trickle of water escaping from the edge of the forest that made its
way down to the water’s edge over sand that had been submerged by the tide just
an hour earlier. He dug a hole in the sand and diverted the trickle into
the hole where it collected. A little later we were able to gather up
bags of that water and filter it. It was nice clear water without a hint
of salt. Nicely done, Dave
Our plan for rounding Cape Scott was to start at the end of the
flood and follow a depth contour of approximately 11 fathoms around the
corner. We felt that this would give us the best current scenario for the
day and keep us between rocks/boomers and standing waves. With the
morning fog it looked like that meant that we would paddle under the hood for
20 minutes at 340 degrees, turn west to 250 degrees for approximately 30
minutes, south at 160 degrees for 20 minutes and then turn to 135 degrees until
we encountered whatever Cape Russell had in store for us. Another day on
the Nearly Never Noticed Coast.
Scott Channel Chart
We started out with good intentions of honoring the route but the
water was pretty flat so we never let ourselves stray from sight of the shore
(shore suck) which was pretty close at times. At the northernmost point
of the cape we could make out significant standing waves at the edge of our
vision but the distance or height we could not discern. It didn’t look
like a good place to be and I figured that our original plan would have put us
in the middle of it. A short tide rip close to shore was a wiser choice
so we stayed in tight. Once past that we stayed right of visible rocks or
obvious boomers until well beyond that 11 fathom contour. It was nice
paddling with the bent and reflected waves produced by current and
obstructions. Sure are a lot of big rocks and reefs on Cape Scott.
Dave Smiling Because Cape
Scott is in the Rearview Mirror
We chose to stop at Lowrie Bay for a bite. The southwestern
edge of the beach is protected from surf by rocks and an islet so we slid up
for a burrito stop. Since we hadn’t seen the sky for a while we were
delighted to see a small patch of blue above the ridge to the east. I
took a photo of the blue spot to celebrate the moment. As we ate our
lunch the fog began to blow up over the ridges and the conditions changed
quickly and dramatically. The clouds seemed to be moving so quickly that
I feared that the wind would make rounding Cape Russell a fool’s miserable
mission.
Lowrie Bay Clouds
It turned out that the wind just added a bit of texture to the
water and the fog lifted to become a low overcast. Texture is good, don’t
you agree? Makes me feel like I am going faster. Cape Russell gave
us a pass so we rounded the south end and picked our way to Helen Islets.
Approaching the campsite, we saw three tents but no boats on the
beach. Additionally, there were two sailboats anchored in Sea Otter
Cove. The beach is made of rocks that are between golf ball and baseball
size. Not much flat area but not a bad spot to camp. I created a
reasonably level spot using sound engineering principals and available
materials (driftwood). My Exped Synmat 7 took care of the rest.
Helen Islets Campsite
Soon the folks belonging to the tents returned and we were
delighted to meet Oregon paddlers Bill, Lea, John and Alan. All are very
accomplished boaters and super nice people to be around. They had been
out fishing and had caught a Ling Cod that they took to one of the sail boats
anchored in the cove. That sailboat was piloted by a South African couple
who are now living in Vancouver. They offered to prepare the fish if the
Oregonians prepared the fire. We were invited! SCORE!
Alan, John, Bill & Lea
Image by Alan Douglass
Magnus and Ronell arrived with the Ling Cod (seasoned three different ways) and
side dishes to compete the meal. They also brought beer and wine.
John tended the fire and he is clearly a carrier of the Pyro-Gene. We all
enjoyed the company, food and beverage in the light drizzle.
Sea Otter Cove Social
Image by Alan Douglass
Experiment Bight to Helen Islets 10.5 NM
Helen Islets to Grant Bay
August 2, Day 5
Overcast becoming Clear in the afternoon. Winds Calm
becoming Northwest @ 10-15 kts. Seas Smooth with Low Swell becoming
Moderate with 3 foot Chop.
We compared routes with our friends from
Oregon. They were headed towards Quatsino Sound with a detour into San
Josef Bay while Dave and I were off to Grant Bay.
We left Helen
Islets with a heavy low overcast but visibility was fair. Passing Cape
Palmerston the low overcast became even lower but we spotted our friends in
close to shore.They had had a change of heart about San Josef and suggested a
stop at Raft Cove. Great idea.
Dave, Alan, Bill, John &
Lea
Picking our way through the rocks and reefs we entered the cove
and began looking for way to shore. Out from the sandy beach swells,
feeling the bottom, rose to respectable size before crashing ashore. It
didn’t look like a landing that anyone was wild about making so we went back to
picking through the rocks and found a protected path to the beach. Lunch
and conversation was good.
Raft Cove
Dave and I were soon off for Grant Bay and headed down 9 NM of
rocky coastline that offers very few reasonable options for going ashore.
The overcast lifted and the wind and waves built. From Commerell Point to
Lippy Point everything was generally at our backs and life was very good.
Wonderful paddling.
Rounding Lippy Point we entered Grant Bay and things took an odd
turn. It’s about ½ NM to the beach once you round the point and things on
the broad beach looked different than we had anticipated. From our
viewpoint there appeared to be a building of some sort in the middle of the
beach and the smoke from several scattered campfires rising into the air.
Through-travelers seldom build fires in the early afternoon yet I assumed that
the building was part of BC Park’s trail infrastructure and that the smoke must
be the campfires of several groups of hikers, right?
A sailboat was anchored about 300 yards off the beach and music
was blaring from the sound system. We paddled up to get the lay of the
land. Two men in their 20’s grinned like Cheshire Cats from the back
deck. They were very friendly and very intoxicated. Shouting over
the blaring music they welcomed us to Grant Bay and owned their state of
intoxication. One of them gleefully shouted that he had “killed many
brain cells today”. We smiled, wished them well and paddled towards
shore suddenly realizing that the “building” we had seen was a large tarped
structure constructed of driftwood complete with a swing set on one end.
Still we thought that we had seen the worst that Grant Bay had to offer.
Approaching Grant Bay
Beach
Image by Dave Resler
We were wrong as we were about to meet the Beast of Grant Bay.
Helen Islets to Grant Bay 18 NM
The Beast of Grant Bay
The moderate sea state on the outside of the bay bent around Lippy Point and approached the beach as sets of low swells. Nothing to even think about. Conditions in the bay ranged from totally flat to long, barely noticeable swells moving towards the beach. The blaring music of the Booze Brothers was still dominant but we had moved outside of the range of eminent hearing loss. In fact, as we got closer to the beach I could hear surf over music and that surprised me. I didn’t think there should be any surf but it was making a loud ripping sound. How odd. No visual hints looking at the backs of waves just a loud ripping sound accompanied by a spray and foam appearing above the waterline. I approached cautiously to a point where I was very close to the beach. Looking up the beach I could see that the waves were dumping in about 2 inches of water and surmised that timing was crucial and that this landing might hurt.
It was then that I saw the Beast. She was dressed in bathing
suit bottom and a tight waist-length top. She was shaped like a barrel
(yes a barrel) with breasts. The barrel look was completed with an auburn
Howie Long flattop. Think about it. She was carrying a drink in one
hand and walking with purpose in my direction. Her abandoned beach chair
was laying on its side next to a man who stared off into space. She was
accompanied by a barking Pit Bull. She clearly had something to say and
looked as questionable to me as this landing I was about to make. I had
enough on my plate. Why was she here?
I paddled backwards against the waves that pushed me towards shore
hoping that she had something useful to tell me but feeling that something was
very wrong besides the dumping surf. Standing on the beach in front of me
she started shouting out directions.
“Does she know something useful? She doesn’t look like a
paddler. Maybe she does know something.”
She was shouting orders about when and where to land and gesturing
wildly. She started telling me when to paddle forward and when to turn.
What? Turn?
That’s when I realized that she was clueless. Any turning
would result in an immediate window shade onto the sand. There was going
to be no turning here if I could help it. I shouted to her to get out of
the way. I told her that I was coming in, probably out of control and it
might not be pretty. She stood her ground and continued to shout orders
at me while her Pit Bull barked and snarled. Expecting the worst, I
waited just a moment before paddling backwards into a sharp wave and then
chased it for all I was worth. Surprisingly I held the boat in a straight
line and planted myself firmly on the sand between the Beast and her dog who
was immediately mere inches away from my right cheek growling and barking
wildly. Saliva was flying onto my face with his every hot exhalation and
what didn’t end up on me formed a frightening foam that dripped from the
corners of his mouth. I avoided eye contact with him and tried to act
nonchalant, like dog attacks happened to me every day. I was scared to
death. The dog shifted his attention from my face to my right hand as I
peeled off my spray skirt. His hot breath and saliva sprayed my fingers
which were, thankfully, still intact. My hopes of exiting the boat in
possession of four fingers and a thumb at the end of my right arm were in
question. The Beast stared at me with disapproval that felt like a death
sentence.
I was expecting her proclamation of Death by Dog.
Her attention shifted from me to Dave who was maintaining his
position just beyond the break. She strode towards Dave with Cujo in tow
and began shouting orders. He had seen me land successfully so may have
thought that I followed her directions or maybe he just got a little sideways
at the wrong time. Whatever, he was quickly broached as the wave dumped
and was shocked to look down to see nothing but sand where he was going to
impact. He braced aggressively into the wave hoping to bongo slide and
rode the wave down onto the sand coming to a safe but abrupt stop. The
Barrel continued to gesture and shout while Cujo barked and spit in Dave’s
general direction.
The Barrel and Cujo walked away while Dave and I, in a state of
shock, quietly congratulated each other on surviving and started pulling gear
from our boats. Soon she returned with Cujo still barking and drooling
and gave us each a small piece of sausage which we were directed to feed
him. Once we did that he shut up and she told us that his name was
“Hunter” and that we had no idea how important it was that we had become his
friends. I wasn’t sure how to take that but I assumed that she meant us
well after all and asked her if she had any suggestions on where we should camp.
We were at the west end of the beach where the campsite is marked
in the BC Coastal Explorer. It mentions that the site is awkward but I
didn’t yet know what that meant. She turned and pointed to where the
stream exited the forest and ordered us to camp there but to not drink the
water. She made a point of telling us that a wolf had come from there in
the morning and that bear had come out just hours before our arrival and that
she had the best campsite on the beach. I was happy to choose wildlife
over the Beast and Hunter and started dragging my gear towards the forest.
I found that the stream was impounded and blocked access off the
beach all the way to where the Beast was camped. That’s what awkward
meant. Dave and I discussed our options and realized that we would have
to carry our boats and gear 150 yards over hot dry sand to a reasonable place
to camp. That turned into four miserable, sweaty trips that took us past
the two chairs and their occupants. I swear, I could feel her staring daggers
at us for disobeying her orders. On one of the trips I overheard her beau
call her “Grace”. Odd, right? Grace. At least Hunter was no
longer barking and spitting at us.
It took a while to do so but we set up camp within an
uncomfortable proximity of Grace, Hunter and her beau who looked, for all the
world, like a completely normal human being. He smiled a couple of times
and then returned to staring off into space.
The Booze Brothers came ashore in their Zodiac. One brother
stood at the bow with a single oar and awkwardly paddled the boat to the
beach. Once ashore they conversed with Grace and then walked our
way. The Zodiac was hidden from our view by the sharp slope of the
beach. As they walked towards us Grace began to behave even more oddly,
making gestures that were hard to interpret. Her beau continued to stare
out to sea and smile.
Dave had a conversation with the Booze Brothers, who had somehow
made it to dry land with drinks in hand and told him about a rave that had been
recently held at Grant Bay where generators, sound system and laser light show
had been carried in. The whole beach had gotten high? Due to their
inebriated state Dave wasn’t sure that anything they said was true.
Suddenly we became aware of Grace shouting at them to go get their
boat. It was loose and drifting away from shore. The “Oarsman” ran
to where the boat had been secured, stripped off his clothes, dove naked into
the cold water and swam out the Zodiac. He got into the boat about 50
yards from shore, grabbed an oar and paddled awkwardly back to the beach while
Grace gestured and gyrated in some other language. Once ashore he donned
his pants, spoke with Grace and rejoined us. Grace continued to dance and
gesture with movements that could be occasionally interpreted as sentiments of
ill-will. Her beau sat in the chair still looking normal and smiling
serenely towards the open sea. The Booze Brothers took their leave and
continued towards the east end of the beach.
Grace was a train wreck that I couldn’t stop watching.
Something was clearly not right with her and I feared that whatever it was
might end up being directed at us. While her beau sat quietly she shouted
and gestured towards the Booze Brothers who were well out of earshot. Her
agitation grew and she started ordering her beau to bring her the shovel.
He came out of his trance and walked obediently to the campsite (that I was
thinking was too close to ours) and brought the shovel to her. Before
handing it over he must have asked her what she was going to do with it because
after much gesturing on her part he put it behind his back and wouldn’t give it
up. She demanded that he hand it over and swore at him but he held firm.
She ran to the Zodiac and danced perversely in front of it.
Then she ran to her beau demanding that he give her the knife. “Give me
the fxckxng knife” she shouted repeatedly. Finally, I understood that she
meant to cut up their Zodiac. Was this over the loud music? The
Booze Brother’s response to her? I had no idea. The beau held fast
and turned no weapons of mass destruction over to Grace.
In frustration she ran to the Zodiac and tried to send it out to
sea. I realized then that she had untied it pushed it out the first
time. This time the dumping surf foiled her and as she struggled to push
it beyond its grip her beau tried to calm her. I ran over to him and
asked him if he needed help. He glanced sideways at me, shook his head,
returned his focus to her all the while keeping the shovel out of her
reach. She grabbed an oar and threw it as far as she could. Then
she grabbed the other (like why hadn’t the Oarsman rowed the Zodiac if he had
two oars?) and threw it beyond the surf. The boat refused to leave the
beach so she lifted the bow and flipped it over the dumping waves.
Completely surreal.
The people with the large driftwood and tarp structure had been
out playing volleyball and a woman came running up pleading with Grace to
stop. She claimed that the boat was hers and didn’t belong to the Booze
Brothers, and that she had purchased it with her own money.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked.
Grace argued with her and the woman worked hard to calm her
down. The beau stood out of harm’s way with the shovel behind his
back. One member of the Driftwood Family ran down the beach to inform the
Booze Brothers and soon they were on their way back.
The arrival of the Booze Brothers escalated Grace’s foul mood and
many words were exchanged. The Oarsman turned the inverted Zodiac over
and paddled out using his hands to gather the oars. Upon return many more
words were exchanged and now Grace was squaring off with the Oarsman.
Seriously? Are you kidding? These two are going to blows?
Fisticuffs on the beach? Man against Grace? WTF? Where are
we, Dave? What planet is this?
Several people had gathered and the Oarsman dropped his guard and
turned to walk away, shouting insults over his shoulder. Grace never
stopped shouting and gesturing. A young member of the Driftwood Family
(12 or 13 I would guess) ran up and must have said something as Grace slapped
her in the face. The girl walked back to her driftwood house. The
Driftwood woman remained rational and continued to speak with Grace.
Eventually all members of the Driftwood Family drifted back to
their abode while Grace started shouting insults to the retreating Booze
Brothers about the presumed circumstances of their births. They responded
with shouts about Grace’s canine ancestry. Dave and I stood aghast.
We felt like strangers in a strange land. What were the rules here?
Where were we? Do we radio for help? Is this a typical day at Grant
Bay?
Grace retreated with her beau to their campsite but she was soon
down at the Driftwood Family campsite talking with them and pointing at Dave
and I. We couldn’t hear what she was saying but assumed that she was
relating some Grant Bay transgression we had committed. Before she could
get too worked up, though, the Booze Brothers started motoring their sailboat
in circles just off the beach, their curses barely heard over the blasting
tunes. Grace rose to the challenge, ran to confront them and returned
their profanities. She gyrated her body as though possessed by a demon
who couldn’t dance. Very awkward, strange and disturbing.
Eventually the Booze Brothers left the bay while Grace performed
her disjointed victory dance which she completed by pulling her tight top up
over her barrel tummy and flashing her breasts.
Dave and I fixed dinner and our new “friend” Hunter came over
expecting handouts. When I shooed him away he started barking and
snarling loudly. I hoped that Grace didn’t hear. Neither one of us
slept well as we half expected her to attack our boats with a shovel during the
night.
On a trip like this there are many objective dangers that you plan
to accommodate. Five days into our wilderness trip on the Nearly Never
Noticed North Coast Circle Route we were wondering how we ended up on a beach
experiencing the objective dangers normally found in the inner-city. We
determined that if lived through the night we would sneak away at first light.
Grant Bay to Kwakiutl Point
August 3, Day 6
Overcast becoming Clear in the afternoon. Winds Calm
becoming Northwest @ 15-20 kt. Seas Smooth with Low Swell becoming
Moderate with 3-foot Chop.
Neither of us got much sleep so we were up and
on the move pretty early. Tear down and breakfast was done in stealth
mode. Didn’t want to wake up Grace or Hunter.
Leaving Grant Bay
Before we got all of our gear to the water’s edge she stumbled out
of her tent and started stoking her campfire. She never looked our way
but fired a last parting shot when she bent over the fire and her bathing suit
bottom slid down in back. Now I knew that Grace was a plumber by trade.
Cape Parkins
Image by Dave Resler
The temperature was wonderfully cool and an hour of paddling
brought us to Cape Parkins marking the northern entrance to Quatsino
Sound From there it was a 5 NM crossing in smooth seas to the
protected cove south of Blue Cod Islet where we stopped for something to
eat. There is a cabin there that was occupied and a boat anchored out
front with a couple of kids playing on the beach. I felt like we were
imposing on their paradise so we ate our salami and cheese burritos and set off
for Restless Bight.
Crossing Quatsino Entrance
Exiting the cove we were greeted by rising winds and seas.
It’s about 2.5 NM from the cove to Kwakiutl Point. A string of reefs and
rocks stretch that distance across Restless Bight and really lit up the
water. Beam seas in Force 5 conditions meant that I had to pay attention
and it was a very enjoyable paddle. These were our first really wet
conditions and Dave had a big grin on his face as he realized how much better
his Grand Illusion handled this stuff than his Explorer. Our charts and GPS
showed a passage through the rocks at about the 2 NM mark so we stayed mostly
outside of them until that point.
Quatsino Entrance from
Kwakiutl Point
I was looking at a large grassy area near the point that I thought
looked interesting but I could see large waves breaking on rocks in front of
it. No place to land. Continuing on towards the south end of the
bight we spotted a protected opening in the rocks and paddled in. It led
us to a lovely sand and gravel beach on the back side of the grassy
island. Too nice to pass up so we landed and set up camp.
Kwakiutl Campsite
The wind and waves were driving directly into the gap between our
island and Kwakiutl Point creating organized 6-foot seas with very little
reflected interference. Dave was dying to get back out and smile some
more about the rough water handling of his new GI so we jumped into our boats
and headed back out. It took some doing to push out against the wind and
waves and when Dave was ahead of me I would look up from the trough to see him
diving over the crest and hear his helmet, strapped to the back deck, banging
around. Reminded me that I should have had mine on. Turning around
was a treat and the ride back into the gap went way too fast.
Kwakiutl Point
Image by Dave Resler
After six days I was ready for an appointment with Dr.
Bronner. My dislike for being immersed in cold water was outweighed by my
hatred of smelling the way I did after living in a drysuit for nearly a
week. Daily “baths” with no-rinse cleaning wipes just never cut it for
me. Cold as that water was it felt good to be clean.
Grant Bay to Kwakiutl Point 10.6 NM
Kwakiutl Point to Heater Point
August 4, Day 7
Clear. Winds Calm becoming Northwest@ 5-10 kt. Seas
Smooth with Low Swell.
We woke up to a beautiful clear morning and took
our time eating and breaking camp. We left the beach at 9:45 AM and
rounded Kwakiutl Point. Swell was kind and would have allowed us to
easily pass inside of the rocks and islets between Kwakiutl and Lawn Points but
we stayed outside. It’s a shame because that stretch of shoreline looks
pretty interesting and I suspect that conditions don’t normally favor intimacy.
Morning at Kwakiutl Point
An hour after leaving Kwakiutl Point we were carefully picking our
way between the rocks and the south side of Lawn Point. Dave was leading
the way through the rocks taking what the swell allowed. It was a gift to
be there with a good friend on a gorgeous morning and get such a close look at
this beautiful and iconic landmark on the wild coast.
Dave off Lawn Point
We followed the shoreline into Newton Entrance and on to Side
Bay. We landed where the mouth of the stream would have been if it hadn’t
been impounded by the beach. The beach was steep with fist sized
rocks. Steep enough that our boats would slide back into the water if we
didn’t drag them to the top of the slope. There were a few campers there
and some vehicles parked that had boat racks on them. We walked upstream
to the bridge, pumped 20 liters of water and ate lunch in the shade. We
took a very leisurely break.
Getting our boats into the water was easy as they were happy to
slide down the rounded beach rocks. Then it was a 3-point-something NM
crossing to Heater Point in friendly conditions.
We landed at Heater Point around 3:00 PM and found it lovely and
welcoming with the exception of a strange and enormous hanging platform that
someone had felt compelled to construct. It was awkward for any purpose
and hung from ropes where you might want to set up a tent. I’m guessing
that it was constructed to serve as a cooking surface when something 1/8 the
size would have done the trick. It promptly collapsed when I touched
it. Might have been that the most danger I faced on this entire trip was
that yard art that someone left behind.
Heater Point
Image by Dave Resler
Once
camp was set up and our gear squared away Dave suggested that we try to find
the trail that crossed the point to a beach and a cave on the south side.
We found the trail easily as it was marked by a buoy but it was rough.
While effort had been made to mark it well we lost it at times and in places
found the going over and under fallen trees tough. Bear scat was
evident. The Huckleberries growing out of reach of the bears were
outrageous and we gorged on them.
The
beach on the south side was wild, topped with tall grass and made of millions
of the most perfect, polished, skipping rocks you have ever seen. I
wanted to fill my pockets but realized that carrying a bunch of rocks wasn’t
the best choice. I now knew where to get them if I ever needed any.
South Beach at Heater Point
While exploring the rocky beach the ground vibrated oddly, my foot
sunk a bit and there was a strange “hollow” sound. I stopped and stepped
on the spot several more times trying to recreate the sound and feel. It
was like I had stepped onto a bubble that was covered with these perfect
skipping rocks. I guessed that they must move in a different way. I
asked Dave if he had heard the noise or if the rocks felt OK to him. He
probably thought I had lost it. I kind of thought that I might
have. In less than 24 hours we would learn that I had felt an aftershock
following the 5.5 magnitude quake that was centered southeast of us and that we
had slept through that morning.
Returning to our campsite we sat in the sun and studied charts,
GPS and the BC Coast Explorer. Lovely after noon and absolutely stunning
sunset.
Kwakiutl Point to Heater Point 9.4 NM
Heater Point to Crabapple Islets
August 5, Day 8
Visibility obscured by Fog becoming Clear. Winds Calm
becoming Northwest @ 5-10 kt. Seas Smooth with Low Swell.
A foggy departure for Crabapple Islets made our
shore-close route a bit interesting and slow as we had to pay attention while
threading our way through the rocks and reefs. Rounding the point, we
hung a sharp left and stayed just outside of anything we deemed
dangerous. Paddling in fog can be really boring, though, so we found
ourselves getting closer and closer to the sounds of waves crashing on
rocks. We had no reason to make good time so it was a great day and great
location for picking and poking about.
Dave was finding his Grand Illusion ridiculously
comfortable so he was happy to sit, hands off, in sketchy conditions and
utilize his new camera. In situations where he would have been unwilling
to put his paddle down for more than a few seconds in his Explorer he was
taking as long as he wanted to frame shots and recording 5-10 images where he
would have only been willing to take a couple before. He got some very
good shots.
Image by Dave Resler
As the fog lifted the light got magic and the North Brooks
revealed itself. What a wonderful morning to be at such a spectacular
place. Swell was jacking up near the rocks, crashing and reflecting back
out creating thick foam and agitated sea state.
Image by Dave Resler
Approaching Crabapple Islets, we could see a large blue tarp and
as we neared the beach we saw that it was the roof of a large structure at the
south end of the beach. At the north end of the beach we saw three sea
kayaks being tended to. We landed between them in the middle of the beach.
Since the swell had been friendly I got careless landing, removed
my spray skirt too soon and allowed a wave to break over the back of my boat
with a full load of sand. Being suddenly “heavy” I stuck with more waves
following and took on many more pounds of sandy slurry before I could get out
and up in an ungraceful manner. If there were judges rating me they would
have given me a 3.5 (out of a possible 10) for my half-assed attempt.
Dave, having watched my landing slid up in a flawless manner and never said a
word. Good friends accept imperfection from one another.
We set up camp in the shade at the back of the beach. There
was no upland camping to be had. It was wonderfully cool and pleasant in
the shade of the forest. A couple of guys from the blue tarp camp came
walking by and Dave talked to them. They said that they had been coming
together to Crabapple Islets for 25 years. They mentioned that there was
a water source at the far end of Ambrosia Beach that they had repaired.
Huh? Repaired?…...I dubbed them the Forever and Ever Boyz.
The four folks at the north end of the beach were from
Victoria. They were retired couples who had been kayaking together for
years, veterans of many extended trips.
Tony, Earl, Victoria &
Jacquie
We were chatting with them when Tony warned us to watch our
step. There was a juvenile Cowbird that had adopted them and was running
around underfoot snagging insects.
Ricardo the Cowbird
This bird was not afraid of us and wandered around in our midst
picking tiny bugs off the sand. Occasionally he would see a flying insect
and leap into the air to grab it. Tony slapped a large fly that had
landed on his neck and flicked it towards the bird who caught it in mid-air and
started chomping on it. To show his appreciation he flew up and sat on
Tony’s head. I had never experienced a bird like this before but it turns
out that it is common behavior among the juveniles.
When Dave and I returned to camp to fix dinner the Cowbird, that I
had named Ricardo, followed us and made us his new best friends.
While we ate dinner we watched him chase these tiny bugs around and wondered
why he didn’t go down to the water’s edge to score some of the fat sand fleas
that inhabit that zone. One sand flea would easily equal the mass of 10 –
15 of these tiny bugs he was chasing. Since he was following us around we
took him down towards the water but he wasn’t interested. Dave thought
that maybe they were too salty. Never ate one so I can’t comment.
After dinner Ricardo took flight and went to wherever he felt he needed to be.
I was feeling pretty beat and asked how Dave felt about taking a
day off. He was fine with it so I turned off my alarm.
Heater Point to Crabapple Islets 7.8 NM
Crabapple Islets
August 6, Day 9
Slept late. Not in a hurry to get out of bed Snoozing…………..At some point in time I stuck my head out of the tent to look around and was surprised to see Dave on the beach hurrying back towards camp. He never wakes up first so something was up. He said that there was some excitement down the beach. One of the Forever and Ever Boyz had caught a large Halibut and was just bringing it in through the surf. He wanted to take a photo of it. I grabbed my camera headed up the beach.
The Forever and Ever
Boyz
Butch, Dave, Mike, Dave &
Dan
Dan had hooked a 42 pound Halibut while fishing from his
kayak. He couldn’t bring it into the boat so he carefully paddled to the
beach and then shouted for someone to bring the gaff. The surf was low
but not a gimmee for a guy who was too busy to paddle so one of the boyz ran
out into the water with a gaff while another took control of the kayak.
Dan started wading in dragging the large flopping fish while his pole and boat
were tended to by friends.
Dan with 42 Pounds of
Halibut
Image Dave Resler
The fish produced way too much meat for them to eat so thick
Halibut steaks were distributed to everyone on the beach. Dave and I
don’t travel to accommodate such fine dining so the folks from Victoria said
that they would prepare our fish and invited us to have dinner with them.
They also told us that they were going to go to a stream down the beach to take
a bath. They gave us detailed directions. It was only a mile away
and featured a walk through a “Hobbit-Forest”.
Trail to the Creek
After they left Dave and I looked at each other and wondered if
that was a clue. When someone invites you to dinner and gives you
detailed instructions on where to take a bath, what are they saying? I
sniffed the armpit of my 9 day old long underwear top and remarked that if it
wasn’t a clue it was still a good idea so we waited a couple of hours, asked
Ricardo to watch our stuff and headed that way with Dr. Bronner and our dirty
laundry.
The Banzai Bog
The Hobbit Forest turned out to be a bog with stunted trees, odd
moss and colorful lichen. Very interesting and unexpected. Well
worth a visit. The beach near the mouth of the stream displayed the
comings and goings of cougars and wolves.
Spiffing up for Dinner at
Menziesia Creek
The Victoria folks were leaving as we arrived and I suspect they
were pleased to see us there. Menziesia Creek really relieved the
authentic scent of our travel and made us much more presentable for a dinner
that was fabulous beyond any expectations. Tony’s cooking was fantastic
and the company was so enjoyable. Ricardo joined us for dinner and
cleaned the beach of bugs. Such nice and interesting companions.
Crabapple Islets
Out and Back to Cape Cook
August 7, Day 10
Visibility obscured by Fog becoming Clear. Winds Calm
becoming Northwest @ 5-10 kt. Seas Smooth with Low Swell.
We wanted to paddle
out to Cape Cook at the end of the North Brooks and beat whatever conditions
might develop so we were on the water early in fog.
Morning on Brooks Bay
Sea state was very calm and during the hour and a half it took us
to get there the fog dissipated.
Morning on Brooks Bay
We hung out with a couple of Humpbacks for a while and then headed
back picking our way along close to shore.
Humpback off Cape Cook
A pocket beach had been recommended by one of the Forever and Ever
Boyz so we wove our way in through the rocks to refuel. It was a nice
spot that a large wolf had been enjoying until we landed and he/she quit the
beach for the forest in protest of our incursion.
North Brooks Pocket Beach
Dave wanted to pick up water at Menziesia Creek so we paddled up
to the mouth for a look-see. Swell was low but still making things a
little interesting as a bar running parallel to the beach was tripping the
waves and some wrapped around the end and ran along the beach creating a zipper
effect.
The Brooks Range
Image Dave Resler
Dave went first riding expertly over the bar and got smacked
broadside by a zipper wave running along the beach. He braced into it and
then got smack by another wave over the bar. He pin-balled around and
into the narrow mouth of the creek, paddled around the corner and out of sight.
I figured that I would do the same but got stuck on the bar and
took wave after wave over the stern that just wouldn’t quite unstick me.
Eventually I timed an exit that got me out of the cockpit but filled my boat
with sand and water. I waded into the chest deep water of the stream
mouth dragging my boat and once out of the mayhem dumped much of the water out
and continued upstream. We beached near the spot we had bathed and done
laundry the day before.
Water Stop at Menziesia Creek
After filtering water we returned to the mouth of the stream and
were greeted by a much stronger inflow current. Exit was interesting but
made without mishap and we continued back towards camp.
On the way back we met a couple of paddlers who had left Side Bay
for Fair Harbour. They had planned to camp at Crabapple Islets but had
been dismayed by all of the campers and were pushing on. They had camped
there before and never encountered anyone. We told them that everyone was
quiet and respectful and if they changed their minds they were guaranteed all
the Halibut they could eat. They followed us back and camped next to the
Forever and Ever Boyz. I’m pretty sure I know what they had for dinner.
Ricardo, relieved of his watch, volunteered to guard the wet gear
that we had shed on our return and hung to dry among the driftwood.
Marauding insects were outmatched by his sharp eyes and lightning responses as
he tirelessly killed and killed again. He struck with a vengeance and
accuracy that was inspiring and insured the security of my drysuit from any
targeted insect attack. His courage and resolve was such that I
admiringly traded the stains created by the contents of his bowels for whatever
evil damage those insurgent insects would have caused. A clear case of
acceptable collateral damage.
The Forever & Ever Boyz brought us more Halibut to eat.
They admitted to being totally OD’ed on fine fish. Breakfast, lunch and
dinner had consisted of Halibut for them and they were ready for something else
(like Salmon). The fine folks from Victoria offered to prepare the fish
for us. How fortunate we are. Scenery, friendship and fine dining.
Out and Return to Cape Cook 11.8 NM
Crabapple Islets to Gooding Cove
August 8, Day 11
Visibility obscured by Fog becoming Clear. Winds Calm
becoming Northwest @ 5-10 kt. Seas Smooth with Low Swell becoming 1.5
meter rippled with 1 foot Chop.
We were up and loaded early on this foggy
morning. Ricardo, not known as an early riser, supervised our activities
and followed us on each trip as we carried loads of gear down towards the
waterline. I was delighted to see that that he had developed a taste for
sand fleas and was busily bingeing while we loaded our boats. The Forever
& Ever Boyz showed up to see us off and offered knowledge gathered from
their 25 years of crossing Brooks Bay. We thanked them for everything and
left Crabapple Islets on a heading of 335 degrees for a blind 6.5 NM crossing.
2 Hours at 335 Degrees on IFR
After a couple of hours of paddling under the hood and cheating a
bit to the right of 335 degrees the shoreline shy of Heater Point was heard and
then came into view. Not much stood out in the grey as we felt our way
northwest towards the point and a refueling stop.
Energy restored we left Heater Point for a 5 NM mile leg to Lawn
Point and beyond. Visibly improved as we left Heater and we had an
uneventful crossing. The outer rocks guarding Lawn Point urged caution,
though, and we picked our way into the beach for another quick break.
Lawn Point Beach
Leaving Lawn Point boomers forced us back the way we came before
we felt safe in hanging a 180 right and rounding the point towards Kwakiutl
Point. Conditions kept us on our toes and away from shore and, while I
wanted to go in closer, careful study made it clear that going inside might redline
our tolerance for adventure. To be frank, it would have been a bad idea
and Dave was kind enough to let me come to that conclusion on my own rather
than slap me for suggesting it.
We picked our way in to our Kwakiutl campsite for lunch.
Calories were needed but we were enjoying the water and the rocks so we didn’t
waste any time. Tortilla, salami and cheese. 600 calories.
BAM! Tanks were filled we were outta there.
Swell had increased a bit but only manifested itself on the rocks,
reefs and shoals that stretch from Kwakiutl Point to Gooding Cove with an
impressive show on an otherwise passive sea. It was good clean fun
picking our way up to Blue Cod Islet, especially through the northerly end of
Rowley Reefs where the rocks and associated boomers were much more numerous and
pronounced.
Tucking in to the campsite behind Blue Cod Islet we left that all
behind and found gentle waves wrapping around and running up on the gravel
beach. The site didn’t appeal to us, though, so we were back out in the
rocks and reefs for a short hop to Gooding Cove.
Butch, of Forever & Ever Boyz fame, had described landing at
the left end of the beach and advised against it. His description of his
experience was comical once we got a look at the beach we could see why.
Waves were crashing on the steep gravel making a graceful exit very
unlikely. Looked like an awkward beat down looking for a sucker.
Sweeping to the right the gravel gave way to sand and the slope of the beach
lessened. We landed at far-right hand corned and found a wonderful flat
and clean place to set up camp. Had we been interested in building a fire
the previous campers had left plenty of split Alder.
Gooding Cove
There was lots of fresh bear and wolf sign. Wolves don’t
bother me but I do admit to a fear of waking up with a bear outside my
tent. Dave and I practice clean camp etiquette and certainly will choose
to camp where we think that bears aren’t. In the case of Gooding Cove
it’s their beach so we hoped for the best.
We noticed a tent set up at the opposite end of the beach and soon
saw a couple of guys walking our way. They turned out to be from
Bainbridge Island. They were on their first trip to Vancouver Island
having read about fishing out of Winter Harbor and had decided to take the path
less traveled. They saw that there was road access to Gooding Cove so
they loaded their fishing kayaks on the Subaru and found their way. It
was their tent at the other end and they had come to offer us a Salmon they had
caught. It was surprising to run into someone who lives within twenty
miles of you in a place like this. We passed on the Salmon. They
confirmed that the bears owned the entire beach. They also confirmed that
launching and landing had been an adventure. They planned to stay and
fish for two weeks.
Crabapple Islets to Gooding Cove 19.5 NM
Gooding Cove to Drake Island
August 9, Day 12
Clear. Winds Calm becoming Northeast @ 10-15 kt. Seas
Smooth with Low Swell becoming Rippled with 1 foot Chop.
No
bears visited us during the night (thank you) and the wolves were
characteristically polite. As we ate breakfast we could see the
Bainbridge crew fishing off the north entrance of Gooding Cove. They
headed south across the entrance and out of sight. We tore down camp,
packed our boats and launched for our next to last day on the water.
Rounding the point at the north entrance we looked back south but the
Bainbridge Crew was nowhere to be seen.
This would be the third fog-free day we
experienced on this trip. VFR in the morning is a gift. The 3.5 NM
to Cliffe Point, however, was punctuated by the sounds of distant chain saws
and dynamite. Quatsino Sound was announcing its identity as a busy
commercial place. Many sport fishermen were trolling just off the steep
shore and we exceeded their pace of 3 knots between Harvey Cove and Cliffe
Point.
Cliffe Point
Rounding Cliffe Point we left most of the powerboat traffic behind and angled
across the sound towards a gravel beach between Nordstrom Cove and Bedwell
Islets. It had been a couple of hours since we ate our oatmeal so this
beach was a fine place for an early lunch. Closer to neap tides it would
make a decent campsite and would get full afternoon sun.
Bedwell Islets
Our plan was to paddle another 3 hours to our last camp at Ildstad
Islets. The air was warm and still while the water was smooth and
sticky. Not the conditions I favor but a Humpback was traveling our way
and provided ample distraction from the discomfort. Typical of the
species it spent several breaths at the surface and made us smile before diving
for five minutes at a time and subjecting us to the heat, sticky water and
noise of logging trucks grinding up and down the adjacent peaks. Dave and
I would both check our watches and I would remind myself that, while Quatsino
Sound didn’t compete as a wilderness experience when compared to the north,
central and sections of the west coast of Canada on almost any day of paddling
in Puget Sound experiences matching it would pass for excellent kayaking.
About the time our efforts would begin to feel like work five minutes would
expire and our large black friend would surface again to make us smile.
Alas, we outpaced him and his breaths could be heard behind us as we continued
on.
Quatsino Companion
Ildstad Islets turned out to be not to our liking. While our
decision to not camp there was ultimately based on me reading the tide charts
incorrectly and predicting trouble during the night it would be an OK campsite
at best. Pamphlet Cove on Drake Island was only 30 minutes away and we
figured we could always return if it didn’t pan out so we set off for Drake.
Looking up the sound you could see the water darkening with the
approach of a northeast wind. It was on us very quickly and felt really
good. It cooled us down and “unstuck” our boats by ruffling the water
that opposed it. Wind in the face can be wonderful or wicked. This
breeze had a good spirit.
Entering Pamphlet Cove was odd. There were three boats
anchored that hadn’t seen use for a while. I suspect that they belonged
to folks whose homes, across the sound, lacked protected anchorage. If
you looked closely the shoreline of the cove showed signs of abandoned
development. It was hard to tell what you were looking at, though.
A three story hotel once stood on the waterfront but was now just a section of
forest taken over by mature Alders. The hand built rockery defining a
waterside walkway could be seen or missed altogether. A wooden frame,
trellis, arch, not sure what to call it marked the spot of……….what? No
idea. It just stood there above the high tide line. This had been a
resort in the early 1900’s and now you could miss it altogether. The
jungle takes back its own.
We paddled past a mostly submerged floating dock structure-thing
of some sort and slid up onto a grassy “beach” dominated by a rocky and treed
prominence that would withstand any tide. We weren’t sure if it had any
flat spots that would be both dry and accept a tent but it looked better than
Ildstad. It was an island connected to the forest by a tombolo covered
with intertidal grasses. Probably not a true tombolo as it was not sandy
but mostly fractured rock and mud. The tide was high on our arrival and
there was room for two tents to be pitched on level dry grass.
Amazing! This might be the sweetest campsite I have ever found on the
Canadian coast. No sand. No gravel. Natural windbreaks.
What could be wrong? What’s that sound?
High Tide at Pamphlet Cove
We
quickly changed out of our paddling gear and laid it out to dry on the sunny
rocks. Our boats were tied to the islet’s trees, tents were set up,
sleeping pads inflated, sleeping bags pulled from compression dry bags and hung
over the tents to fluff and defunk. Warm breeze off of the sound blew
through the trees and the long, shaggy moss hanging from the branches relented
and streamed downwind. What is that buzzing sound?
I
pulled our dinner choices from the dry bags and hung the rest from the trees.
Probably no need but a habit ingrained from previous camping experiences.
I noticed lots of Bald Faced Wasps working close to the ground. I had
never been stung by a Wasp and had little experience with them. Were they
responsible for the buzzing sound?
At
some point I noticed a large number of Yellow Jackets mingling with the Wasps
and my heart sunk. I’ve been stung by Yellow Jackets and had to flee from
them more times than I cared to remember. Now the background sound I was
hearing made sense. They were everywhere. What to do? Crawl
into my tent and assume the fetal position? Accept my fate of death by
1000 stings? Here I was in this almost perfect campsite and it was
infested with Yellow Jackets.
“Yellow
Jackets. Why did it have to be Yellow Jackets”
A
scene from “Raiders of the Lost Ark” came to mind that characterized how
I felt.
Dave
mostly ignored them and excitedly gave me a natural history presentation of
Wasps that was worthy of a National Geographic article. He was enthused
to be surrounded by them.
Me
– “What about the Yellow Jackets?”
Dave
- “Are they bothering you? They aren’t bothering me”.
Me
- “Yeah but………..they are everywhere and they might”.
Dave
– “But are they”?
I
had to consider that I might have been pre-judging the Yellow Jackets and Wasps
of Drake Island. I mean, just because they were yellow and black and
looked for all the world like the stinging insects whose angry behavior I had
suffered through for my entire life, these might be friendly.
Right? Maybe they wanted to be my friend?
I
tried to ignore their incessant buzzing noise and constant presence around my
bare feet. I sought inclusion which meant that I needed to give them a
chance rather than assume the worst. I took a walk into the forest and
the sound of the wind through the trees was overwhelmed by the sound of their
buzzing around the ground. They were everywhere. I finally figured
that if the day was going to end badly it was going to end badly no matter what
I did and I started to relax. When one Yellow Jacket hit me hard in the
cheek I thought, “Oh boy. Here we go”, but he just flew around my face at
a respectful distance in a non-aggressive manner as though to say, “Sorry
Dude. You OK? My bad”. And then he went back to whatever he
was doing and he wasn’t concerned about me at all.
Pamphlet Cove Campsite
I
had to admit to being out of my element as these Yellow Jackets and Wasps were
no more menacing than Ricardo and seemed to either mean me no harm or just not
care about my presence. I leaned back against a rock and started reading
surrounded by their buzzing. The smell of the water, grass and trees plus
sound of the wind through the branches and the drone of their wings conspired
to get me to put the book down and take a nap. Being careful not to lay
on any of them I stretched out, closed my eyes and went to sleep surrounded by
Flying Death. As I drifted off I marveled that I had never before
encountered a Yellow Jacket who hadn’t been intent on being a complete
asshole. Here I was surrounded by them, at their mercy and they accepted
my presence.
We
ate an early dinner of freeze-dried Beef Stroganoff. The Death Brigade
was still hard at work and not once acknowledged that we were eating something
that they might be interested in. Very strange.
You
should have seen the stars that night. Mind blowing.
Gooding
Cove to Drake Island 16.3 NM
Drake Island to Coal Harbour
August 10, Day 13
Clear. Winds Calm. Seas Smooth.
We left Pamphlet Cove about 1 ½ hours before low slack. We
wanted to enter Quatsino Narrows just before the change to flood and it was
about an hour’s paddle to Quattische Island where we would stage. The
narrows is about 1.5 NM long so figure 30 minutes to pass through it.
Enough water goes through this narrow pass on each exchange to warrant paying
attention and timing the passage intelligently. Current can ramp up
pretty quickly in 30 minutes, hence the stop at Quattisiche Island.
Near low tide the landing on the protected side of the island
wasn’t threatening but was shallow, rocky and slippery. A great
combination for hull and ankle damage. Dave and I took some time to
refuel and kick back. Too bad that this wasn’t a comfy beach for kicking
back. At the appointed time we launched and paddled towards the
narrows. The shoreline is Indian Reserve and showed signs of habitation,
both current and past. A First Nations cemetery sits at the mouth of the
narrows.
The trip through the narrows was uneventful and we hugged the
western shore looking for the burial caves we had heard about. Any caves
we passed would have been inundated at high tide so I’m not sure that we ever
saw them but the geology was interesting. In spite of our timing there
was a bit of interesting water exiting the narrows. I suspect that on a 9
knot flood it would be a handful with an expedition boat. Probably fun in
a playboat.
In spite of the karst caves along the cliffs of Stewart Point the
last hour of our trip was unremarkable and within view of the Island Copper
Mine on Rupert Inlet and fresh clearcuts along Holberg Inlet.
Stewart Point Caves
We landed at the concrete ramp that dominates the waterfront of
Coal Harbour. We unpacked our boats into beach bags and Dave went into
the large WWII sea plane hanger to borrow their phone and call a taxi.
Welcome to Coal Harbour
After living out of our boats to the rhythm of winds and sea it
all came down to catching a cab ride back to Port Hardy to retrieve Dave’s
truck? The rhythm of Port Hardy meant that the cab driver was at lunch
and not answering his phone so we hung around and watched the giant forklift
drive around putting sea planes into the water and taking others back out while
a stream of power boaters launched and landed their boats at boat ramp.
The scents of boat, car, truck and forklift exhaust assailed our noses. A
very large and angry man assailed our ears by asking us loudly if we were the
fxckxng xsshxlxs who were blocking his truck in. I was very pleased let
him know that we weren’t those xsshxlxs. He asked everyone in sight if
they were the xsshxlxs who were blocking him in. He might have been
Grace’s Father as there were definite similarities. Welcome back to
civilization.
Dave finally got a hold of the cab driver who came and took him to
Port Hardy. He returned an hour later, we loaded our gear and drove back
to the C&N Backpacker’s Hostel for the night where we were told that BC
Parks had shut down the park due to a Rainbow Family gathering at Raft
Cove. While the number of participants expected for the month long
gathering was estimated near 2,000 the group reported that no more than 125
were ever on the beach before being ejected. It’s hard for me to imagine
what 125 people on the beach would be like let alone 2,000. I read
reports of trench toilets being dug and ground cover cleared in preparation of
the gathering. I hope that signs of the preparation are taken back by the
forest soon.
Drake Island to Coal Harbour 8.5 NM
Route
Maybe it’s just me but it seems like the last day of every trip is
a day that we somehow wish we didn’t have to experience. We are ending an
adventure and we are re-entering civilization where we are going to have to fit
in again. On the outside our Sea Brothers and Sisters accept our flaws
because we all share the same disease. Re-entry usually happens quickly
and while it’s a shock to the system we start to deal with it as soon as we
land. While paddling up Quatsino Sound the discomfort seemed accentuated
because we were within signs of civilization for a few days but don’t get to
“land”. Pent up bad ju-ju, me thinks. Wind still blows and current
still flows but it isn’t wilderness.
The Vancouver Island experience seems different to me then the
North and Central Coast experiences. When the shoreline wasn’t obscured
by fog we were always aware of commerce and development. Clear cuts, old
or new, logging roads are everywhere and further north you don’t see as much of
that. The waters of the west coast of Vancouver Island are
spectacular. Absolutely alive and magnificent. I know that some
folks have successfully transited this coast without a clue but it seems to me
like a place where sound decision making and execution is very important unless
you are lucky.
We paddled 171 NM in 12 paddling days averaging 14.3 NM / day
Shortest day just 7.8 NM from Heater Point to Crabapple Islets
Longest day was 19.5 NM from Crabapple Islets to Gooding Cove
The most enjoyable paddling for me was going out to play in the
wind and waves at Kwakiutl Point, the morning that we paddled from Heater Point
to Crabapple Islets and the short stretch from Kwakiutl Point to Gooding
Cove. Both the water and company were great!
I really dislike paddling by IFR. It’s hard to focus and
makes my head hurt. In spite of my grousing about the fog it was only a
factor on 9 of 13 days. Yes, I do wish that we had experienced more
visual stimulation on each and every day but, overall, the weather was fabulous
for paddling.
Temperatures were usually in the 50’s to mid-60’s. A couple
of times it crept into the 70’s. Mostly very nice with just a couple of
warm episodes.
We experienced no rainfall. There was some drizzle at
Experiment Bight and Helen Islets and very heavy dew on other nights but this
is a coastline that normally has plenty of real rain. We learned that
there hadn’t been any rainfall for over 30 days. The forest was dried out
and vulnerable. Neither Dave nor I possess the pyro-gene so we can take
or leave fires campfires. We left them.
Biting insects, normally an issue, were practically
non-existent. Almost zero no-seeums and maybe 200 mosquitos over 13
days. Do the math. That’s nothing. Unreal! I got one
mosquito bite the whole trip and never used insect repellant. I suspect
that the dry weather had something to do with it.
Those Pamphlet Cove Yellow Jackets and Wasps are still a mystery
to me. While I have a well-earned fear of them, in reality, they were
less threatening than the King Fishers that were out in ample force.
I was all psyched up for potential bear and whale encounters but
we didn’t see a single bear and few whales. No Orcas at all. One
solitary wolf. Lots of tracks but not many animals.
Ricardo was cool.
We had three weeks to complete our trip that we did in two.
Paddling was good in Seattle when we got back. It was nice to be in the
Illusion again.
Next year……..
Winter Harbour to Port Angeles?
Juneau to Prince Rupert?
Prince Rupert to Shearwater via the outer coast?
So many choices………………………….
Dave
Jon
Revised 11/19/2019
