PART 5 - PADDLING WITH FRIENDS. Rounding the Brooks
June 25th - Day 27
St Josef Bay must be the most beautiful beach in all of Vancouver Island. The bay is nestled deep inside a cut on the cliff walls that roll down from Cape Scott and is surrounded by old growth forest whose trees reminded me of the columns supporting the ceiling of a great temple. The low tide exposed a beach a thousand feet wide covered by a sand canvased into a never-ending myriad of colorful patterns by the receding water. Even the most skilled abstract painter would find it hard to match the detail.
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After setting camp and notifying JF that I had made it to our rendezvous point with a day to spare, I went on a walk to explore the coastal landscape. At high tide there are many sea stacks that are inaccessible, but when the tide recedes, they become connected to the mainland, and it is possible to walk between the rocks and discover what the sea water has sculpted.
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I was fascinated by how the creatures of the tide pools predictively layer themselves in a precise hierarchy. At the very bottom where the rocks are wetted even at low tide are the mollusks and starfish. Then come the shellfish which always have the larger individuals in the bottom and smaller ones on the top, as those on the lower down have more time to feed in the water. After them come the barnacles which can survive exposed to the air the longest. The final layer before where the rock is permanently exposed in all but the highest tides is capped by a scrawny little algae called the rockweed which is the kayaker’s most feared plant. If you paddle over rockweed, then you’re about to hit the bottom of your boat. You never want to gamble paddling your kayak over a bed of rockweeds.
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While meandering my way through the sea stacks I found a deep cave gouged into the rock cliff ringing the beach. The cave was deep enough that my eyes needed a moment to adjust to the low light, and when I turned to stare at the entrance the landscape outside was a white glare. The cave roof was covered with a thin moss layer and dripped constantly as though it had started to rain. The water was fresh, which meant it must be percolating through the rock above where the trees are growing. At the deepest point in the cave was an interesting artifact from the sea; a large piece of driftwood which proved that when a storm is raging in the Pacific Ocean, this cave will be no safe to hide.
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I think that the cave is the preamble to a new sea stack in the making. As the sea gouges ever deeper into the cave, eventually the roof won’t support itself, and whatever remains after the collapse will become a new sea stack. Rocks last a long time, but not forever. Ultimately even the sea stacks will topple one day, and the mollusks and barnacles will finish off whatever is left of the rock. Walking from the treeline down the cliff and ending at the water’s edge is a cross-sectional journey through time.
In the afternoon I decided to hike part of the Cape Scott Trail inland as I was told by a fellow camper mentioned to me that on the trail was an immense spruce tree.
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“It’s definitely worth the walk, it’s about a mile beyond Eric Lake on the way to Nels Beach.”
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I put on my boots, grabbed my wide brim hat, holstered the bear spray on my shorts, and fitted two Perrier bottles to the back pockets on my shirt.
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The walk wasn’t very eventful and there wasn’t much to see. The trail is buried in the forest, there are no viewpoints, and the canopy is thick with only a few shafts of light landing on the forest floor. As the distance from the sea increased the moderating effect of the ocean on the temperature became less pronounced, and the humidity made it feel like spring day in Florida.
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At Eric Lake I found a pebbled beach where I could see that the sky was bright and sunny. I stretched my neck to look as far down the trail as I could, and when I was reasonably sure there wasn’t anyone nearby, took a skinny dip into the refreshingly cool water.
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Passing the lake I was on the lookout for the big spruce tree. “It can’t be much further.” I thought.
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The trail began a steep climb up a mountain in a series of switchbacks. I eventually caught up with a couple on their way to hiking the entire Cape Scott Trail.
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“Oh, we passed it a while ago.” They said, to my chagrin.
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I turned around and began walking back but soon arrived at the lake without finding the tree. I concluded I must have had too high expectations after seeing the big Cedar on Hansen Island. I saw several large spruce trees on the trail but none whose height and girth spoke to say, “Yes, I’m the big tree everyone writes home about.” I must have passed the tree and failed to be impressed enough to notice it.
At the parking lot where the trail forks between the way to Cape Scott and St Josef Bay I ran into three college aged girls piling their camping gear onto the trail wheelbarrow provided by the park service for those making their way to the campsites on the beach.
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“Well, those fancy Hawaiian shorts sure go with this wheelbarrow.” One of them said, while pointing at my colorful attire.
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“I suppose if they fit you, then I can give them to you.” I said, deliberately pretending to misunderstand her. They laughed and she gave the obvious clarification.
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“We are asking if you would be a gentleman and push it for us.”
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“You mean the two miles to the beach camp?”
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“Yes.”
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I thought about it for a moment on how I could diplomatically decline the request.
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“Sorry. But I have to go take a massive dump. Seriously, it cannot wait.” I said, noting their surprised shock at my blunt response.
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That was, however, a half-truth. I had to go, but not so urgently that I couldn’t handle the discomfort of pushing a wheelbarrow all the way to the beach. The part I didn’t say out loud was that I didn’t think any of them were cute enough to be worth pushing a wheelbarrow full of camping gear for two miles.
June 26th - Day 28
At 5:00 am I woke up to a discomforting rumble in my bowels.
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“Oh god, this one definitely can’t wait.”
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I walked barefoot out of the tent and down the sand path to the nearest outhouse shed. When I flipped open the lid on the latrine pit, I found a huge yellow slug on the seat rim. “Ugh. How am I going to get rid of this bad boy?”
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I grabbed him with a piece of toilet paper, but he was heavy and slippery, and I accidentally dropped him inside the latrine pit. He hit the bottom with a loud thump.
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“What a horrible way to die,” I thought. “So sorry but now I must also add some horrible insult on top of your injury.”
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This wasn’t my first encounter with these slugs. Two days ago, I found one crawling half way inside my kayak booties. If I hadn’t immediately noticed him at that moment , I might well have buried my foot in him while putting on the booties. These slugs appear out of nowhere when you least expect them. Suddenly to look at your things, and there they are, on top of your gear. I hope I never have to deal with one inside my dry suit.
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I paddled up the St Josef River to the boat ramp Campsite for where I would meet with the Skils Sea Kayak Group. It was low tide, and I had to dismount and walk sections of the river, otherwise I would have been scraping the river boulders.
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I arrived early and the only person awake at the camp was the site’s keeper.
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Henry is the closest person I’ve met who I would consider to be hermit. He’s lived in a little wooden shack at the campground for almost forty years. His beard was full and silvery, his hair long wavy and white as foam spray from sea, and his eyes were buried deep inside wrinkly sockets. He was a plump fellow, and I imagined him working as a mall Santa in Nanaimo or Port Hardy during the holidays, perhaps that being the only time in the year he ever went into a town.
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He was sitting on a folding chair and had an orange cat on his lap. “I adopted him some years ago. Someone dumped him in the forest at night. The little thing feared everything and everyone. Took him a month to trust me. I’d put food outside, and for a long time he would even touch it. But we’re best friends now aren’t we Garfield?” The cat purred in agreement.
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“Well, it’s good to have company. Do you know when the folks from Skils Sea Kayak are coming? They should be here soon I think.”
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“Is someone supposed to be coming here? Nobody told me. I don’t have a phone though, so no one could have called to tell me they’re coming. But folks do come by from time to time and show up unannounced, eh.”
Fortunately I did not have to worry and wonder for too long if I was at the right location. A van with a trailer carrying several kayaks drove down the one-way dirt road into the campsite. When the van reached the wooden shack, it stopped and the slide side door opened.
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“Good to see you again, old friend.” Said a man in a French accent. “Hey Felipe! Congrats on making it around Cape Scott! We’ll park by the ramp, and I’ll introduce you to the group.”
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“I’ve no clue who he is.” Henry said to me with deadpan. “But more folks know me than I know them, so maybe I am his old friend.”
For some reason, all the times I had spoken to JF over the phone, I had assumed that his accent was Chinese. It kind of made sense that he might be of Asian descent as there is a large population of Asian immigrants in the Pacific NorthWest. I attribute this mistake of mine to the Yanni/Laurel effect where if you’re primed to hear something a certain way your Brain hears it that way. I was surprised on our first in person meeting that he was very European looking.
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We were supposed to be a party of ten people but after counting everyone present, I noticed there were only nine of us.
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“Yes, unfortunately our friend Rebecca got Covid two days before the trip, and so, she could not make it. It’s a shame, but it also means everyone will have to make an effort and eat more of the food. In fact, everyone’s boat will be very heavy going out today.”
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JF’s wife was a British lady named Justine. I had spoken with her over the phone before as well, but now meeting her in person, I could not help but think that I had seen her before somewhere. “Were you in that series of kayaking films called This Is The Sea?” I asked.
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“I was the one who made the series.” She smiled like someone who’s just received recognition for their work.
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There wasn’t much time to get to know everyone else at the time save for brief introductions.
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“Time is a little bit late, we should eat lunch, get all the kit packed up and get going.” Said JF.
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The lunch was simple, but surprisingly good. For someone accustomed to eating nothing but canned fish, canned pasta, and cereal bars, my two ham with salami and cheese sandwiches with hummus was amazingly delicious. The banana and fuji apple for dessert were also great treats.
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We launched a little after midday. The tide had risen and squeezing the kayak over the river boulders without dismounting was just about doable, even with all the additional gear.
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I don’t think my kayak has ever been heavier. In addition to all the food, we were each carrying a ten-liter water bag inside the kayak cockpit.
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Almost immediately out of St Josef Bay our flotilla ran into its first incident. The wind increased considerably during the afternoon, and waves bashing against the cliffs created washing machine-like conditions. One of our fellows kayaking mates developed a debilitating sea sickness and his stomach nearly tossed his lunch overboard. One of us braced with him so his kayak would be stable, and tied a tow line to JF’s boat, who then pulled the load of two kayaks plus his own.
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After about 20 minutes of furious paddling, he announced what we could all already see. “Guys, I am spent. We’re going to have to pause for a break.”
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Fortunately, the north wind was pushing everyone along, so resting did not mean that we stopped moving. JF switched roles with Justine who also paddled with great strength and vigor, pulling the load of three full boats. The condition of our seasick mate did not improve until we finally landed and called in the day.
June 27th - Day 29
The beach we camped was the steepest landing I have ever done. The slope was a bed of boulders that rolled and crackled with the waves. This was likely not JF’s first choice of campsite, but our seasick friend needed to stop wherever possible. After getting out, the only way to get the boats far enough up the beach where it could be safely unloaded was to time the pull ups with the incoming waves. I prayed that I wasn’t scrapping my hull too much. The paint protection tape I'd applied to the hull before the journey was already showing several rips.
“That’s exactly why you put it on,” I told myself.
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The steep beach had a narrow ledge before another escarpment rose to where the trees started growing. The ledge was wide enough to pitch our tents, but they had to be in single file. I noticed the driftwood further up from the ledge and hoped that JF was more knowledgeable of the local tides than I was. I checked the moon phase; it was a waning crescent. “No danger tonight.” I said to myself remembering the last time I had put my trust on a high-water mark.
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I slept well for only part of the night. I woke up at 2:00 am hearing a howling noise outside.
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“God damn it. We have a snorer in the group.” We were so closely packed together to make the most of the available space on the ledge, that it could have been anyone; or a bear that had found his way into one of the boat hatches. In the morning we saw a set of wolf tracks on the beach. The paw marks were as big as a human hand and judging from their depth on the not so soft sand, it was a large and heavy animal.
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“Looks like the morning beach patrol was doing the rounds.” I joked.
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“Or the beach landlord came by looking for the rent,” Said JF.
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“Well, it’s not the first of the month yet. We should get going…”
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On this day we began what will be a regimented lifestyle necessary for living in a tight knit group. Every morning we would wake up a little after sunrise. JF and Justine are up earlier still to get the coffee boiling and prepare breakfast. We would then each get dressed in our gear, pack our kits, and store it into our kayak stern hatch (the bow hatch is strictly reserved for the food, which JF and Justine can go into and fetch what they need to prepare breakfast, lunch, or dinner). The time for each of us to get organized usually coincided with what became a familiar call from JF indicating that the meal was ready.
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“Time to wash hands!”
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On our first meal, JF set the campground ground rules.
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“Folks, as I’m sure you’re all aware, we won’t have a meaningful chance for a shower for the whole two weeks we are together. It is, however, important that we keep a bare minimum of personal hygiene out of respect for each other and our health. That includes, washing hands before every meal so we are not eating each other's poop, and speaking of poop, please make sure you do yours below the high tide mark, and mark it with a wood stack or big rock on top so no one has the unfortunateness of digging into the same place. You should burn the used toilet paper whenever possible but be careful not to set the forest on fire.”
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After each meal we selected one person as the designated dishwasher. This is not a pleasant job, but it always had to be done or our dishes and wares encrusted with food morsels would begin attracting unwanted visitors.. Depending on the food the plates, pots and pans would get very greasy and needed vigorous scrubbing with the biodegradable detergent (which is another term for not very effective detergent) with an ultra heavy duty sponge.
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The meal once done and the gear packed, we got on with the day’s paddle. If the tide had been receding this invariably meant we needed to make a second carrying round of the kayaks to the water’s edge, which now loaded with gear are very heavy and require the combined efforts of four people. JF’s and Justine’s kayaks were especially heavy as they also carried all the kitchen gear including the cooker, the gas canisters, and the folding tables; their kayaks needed six carriers.
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I was very apprehensive about carrying my kayak with gear inside. The boat being a sectional three piece, I did not have the confidence the hinges holding the bow and the stern to the cockpit were meant to bear the bending moment I’d stressing them. In fact, I'd replaced all the hinges once with a sturdier set as the originals got bent out of shape just from normal use.
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“Folks, can I have six people to carry my baby as well? I’ll do two rounds of dishes when it’s my turn.” That was judged to be a fair compromise.
We only paddled ten miles to a southward facing beach called Grant Bay. The forecast called for the winds to shift and begin blowing from the southwest which indicated bad weather was on the way.
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I have noticed that the weather follows a cyclical pattern on the west coast of Vancouver Island. When the wind blows from the northwest and north, it means that a high-pressure system is moving through. That makes the mornings begin with fog which then transitions into clear sunny afternoons. Over the course of a few days, the high-pressure system moves from west to east, and the wind shifts from northwest to northeast. Eventually, the wind will come from due east, signaling that the high-pressure system is now past us. The east wind from the land can be particularly treacherous as it blows against the prevailing swells and bunches the waves together making them steeper and more likely to break. Then about a day after that there’s a sudden calmness to the weather, the wind dies down, and the water flattens, and you can even hear birds chirping in the forest.
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“That is when you need to be most vigilant.” JF noted.
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“It means there’s a low-pressure trough out there in the sea moving in. You’ll notice a slight breeze from the south which slowly turns southwest. At first, you’ll think, that’s a refreshing waft, but then in a few hours, you’ll be like “hmmm, it’s getting quite rough now,” and when you see the cloud ridge over the ocean you better know where you’re landing because the storm front will be breaking over you soon enough.”
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When we rounded the headland into Grant Bay the I caught sight of the cloud ridge behind the Brooks Peninsula some twenty-five miles away. After about thirty minutes the peninsula became obscured, and just like JF predicted, the temperature dropped, the weather worsened, and the rain began pouring with a gusting wind. Fortunately, we were all on dry land and in dry clothes.
June 28th - Day 30
The wind blew from the southwest with great strength all day.
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“Folks, I know it’s only the third day, but we’re going to make it a rest day and wait out the storm. No worries though, we’ve budgeted for four rest days over the two weeks, so this fits in the schedule just fine. Make yourselves at home. We’ll make sure there is plenty of food.”
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JF is a very good cook. Today’s lunch included spicy deer steak and mashed potatoes all cooked on site with his portable camp kitchen. Cooking three fine meals a day for fourteen days for nine very hungry people is a feat to be lauded.
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“You know, I always thought that food in Canada was like food in the United States; bland or bad for your health, or both. But I am eating better here than I do at home. Hopefully you can keep this level the whole trip.” I joked with him.
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“Oh, as you might have guessed, I’m from the part of Canada with the French connection, so we take great pride in what we put in our bellies. The food definitely makes or breaks a trip. If the food is bad, that is what people will remember. By the way, the onions are separate from the mash potatoes; someone mentioned before the trip that they didn’t like onions.”
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“Oh, that was me… thanks! I’m the guy who wrote, “the more boring the better,” To this day my mother complains I’m a picky eater. The onions have to be cut small so I won’t see them, and the tomato sauce has to be creamy with no skinny chunks. And no pickles in the salad.”
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“You’ll be pleasantly surprised. A few years ago, on the trip around the Great Bear Forest up north we had a guy who liked his onions cut small too.”
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“What have you been eating on your trip?” Asked Justine.
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“Well, I’m kind of Spartan when it comes to food and kayaking. I don’t like to cook. In the morning I have a can of fish, salmon or tuna, and a can of pasta. I like Chef Boyardee. During the day I only eat cereal bars. And in the evening, I have the same thing as in the morning; tuna, pasta, and maybe some Nutella.”
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“Oh, good god. You don’t get tired of that? Canned pasta is awful.”
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“Haha. I don’t disagree with you. I took a liking to it on my trip around Florida. I thought it was delicious after I had eaten nothing but sardines for the previous five days. Then about a month after I got back home, I bought three cans in the supermarket to eat for lunch. But somehow the same ravioli was bland and boring as if I had a different tongue.”
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“Hunger will do that to you. You won’t have to worry about that while you’re with us.”
Being landbound by the weather, and our mobility on land limited by the rain, we had the whole day to get to know each other.
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One of our mates, John, was a high-school teacher in the Seattle Public School system.
“So yes, I teach high-school civics,” he said.
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“Used to be a criminal defense attorney before I decided there was more to life than money and sixty-hour work weeks. That was much to the chagrin of my wife. She thought she was dating a lawyer, but she married a high-school teacher.” He laughed.
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“What’s the craziest case you’ve had to defend?” I asked
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“Oh, I’ve had a few interesting clients, but the one I most often talk about when that question comes up, was a guy I represented, who had robbed thirty-three banks in one year in the Seattle area. That was his full-time job, and he was very good at it. Well, until he made a mistake and got caught. After thirty-two successful bank heists, he got a little cocky, and took on too much risk and started robbing the same bank more than once. I think I did a pretty good job for him. I got most of the charges dismissed. The cops extracted a confession from him during a seven-hour interrogation, by threatening to go after his mother. Confession under duress is a big no-no, that’s an easy one to get thrown out. The best friend of a criminal defense attorney is a cop who sucks at his job.”
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“That must be useful when you teach your students about civil rights.”
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“Indeed, it is. I teach in a poor neighborhood, so the kids and their families there have all kinds of problems. I tell them that If the cops want to talk to you, and you know you’re not a choir boy, it’s never a good sign. Invoke the fifth amendment, and then be quiet. Your mouth is your worst enemy. And it’s very important that you orally invoke the fifth. Otherwise, your silence might not count, and the cops can use your silence as evidence of guilt. That’s from the Salinas v Texas case.”
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“And how’s teaching high school like?”
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“Tough but rewarding. Tough because you don’t have the resources. Like every state, the school district budget comes from property taxes. If you’re from a poor neighborhood, the properties are worth less, the district collects less money, so the schools have less money, and lack enough of everything. Heck, in some of the really poor neighborhoods, the schools you have to ration writing paper. And in contrast if you’re from a rich neighborhood, then it's the opposite. They have resources my students wouldn’t even think to ask. . The rewarding part comes from me feeling like I am making a difference, even if it is small. There are a few kids I teach, for which I’m not just a teacher, I'm kind of a dad figure too, and that’s rewarding to me.”
“Seems like we are creating a sort of aristocracy and peasantry through the school system.”
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“Yes, the irony isn’t lost on anyone who knows anything about the Veil of Ignorance.”
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“What’s the Veil of Ignorance?”
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“Oh, it’s a thought experiment, made by a philosopher called John Rawls to make you think about the society you live in. It asks you this; if you could shape the society you will be born into, but could not choose what position in that society you would be born in, how would you shape that society? And how close is the society that you live in now to that? If a person really thinks through the exercise honestly, then something clicks in their head, and they can see the world through someone else’s perspective.”
June 29th - Day 31
We woke up to dead calm conditions and thick fog, the prelude to a radiantly sunny day.
“Time to wash hands!” JF announced.
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Soon we were in our kayaks making our way south to the mouth of Quatsino Sound. The sound is a very long fjord that cuts deep into the island and almost slices across it. In the farthest reaches you are s closer to Port Hardy than the Pacific Ocean.
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Marking the entrance to the sound is a small rocky island topped with a mohawk of trees and a lighthouse. There is no good harbor on the island save for a narrow pebble beach on the north side, but it is only accessible in good weather and high tide, through a bed of sharp boulders covered in barnacles, but fortunately for us, the conditions were just right.
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“Let’s not be here for too long or we will be stuck with walking the heavy boats to the water.” Said JF.
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After climbing up a short but steep trail, we reached a fenced grassy field next to the lighthouse keeper’s lodging. Opposite to that was a wide helipad overlooking the sound, with a large H painted in white. I walked on the helipad to see the view and was surprised to see a deer grazing in the forest below.
“Well, the helipad explains how the lighthouse keeper gets in and out, but how on earth did the deer get here? Can deer swim in the ocean?”
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“Yes, they can, and they do.” Said the lighthouse keeper walking down to meet us. “Oh, and I'm so sorry I have to say this, but we don’t let visitors stand on the helipad. The previous keeper had a son who slipped, fell down the cliff and drowned. He is buried just beside our dwelling. ”
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“Hopefully he reincarnated as one of the bald eagles we see perched on the cliff.”
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Jim and his wife Mary have been working as lighthouse keepers in Quatsino Sound for three years. “We found the job through a Facebook ad, and thought, “hey, why not?” We are both retired. The job has good benefits, and we could rent out our house on the mainland. Besides, whether the weather is good or bad, the scenic view is unbeatable.”
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I talked to Jim about the daily life of lighthouse keeping, and I am convinced this type of work can be a really good deal, for the right type of person. There would surely be a long line of applicants wanting the job if it was more widely advertised. The pay is decent, about $50,000 Canadian if you are the head keeper (as opposed to the assistant keeper who fills in when the head keeper is on holiday), and the accommodation and electric utilities are included. You have to do some light maintenance on the buildings such as painting and general upkeep, and you must record the weather and the sea conditions four times a day which takes about an hour, maintain the weather instruments, and upload the data to the Meteorological Service of Canada. If someone shows up to the lighthouse in distress, you are expected to provide first aid, and call-in emergency services if needed. Seems like there would be a fair amount of free time most days.
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“Ever since Amazon struck a partnership with the Canadian Coast Guard, we can pretty much order anything we need, and it arrives every two weeks with the chopper. My wife ordered a treadmill to get some exercise when the weather has us stuck indoors.”
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After a brief walk around we hurried back to the kayaks, lest we got trapped by the falling tide.
It took half an hour to cross Quatsino Sound. There was a slight north breeze, folks asked me for a little showboating with the kayak sail, and I happily indulged them. “Would love a few photos please. I mostly paddle alone, every shot I have of myself is from the viewpoint of a rhinoceros.” I joked.
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On the opposite side was a cabin nestled in the woods by the shore. It did not look abandoned like some I’ve seen before. The wooden deck and roof were varnished and in good condition, the door hinges swung without effort, and a propane tank in the backyard was heavy with fuel.
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“It's a communal house belonging to one of the local tribes.” Said Justine. “It works on a first come first serve basis.”
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I walked inside through the kitchen door and noticed a variety of seasonings in the pantry and two metal pots by the oven. The living room was homely,a drying clothesline hung from the ceiling over a wood furnace where a few logs had been left ready if anyone should arrive needing some warmth. I sat on a dusty futon pressed against the wall and looked through the glass window facing the ocean as though it were a TV screen featuring a nature documentary.
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“You could certainly rest here and watch the scenery change slowly through the day.” I thought. Maybe a fishing boat or an eagle would enter this living canvas at some point.
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By the window was a notebook with a pencil marking the last written page. It was a guest book with the stories of previous occupants going back about three years. Most just noted their passing, but a few had curious tales from their time in the cabin. I’ve copied here a few of the most interesting anecdotes I read:
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January 25-26, 2020
Hi Ellen, A nice weekend adventure with Shane, Hailey and Ryland. We had some fireworks with us for the New Years celebration at Restless Bight. Papa Walter is with Angela and Mom visiting family in Thailand. We are thinking of you and dreaming up plans for the summer. I see that Loriann brought a new logbook too! We got to enjoy a calm day before a raging storm with unseasonably warm winds rolled through while we were beachcombing at night. The seas are very high now. Lots of logs moving around. We cut a little bit of wood, but the saw needs some attention. Shane and Ryland fixed the couch so please go easy when you sit on it. It’s got to be from the 70s as it was Jary Olsen’s. He helped my dad and Walter bring it here when his friends built the cabin.
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June 15, 2020
We came across this cabin on our circumnavigation of Vancouver Island. We started in our double kayak from Courtenay on June 2nd. It has rained everyday of our trip and West Coast waters have been challenging. We are very grateful for this cabin so we can have a dry night. Our original plan was to camp at Restless Bay. We are both from Whistler and have a similar community cabin network for the skiing months. We’ll be heading off in the morning to round the Brooks Peninsula! – James and Duffy.
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July 5-9, 2020
Hooo Man, we owe you guys one! My sister and brother-in-law stumbled across this cabin on a hike from Gooding Cove and thought it would be a great place for my 3-year-old daughter and 8-month-old son for when we come down from Saskatchewan. So here we are. Thank goodness for this place. We brought two tarps, but one is leaking and the other isn’t very big. If we were stuck in our tents, the kids would be screaming mad. But we got to watch the rain out the window from the comfort of the couch.
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My sister drew a sun in the sand yesterday, and the toddlers were running naked on the beach. You have to be careful though. In the morning we saw four wolf tracks on the sand, then the next day we saw cougar tracks that weren’t there when we arrived. They must have noticed the kids and were interested; the little ones would make a fine meal.
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In the river there are lots of otters and even more fish. My sister is really good at catching them. I don’t know how she does it. Seems like she just dips the line in the water and out come the fishes. Red snapper, rockfish, greenlings, and black bass, she catches everything. I thought maybe there was something about the rod or the lure she was using that was lucky, but I had no luck with it. Witchcraft, I say. We made some really good ceviche!
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We left a jolly jumper in the closet that we brought for little Sam. That gave him some bodily autonomy to get him standing, and after a little practice with it he finally took his first steps. At first, I felt very proud of my boy, but then I got worried; he moves around a lot now, and I have to keep an eye on him.
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Not much evidence of mice. A few of the kitchen rags looked ripped, but that was it. By the way, who made the swing outside? The kids love it.
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We chopped some wood and left the logs by the furnace for the next person that comes around. We would have left a few diapers wipes too, but my son bedeviled more than we expected. Also, thank you to whomever it was that installed the rain barrel. I bathed my son in it before I realized what it was. He got in the muck and was really filthy, so I emptied it out all the water. Hopefully the rain fills it up again soon. I left forty dollars in the book in case someone needs to buy supplies. Cheers! – Thomas
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July 12, 2020
We were paddling through the area, saw the cabin and decided to stop and look. The place smells a little strange, but we were happy to spend the night. Big thanks to whomever left the logs by the furnace. We were soaked from yesterday’s rain and that helped get things dry. We have restocked the supply. Thank you – Angela, Eric, and Ben.
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July 26 – 29, 2020
I paddled across the sound from the lighthouse. The wind was really strong, and there is a gale warning for the next three days. What a surprise it was to find this little place in the woods with a million-dollar view.
I am on an adventure that started in Campbell River. The first leg to Port Hardy I did it with friends. The second part rounding the Cape I did it solo. I’ll be finishing in Coal Harbor, in Vancouver. I’ve spent a few days here in the cabin putting my head back in the right place before I head back (reluctantly) to civilization.
The weather is good now. Time to go around the Brooks! I noticed that there were two twenty-dollar bills inside the log book. I’ve added a twenty towards the propane since I used some of it. Thank you for sharing this place. I am leaving with a sense of gratitude! – Drew Conway.
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August 1 -3, 2020
We kayaked from Winter Harbor and weathered out a massive storm on this little cabin. We are continuing to the Brooks. We added another forty to the sixty already in the logbook. – Julia & Stephan.
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September 13, 2020
Three guys from Victoria, spent two nights here at the end of a two-week kayak trip out of Winter Harbor, Around the Brooks and back. Almost no wind and no rain the entire time! Thank you to the people who built this place. We split some wood for the next guest and cleaned out the rain barrel (it was kind of mucky on the bottom) probably could use some bleach. Hope to come back sometime. – Rob, Alan, and David
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November 12 – 14, 2020
The cabin looks great! The mice are out and about. I caught nine, and one in the pantry. The surf in the ocean is huge. The biggest I’ve seen in years. Thank you Rowly Reef!
The Storm washed up a lot of fish on the beach. The ravens are having a party! – Mike.
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December 17 -20, 2020
My gosh, the bridge from Gooding Cove washed out in the storm from a few days ago. More rain is on the way it seems.
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The cabin shook in the wind all night like an earthquake was going on. The rain came in sheets, and the sea is spraying close to the windows. The creek is a muddy torrent and there is no way we can cross it.
Storm has cleared, and we had a starry night. Thank you for this dry Oasis. Can’t imagine what we would do without it. – Garry, Catherine, Frazer, Eva
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April 18 – 19, 2021
I am going on a Lichen hunt! I’m looking for a rare lichen I thought only grew in Alaska, but Eva said she saw it last year. I need to confirm it.
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We are a family of four out fishing with a zodiac at the mooring buoy so we camped down by the creek. There must have been some bad storms recently. Lots of fallen trees.
Did not find the lichen. Disappointed – Garry
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May 15, 2021
We miss you, Ellen! Happy birthday! We thought maybe we would find you here. Instead, we only found your lone wolf. He’s made it a habit to hang out by the cabin.
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We spotted a lazy bear sleeping on the meadow. He didn’t even notice us go by on our canoe.
There are wild strawberry flowers everywhere, which reminds me. I need to bring you some goodies for the garden. Hope to catch you soon!
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P.S. Looks like the living room couch is broken. We need to see what to do about it – Sarah & Kyle.
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May 27 – 30, 2021
This is our second trip to the cabin, but the first time we are spending the night. We just moved to Royston three months ago and are still getting to know the area. We are so grateful this place exists! We wanted to contribute to the upkeep, so we packed out a lot of the trash, including some Asian Soy sauce from 2014! The hubby kept busy chopping some firewood to last the whole summer, while I paddled over to Lawn Point for a picnic.
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There’s a lazy bear hanging around down by the beach. I named him “Greg” for obvious reasons. Thank you so much to Ellen for the maintenance and the stewardship of this place.
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Oh, by the way, Brian Engineered the living room couch back to life, and the lucky mousetrap is working fabulously. The mice population is now down by two! – Juliet and Brian.
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May 28 – 21, 2022
Well, it looks like we won the lottery this weekend by finding this place in the woods. Thank you for whomever maintains this place.
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We had supper at Lawn Point while we were here, and every day we saw the three wolves and a lazy bear there. Many Thanks – Dallas and Jean.
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June 5, 2022
We don’t want to leave because it’s paradise, but dad said we have to go to school tomorrow, which is so bad. I miss mommy, so at least there’s that to look forward to.
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Finally, after reading all the entries, I came to a blank page in the logbook where I wrote about my passage.
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June 29, 2022
What a surprise to run into this place on my way around Vancouver Island! Sadly, I do not have the time to spend the night, as I and my group only stopped briefly for lunch. The weather has been incredibly calm the past day with mirror like conditions; not even a ripple to speak of. If this calm window lasts, we will have an easy time rounding the Brooks.
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I see that all the folks who pass through here contribute something, so I will as well. I am leaving my last bottle of Perrier as a treat for the next lucky occupant. Enjoy! – Felipe Behrens, From Brazil!
June 30th - Day 32
I retired my current set of undergarments which I had been using since I left Port Hardy. After so many days they were reeking horribly, even after spraying them generously of talcum powder. My two remaining sets need to last another week and a half. I’ve concluded that three undergarment sets for three weeks is not enough. Next time I will pack at least six.
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On the water I struck up a conversation with another of my campmates. David is the only one in the group paddling with a Greenland paddle.
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“How do you like the Greenland paddle? I have to say that I have tried it before and did not really like it all that much. Feels like you are pushing a stick through the water.” I said.
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“Ah, but that is because you must be using it like a Euro blade. The Greenland paddle is different. Here, let's switch paddles for a little bit and let me see your stroke.”
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He handed me his Greenland paddle and I tried a few strokes while he observed me.
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“Yeah, I see.” He said like a doctor making a diagnosis. “What you’re doing is, you are moving the paddle like you are pulling yourself with a stick, that’s never going to work. It’s like spinning your pedals on a bicycle. Picture the paddle like a lever and pretend that you are going to swing yourself over a cliff with a long pole. The pole has to stay put, and you need to pivot around it. It’s the same with the Greenland paddle, it doesn’t move relative to the water, and you have to “swing” your body and the kayak forward.”
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I pictured his instructions in my head, imagining that I was jamming the paddle into a crack in a rock and pivoting over a chasm. Somehow this mental image made the paddle feel different in my hand, and I sensed more resistance from the water through the entire movement of the stroke.
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“Yes, yes! You are looking better now. I can see how your torso is more natural now. If you tilt the angle forwards a little the fluttering will stop. Also try to push more with the upper hand rather than pulling with the lower. That will improve your movement even more.”
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“Thanks. Maybe I need to give it a second chance, sometime.”
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“There’s a guy in Victoria who teaches a course called “Secrets of the Greenland Paddle,” kind of a corny name, I know, but once you master it, it’s tough to ever want to go back. I’m definitely not going back. The greenland paddle way kinder on the joints once you get older. If you observe, most old guys like me prefer the Greenland paddle. It’s how you get to stay in this sport into your seventies, and eighties.”
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Near McDougal Island on the base of the Brooks Peninsula we ran into very thick beds of kelp. I observed that there are two very distinct types of kelp. One type is a seaweed with broad leaves and a textured pattern that reminded me of the folds on the human brain and has many tiny air sacs to sustain it, and allow it to grow from seabed like an underwater tree. I would have named it Brain Kelp, but it already goes by the name Giant Kelp because of its enormous size, and in the summer, when the days are long, it grows three feet in a day.
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The other type looks very different and is called the Bull Kelp. It has a single long hollow stem that rises from the seafloor and terminates into a large round bulb about as big as an orange. Both the bulb and the stem are very tough as though they were made of PVC pipe, and they make a knocking sound when tapped. From the bulb are strewn the bull kelp’s leaves which flutter with the flow of the current are like long serpentines from a carnival parade. Paddling over a bed of bull kelp requires lots of effort; the leaves stick to your kayak like thousands of little hands, and the floating bulbs get in the way like logs.
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“Those are the Kraken’s tentacles.” JF said.
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“They enthrall you like the giant squid monster.” I joked.
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“You know, you can use bull kelp to pee in your kayak.. You take the bulb, cut the leaves off and then cut off the top of the bulb. You then just stick your willy in the hollow stem and whizz in it like a beer dispenser topping off a pint. Works really well.”
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“Is that what you’ve doing at the back of the pack?”
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“Exactly, very convenient, when you’re on your own, and there’s no place to land.”
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“You will have to demonstrate for us how it’s done.”
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We camped on the northside of the Brooks Peninsula in a place called “The Crabapple.”, I did not see any crabs or apples there, so I don’t know where the name came from. There was a slight southeast wind building up some strength, and we would want to plan carefully when we would decide to round Cape Cook.
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“It’s looking like we will spend tonight and tomorrow night here folks.” Said JF. “But no worries this is a good spot to sit and wait for the right conditions.”
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JF took the afternoon to catch some fish. He brought back five ling cods which he breaded and deep fried. “No Tofu tonight. We will save it for when the fish aren’t biting.”
July 1st - Day 33
A strong breeze from the southeast kept us on land all day. We would not have known about it without someone giving us the forecast through a satellite phone or listening to marine weather on the VHF radio. From our campsite on the north shore of the Brooks Peninsula the wind was blocked by the mountains, and the sea was smooth like a mirror. At midday the sun was beating down on us and the beach sand was too hot to walk barefoot. We passed the time sitting under a tarp shade trying not to get sunburned.
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I spent some time talking to Justine. She has kayaked all over the world. Around New Zealand, around Tasmania, around Ireland, the coast of Labrador, the Aleutians islands in the arctic Ocean, and so many other places.
“In the arctic, one of the things you need to bring with you is an electric fence and set it around your tent camp every night. Polar bears are nothing like Black bears or even Grizzly bears. They really do look at you and see their next meal.”
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“I’ve heard about that. Is it true that they hunt people the same way they hunt beluga whales? Do they wait outside your tent waiting for you to stick your head out like a whale coming to the breathing hole in the ice?”
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“I’ve never heard of that but wouldn’t doubt it. In Churchill on Hudson Bay, they get landboud on the summer and walk into town almost every day. Only when the bay freezes can they go look for seals in the sea ice. Best not to walk alone.”
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“Oh, it’s kind of like in Florida. If you leave your pet in the yard it can suddenly vanish into the belly of an alligator. In Canada it’s your neighbor, not your neighbor’s dog that suddenly isn’t around anymore…” I joked.
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“On our kayaking trip in the arctic, we heard the alarm on the electric fence go off at night once. I opened the zipper on the tent and JF had the revolver drawn ready to fire at the first thing we’d see. Luckily there was nothing there. Must have been an arctic fox that scurried away after getting shocked.”
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“Oh, I remember that day.” Said JF. “Not quite as good a story as one from our friend Jamie told us from when he was kayaking in Svalbard. A Polar bear sat on top of him and his tent.”
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JF and I went to fetch water to replenish the bladders from a small stream he found in the forest just beyond the beach. The stream was barely a trickle, but it created two small pools from where I could fetch the water with a cup and slowly fill up the bladders one by one.
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“No need to rush it. We don’t want to stir up any sediment.” Noted JF.
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After finishing one of the bladders, I went to place it on the ground by the other bags when I saw one of the yellow slugs oozing its way over it.
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“Oh god damn it. These nasty guys are everywhere! I hope none got into the bag or we are going to be drinking slug water.”
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JF had a laugh and gave me a lecture on the little slimy creature, “Oh so I see you’re familiar with the Banana Slug. Yeah, they are everywhere in the forest. I’ve heard that if you count all the biomass of all the animals in the forest, there is more slug than all the deer, bears, wolves, cougars and racoons, combined. It eats everything. Like if something is dead, they will eat it. They are the main decomposers of the forest, when you see them it’s a sign of a healthy woodland.”
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“And nothing eats them?”
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“Well, yes there is an animal that eats the slug, kind of. In British Columbia it’s a hazing ritual for some high school sports teams that the newbies have to eat or lick a banana slug to join. I heard that it numbs the tongue like you just had anesthesia to get a wisdom tooth pulled.”
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“Maybe that’s how it was done back in the old days. The dentist could judge how bad your toothache was, by seeing if the pain went away when he said you had to eat a gooey slug.”
July 2nd - Day 34 - Rounding the Brooks
Last evening JF surprised us all with a fluffy chocolate cake topped with whip cream and blueberries he’d baked on the camping cooker.
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“I think Skils Sea Kayak needs to investigate adding a culinary class as part of their kayak guide training certification. Nobody should get their guide diploma until they can demonstrate they can bake a cake on the beach.” I joked.
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The cake put us in a relative comfort for that night’s update on the upcoming paddle.
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“Guys, now that you’ve all been properly sugarcoated, I think I can give you an unsweetened pep talk on what is coming. So, pay attention.
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“Rounding the Brooks is a big deal. Not many people do it, and it’s because it can be very dangerous if you get caught there in bad weather. Captain Cook who sailed through the Pacific Northwest didn’t call it The Cape of Storms for nothing. Many big ships have scuttled between the Cape and Solander Island, and as a little flotilla of kayaks we’d be little more than driftwood in bad conditions. The stretch facing the Pacific Ocean is long, rocky, and there aren’t many places to land if anyone gets into trouble. It’s shallow, and when the wind is blowing and the waves are breaking, the sea looks just like the cake you’re eating now.” He pointed at the ; white creamy slush splattered with dark chocolate Hershey kisses.
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“Fortunately, tomorrow, conditions look like they will be ideal, but we have to start early to catch the ebbing tide and go with the flow. We want to be on the water by 6:00 am, so get a good night's sleep.”
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When I was preparing for this journey, I occasionally checked the weather patterns around Vancouver Island to get a sense of what I would be up against. The Brooks Peninsula always looked particularly menacing and was the reason I wanted to paddle this section with a group. The peninsula sticks out twelve miles into the Pacific Ocean from the rest of Vancouver Island, and it catches the edge of the storms out in the open sea. On the Windfinder weather map, the wind color scale makes it evident the trap you could be blundering into. At the base of the peninsula the color will be blue or light purple indicating the wind is 5 to 10 knots, and at the cape it will be tinged yellow and orange which is 25 to 30 knots. That’s the difference between a leisure day on the water and struggling to not get walloped. And if the wind is blowing against the tide, it could spawn monsters.
We were up and packed a little after sunrise. JF and Justine were up even earlier. They had to get breakfast ready and the coffee boiling for the rest of us. From the beach I looked north to the horizon, it was dead calm. I then looked to the southwest along the shore to the cape ten miles away; dead calm as well. It felt too easy, almost a disappointment. “Could we have a little challenge please?” I almost said out loud before clapping my mouth shut, lest I anger the sea gods.
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We pushed off punctually at 6:00 am over the flat waters with our kayaks forming v-shaped ripples as the sliced through the sea. About an hour later the rocky outcrop of Solander Island appeared into view from behind the last headland;, we were rounding Cape Cook, the start of the six-mile run directly exposed to the ocean until Cape Clark where we would turn northeast along the South coast of the peninsula and be out of the danger zone.
Just as JF described, the shoreline here is littered with hundreds of rocky islets that make a boulder maze you have to navigate through and not get dashed to pieces by a rogue wave. Today however, the sea gods were distracted somewhere else, and we could safely approach and touch the outcrops, observe the cormorants and sea gulls sunning themselves, and even pose for a group photo.
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When we stopped for lunch, at the only beach between Cape Cook and Cape Clark. JF felt like he owed us an explanation.
“Guys, I swear I wasn’t crying wolf. I have never, ever, seen this place so calm. Last time I paddled through here there was strong wind from the northwest, and we were whizzing through at over six knots; and that was a good day. What we just did was crawl over the face of a sleeping giant. It gets ugly very fast if he wakes up.”
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Around Cape Clark the water was shallow and the swells crumbled with gentle foam from the wave crest. Had we not been loaded to the brim with gear, I would have enjoyed spending the day kayak surfing. We finished the day near Jackobson Point where we coasted gently to land on a wide flat beach.
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“Well, congratulations! You can all say that you have paddled the Brooks. Not many people can say that. Definitely gives you some bragging rights in the sea kayaking world.” Said JF.
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“We just won’t mention that Felipe slaughtered a sea otter last night so the gods would grant us safe passage.” Someone joked.
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“Well, you do what you have to. It’s what the entrails of a fawn told me I had to do.” I dead panned back.
July3rd - Day 35
Yesterday was our longest paddle as a group. We covered just over eighteen miles. Our window to round the Brooks came early in the journey, so we took another day off.
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JF left early before sunrise to go catch lunch. He came back with four ling cods and a large rockfish, which he again breaded and fried. There was enough fish that everyone at four fish tacos. We ate until our stomachs complained and we could eat no more. I’ve even noticed that since being with the group, my intestinal routine has changed, and I find myself needing to go at strange hours of the day, sometimes late at night, due to these big generous meals. I might even have gained weight the past week.
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Near the campsite was a stream with crystal clear water flowing over a wide bed of rocks and out over the beach. The water was chilling and refreshing and looked so clean I had no qualms about drinking directly from the source and filling my water bladder with it. I then built a little sand dam with the aid of some boulders and logs to make a knee deep pool. I then took off my clothes and savored my first bath since leaving Port Hardy. So much muck washed off me, that my hair and beard even fluffed up and I felt I needed a barber. The pool proved really popular, and everyone had a go.
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One of our mates, Gerry, whose shiny bald head reminded me of Professor Xavier from the X-men, was especially pleased. A couple of days ago a tick bit him on the groin and left two large red blisters that seemed incredibly uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how they happened, we hadn’t walked through any bushes or tall grasses where the buggers hide to bite into exposed skin. The only time I recalled seeing any ticks on me was when I hiked through the meadow on the Cape Scott trail. I immediately slapped it dead and pulled my socks over my pants to deny the little devil an easy meal. Ticks are not very common in the Pacific Northwest, but they have been slowly making their way north with the changing climate and rising temperatures.
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The worst thing about the ticks isn’t even the bite or the blister but getting infected with Leishmaniasis, which is a terrible disease that lasts for years and causes recurring eruptions of slimy ulcers and patches of dead skin like leprosy. If it’s not treated with antibiotics, it eventually attacks the spleen and the liver and can be fatal.
“It’s a less than one percent chance that the tick was a carrier, but it can happen.” Said JF. “It’s much more common on the East Coast of Canada. But I would still get a blood test and have a doctor check it out after we finish the trip.”
In the afternoon I fetched some driftwood on the beach to make a campfire and burn the paper trash we’ve been accumulating. I was assigned as the trash carrier, and the bag had been growing day after day, making it almost impossible to fit it through my kayak hatch.
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I made a two-foot-tall driftwood pyre, stuffed our trash in the middle, and for good measure I added all the plastic bottles I could find on the beach. I’ve noticed something interesting on some of the bottles I picked up. They were nearly all stamped with Japanese labels. One even had the cap sealed. I opened it, took a sip, and to my surprise, it was perfectly good fresh drinking water.
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It’s not unheard of that litter from Asia ends up on the West Coast of North America. The North Pacific Gyre turns clockwise, and any garbage tossed off a beach in Japan gets picked up by the current, swings around the Aleutian Islands and eventually passes through British Columbia, sometimes going all the way to California. In 2011 when a 9.1 magnitude earthquake hit the east coast of Japan, the ensuing Tsunami created millions of tons of garbage. Entire ghost ships and shipping containers ended up on the coast of North America.
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While I combed the beach for more trash to put in the pyre, I found a squeegee mickey mouse bath toy. It had red pants with suspenders, white hands gloves, and waved with a jolly smile. I wondered what story it would tell if it could talk.
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“Yes, many years ago I belonged to someone; a kid who lived in Japan. One day his family took him on a trip to the beach and brought me along. He buried me in the sand with a shovel as though I were a treasure, and then screamed when he saw a crab in his bucket. His mother picked him up, his dad packed the toys, and I was left behind and forgotten like so many countless playthings. Then one day a big wave came and washed me and the whole town out to sea; after drifting in the ocean for years I landed here on this beach where I have been for many years more and now you found me. What will you do with me?”
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“Eh, I suppose you’re not too heavy to carry along. I’ll drop you off somewhere you might get a second life. You are plastic, so you’ll probably be around a while and live a longer life than me.”
July4th - Day 36
More unbelievably calm conditions We paddled through a maze of sea stacks and boulders scattered along the coast like Lego pieces, and the thick beds of bull kelp that subdued the swells but hung to our kayaks like blotting paper. These thick kelp mattresses protecting the coast are a sign that sea otters must live in these areas as they are voracious consumers of sea urchins and clams that feed on the kelp.
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“When the sea otters were hunted and extinguished in British Columbia, the kelp all but disappeared as the sea urchins ate them all up. That left the coastline exposed and towns got flooded during big winter storms.” Said JF.
“Then the otters were reintroduced in the 1970s. Canada imported one family from Alaska. They took hold here in Checleset Bay and then spread all along the coast, and behold, the kelp came back.”
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As we paddled through the kelp, we caught sight of one of the local otters. Usually, the encounter with the otter follows a predictable pattern. It hears you coming from a fair distance as the animal has an acute sense of hearing and pokes its head out of the water as high as it can to establish what you are. Once it is satisfied that you are not some oddly colored Killer Whale it normally loses interest and goes about its business catching more shellfish to eat. On this encounter, however, something must have really upset the otter as even though we were a considerable distance away, it kept making a constant and acute squeak that could be heard long after we were gone.
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“Very unusual.” Said JF. “Perhaps there was some other animal nearby that was bothering it that we did not see. I’ve heard that killer whales sometimes eat them.”
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Given that I’ve already had a close encounter with a Killer Whale that had snuck up on me like a cheetah stalking a gazelle, I would not doubt that perhaps another had snuck up on us and only the keen sea otter had noticed.
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“I can’t imagine that a sea otter must be very good tasting.” I said. “The thing is almost all fur, and for the killer whale it must be like swallowing a hairball.”
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“Perhaps it’s an exotic delicacy. Killer whales are very fussy eaters and probably only a few hunt sea otters. I heard that killer whales that hunt Gray Whales only eat the tongue and leave the carcass for the sharks.”
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“Well, I can relate to the killer whales, we are both fussy eaters.” I joked.
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“Yeah, the opposite of the sea otter which eats almost anything. Perhaps we should have given it one of our onions. Maybe, like you, the killer whales won’t like onions with their food.”
We made camp at an archipelago called the Bunsby Islands where the narrow gaps between the islets create strong tidal currents. It was still early in the day, and JF went fishing along with two others while I, Justine and a group of three went to explore the water maze created by the rising water.
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Later when we regrouped at camp JF was euphoric. “Phillip nearly caught a fifty-pound halibut!” he yelled as we paddled into camp.
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Apparently, the story went something like this; JF, Phillip and Jerry had paddled to Cautious Point some ten minutes from the campsite. Phillip was a newbie to kayak fishing and JF spent a few minutes explaining to him the right technique.
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“Find a reasonably calm spot, then put your paddle under the deck straps for stability. Then, when you cast the lure in the water and keep giving a few gentle tugs so it stays lively and entices the fish to bite. When you catch one, reel it in and then smack it with the wood club to stun it.”
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Phillip cast the lure some ten feet from the boat and gave it some line to allow it to sink and started giving it the tugs. Barely a minute later, he felt a powerful pull on the line, and the fishing rod was bent into a U-shape.
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“I think I got something.” He said.
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As he reeled in the line the kayak began drifting, slowly at first, and then with so much violence that Jerry braced on to Phillip’s kayak so he wouldn’t tip over. When the fish briefly broke through the surface it became evident that they were dealing with something too large to fit into the kayak or stun with a small wooden club and would have to try and land the creature to overpower it. JF tied a tow rope to Jerry’s kayak, and began a tug of war with the fish, who, motivated by its survival instinct, was putting up a tremendous fight.
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After twenty minutes the three made it to the beach. The beast was tiring faster than they were but only just.. JF was getting off his boat to pull the fish onto the shallow water where it could be man handled and its fate sealed, when suddenly there was a loud thump.
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“It got away!” Jerry shouted as the line on Phillip’s rod snapped. The tension of the moment evaporated and suddenly all was quiet.
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“Did you at least get a picture?” I asked with some doubt. Two days ago, JF had said a twenty-pound salmon had gotten away as well.
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“Yes, we did.” He showed me a photograph of Phillip on his kayak holding the bent rod while Jerry braced the boat. “You can’t see the fish very well, but it’s the white smudge on the water by the kayak. I swear to God, there was easily a thousand dollars’ worth of flesh on that fish. The Halibut is fish that sports fishermen in the Pacific Northwest fantasize about catching. In my whole life I’ve never caught one.”
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“Oh, it’s a great photo!” I said jokingly. “I’d up the size of the halibut to a hundred pounds based on the size of that smudge, and . say that Phillip has a fishing tale for the ages.”
July 5th and 6th - Days 37 and 38
We paddled through calm waters from the Bunsby Islands to the outskirts of a First Nation village called Kyuquot.
“The indigenous lands are still closed to outsiders due to covid.” Said Justine. “So, we will be picking up our resupplies at Spring Island. Our contact on land should be there for the rendezvous.”
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When I had been planning the journey and looking at possible resupply points on the map, I had Kyuquot marked as a crucial stop, especially if I became stranded waiting for a favorable weather window to round the Brooks Peninsula. I had not envisioned however, that the entire town would be off limits.
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“You would have been an unwelcome visitor.” JF said half joking. “The First Nations can be a little wary of white men who show up unannounced in need of immediate favors. In Canada they are self-governing, and each nation has the same powers as a provincial government. If it’s their land, then they make nearly all the rules. But sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. You’d have to use the lost Brazilian foreigner excuse.”
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Fortunately for our group, JF and Justine were old acquaintances of the locals, and we were welcomely received. JF seemed to already know everyone intimately.
“Nearly all the folks here were students of mine at some point. Skils Sea kayak trains and certifies about four hundred guides per year all over the world.”
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We did not linger around for very long, and after picking up our resupplies we continued past Union Island to Rugged Point where we would spend the next two days.
Last night I made the dire discovery that my sleeping air mattress has several pinprick punctures and a bad air valve. The last couple nights I had noticed that it slowly deflated over the course of a few hours, but now it had given up the ghost for good and wouldn’t hold air for more than thirty minutes. I don’t know how it got punctured or why the valve failed. The entire journey I tried to be extremely careful not to drag in sand into the tent or rub against anything rough. I was really disappointed; there is almost nothing I hate more than a product that fails, when used exactly as intended. The air mattress had only one job, hold air. Even worse than the discomfort is feeling that I was scammed by the manufacturer. They know their product is garbage, but they still sell it, and I’m certain the five-star reviews from satisfied customers on Amazon were either fake or were paid for. The powerlessness to have some form of justice against a scammer boils the blood and kept me awake at night even more than the discomfort.
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“How much did you pay for your mattress?” Asked JF.
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“About $130 American.” I responded.
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“Ah. There’s your problem right there. You went cheap. You should have spent something like three hundred dollars. With camping mattresses, price and quality go hand in hand. You might have spent one hundred and thirty dollars, but you got negative dollars’ worth of value. When we have phone reception again, see if you can buy a new mattress and have it delivered to my address in Ucluelet, and I’ll hand it to you when you pass by.”
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This was not the first time I’ve fallen victim to bad equipment. On my Florida journey two years before I had the same issue with another air mattress that was plagued with pinprick punctures and slowly deflated every night and left me angry and sleep deprived.. That mattress had been only thirty-nine dollars, and I’d thought I had struck a steal of a deal. Alas, I admit that I am a cow fisted miser, sometimes to my own detriment. But one hundred and thirty dollars on an air mattress seemed a fairer deal.
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“Well, was it?”
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“No.”
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“Money spent on a good night's sleep is always a good deal. That’s why good mattresses cost so much. You find out very quickly when they’re not good.”
We camped on a flat beach on the north side of the Rugged Point Peninsula on the mouth of Kyuquot Sound which is protected from the ocean swells. Not that it would have mattered. The weather has continued to be so calm that at times I have wondered if Nature lulled us into a false sense of security. Earlier this year I remember someone posting on the Strictly Sea Kayaking Facebook group an article stating that the world’s most extreme rogue wave had been recorded during a winter storm off the coast of Vancouver Island near Ucluelet. The wave was nearly sixty feet from trough to crest, and three times taller than the preceding and subsequent waves.
Rogue waves were for a long-time thought to be nothing more than tall tales of mariners who’d gone crazy from spending too much time at sea. Today, however, with the availability of sonar buoys and other instruments providing a constant stream of data, we know that they are very much real. They appear out of nowhere, and disappear without a trace, and are at least twice the height of the highest third of the average sea state. In the ocean, waves from distant storms travel at different speeds and directions. Sometimes, a fast wave will catch up with a slow one. When that happens, if the trough of one wave overlaps with the crest of another, then the sea will for a moment be calmer than usual. But if wave crest meets wave crest, or if wave trough meets with wave trough, then waves will briefly merge into a bigger wave that is the sum of the two.
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When I paddled along the North Coast of Puerto Rico which is exposed to the Atlantic swells it was very common to sometimes be surprised by a sudden chasm opening in front of your kayak, or to be unexpectedly uplifted high above the immediate sea and see ships in the distance that had been hidden below the horizon. Two waves merging is a common event and happens many times a day. Three waves is much rarer, perhaps that happens once in one’s lifetime at sea, and four waves or more is the stuff of lore.
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Today, however, the sea was so calm, and the air so still that a boat wake would count as a rogue wave.
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Four of us trudged over the ridge behind the campsite to an ocean facing beach where we walked for two miles to find a freshwater source and replenish our supplies. We located a stream on the map called the Kapoose Creek. The water was about waist deep, ice cold, and an appreciated bathing spot. But sadly the feeling of cleanliness did not last long. Each of us carried four gallons of water, and the effort coupled with the heat from the sun meant I arrived back at camp drenched in sweat.
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JF went out fishing to catch dinner once again and invited us to join him. Not wanting to miss out on the chance to bear witness to a monster catch, I went along even though I was not fishing. Sadly, great fishing tales always seem to take place when you’re not present. Phillip wasn’t having any luck this time, and Geoff was the one with the hot hands f. Over the course of just ten minutes, he caught six lingcods.
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“Ok, we’re done fishing folks, any more cod and you’ll start to think the food is boring.” JF joked.
“We can always invite a bear for dinner.”
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“Oh, they don’t need an invitation to show up. In fact I am surprised we haven’t run into one yet.”
That evening after we had all eaten as much cod as we could gulp down, I made another fire pit on the beach. The wood was damp, there was no trash to burn, nor empty bottles littering the beach that I could use for starting the fire. Seeing me struggle, JF gave some advice.
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“You use cedar kindling; it burns really well,” he said.
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The Western Red Cedar is a very special tree. It’s the wood used for the native totem poles, because it is soft and easy to carve into any shape. It splits into thin and flexible strips that make the finest wooden canoes and kayaks with beautiful orange and brown veins, and is as light as the best carbon fiber. It also, as I soon found out, burns exceedingly well.
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JF pointed me to a fallen cedar log not far from the camp. It was too heavy to carry, but I managed to flake several thin strips with a pocketknife. When I set a match to the dry kindling, it caught on fire faster than a newspaper and within minutes, the pyre was burning bright and illuminating the night while we roasted a pack of marshmallows.
I was taken aback by how easily and quickly the wood burned. The forest behind us was a thick jungle of cedars and pines, and there had not been any rain for several days. A carelessly tossed cigarette bud or even a single spark carried in the wind would be enough to set the forest ablaze, and the thought of what could happen was both chilling and sobering. I poured several buckets of seawater over the hot coals and covered the entire fire pit on the beach with fresh sand before heading to bed.
July 7th - Day 39
Another incredibly calm day with the sea looking like a serving tray filled with little hershey kiss islets. “How long can this last?” I thought.
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“Looks like the angry giant is still sleeping.” I said to JF.
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“Yes, he is, but sometimes he gives a loud snore and tussles in bed a little. It can happen quite suddenly.” he joked.
I stretched my neck up to see how far the land went before curling around a cape called Tatchu Point. Nothing seemed particularly noteworthy about it. The landmark was the continuation of a long flat beach, from which there stretched a chain of small islands poking above the horizon.
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“Those are not islands.” Retorted Justine, pointing out my mistake. “They are swells.”
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When we got closer, it then became obvious to me that she was right, and the little dark mounts seen from far away were indeed swells, moving about like moles digging a tunnel just below the surface. The waves steeped just before the shore and then barreled on to the beach with thunderous white foam.
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“Tachu point gets very rough in a storm, the water is shallow, but there’s an underwater shelf with a steep drop, so the swells stay hidden until they are right up until the end. We will go wide around the breaking zone and ride the swells into the Esperanza Sound to Catala Island.”
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We skimmed around the breakers staying just beyond their grip. Sometimes the kayak just in front of you would disappear in the folds between the swells only to reappear when a wave lifted you above the surroundings and you could look down on it.
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After rounding the cape, we paddled in the same direction as the waves, sometimes surfing down the face of the swells all the way to Catala Island.
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We found a steep shingle beach with a flat shelf facing the sound. At the top of the shelf which was at least eight feet above the water there stretched a meadow, which to my surprise was scattered with driftwood logs as if a giant had dropped a bag full of pencils on the floor.
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“Wow, do the storms really get this high to toss the driftwood all the way here? The sea needs to rise a lot this high.”
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“Anything can happen when the giant is awake. That’s why you always need to have someone keeping an eye on the weather.”
July 8th - Day 40
The calm weather allowed for a side journey into the Nuchatlitz Sound which carves a deep groove into the northwest side of Nookta Island where a splatter of rocky islets and kelp beds creates a maze of passages and rip currents. Sometimes the spaces were so narrow we had to pass one kayak at a time, and even then, only when the waves rolled in and gave enough depth to the water.
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Past the islets we came across a cliff face where the waves carved a multitude of caves into the soft rock. Some caves were wide enough to paddle into, however, that is always an intricate endeavor as there is very little room to turn around an eighteen-foot kayak. JF went to inspect one of the larger caverns where a waterfall poured a gushing stream into the sea through a shaft of light. As he paddled past the mouth of the cave beyond the reach of the sunlight he vanished in the contrast between light and shadow along with the waves rolling in, before reappearing after a couple of minutes.
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“You can paddle in; there’s a pocket at the very back of the cave where you can turn in place. But be careful. Do not paddle through the waterfall, there is a shallow rock immediately below it, and you will get stuck on it until the tide rolls in.”
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I went into the cave beyond the reach of sunlight, and it took a moment before my eyes to adjust and allow me to observe my whereabouts. The width between the walls was much narrower than the length of my kayak, the cave ceiling was about fifteen feet and dripped with moisture from curtains of green moss and lichens. I continued until I reached the light shaft with the waterfall which I kept just to my right. When I passed it, I saw the shallow rock JF had warned out. It was barely visible in the splashing water from the waterfall, and I wondered if JF had had a previous bad experience with it to know that it was there.
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Two boat lengths beyond the waterfall was the turnaround pocket. For a while I considered if I should paddle out backwards all the way out, rather than risk getting pinned. “I think JF’s boat is a foot shorter than mine.” I thought.
I leaned into my strokes as much as possible to spin in place. About a third of the way I brushed the rudder against the rock but only gently, and I followed through until the bow was pointed into the cave’s mouth glaring sunlight.
“I’m not sure I want to do this on my own. Not with a boat this long. How does my rudder look?” I asked, emerging from the cave.
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“Nothing wrong with the rudder. Yes, you don’t want to be rock gardening or paddling into a cave in a sea kayak on your own. You always need someone who can fetch you out if something happens.”
We continued paddling up the sound, and came across another group of six kayakers. They were on the fifth day of a six-day journey from Zeballos.
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“When you get to the next beach keep your wits about you. We saw two bears on the shore looking for clams and they had a curious look about them when they saw us.” Said one of the men.
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We did not have to go much farther before catching sight of the first bear. The animal sitting on the meadow by the beach was licking something and was completely not interested in us. The second bear we sighted was on the beach we’d intended to camp for the night right next to a waterfall we hoped to replenish our water supply, this bear seemed more interested in what we were and kept us in its sight until we were past the headland and out of view. Perhaps it thought we were some strange and colorful driftwood. Nevertheless, JF was sure to give us a warning.
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“Folks, tonight if you hear something, like a banging on the boats, we will have to scare away the animal, be it a bear, wolf, or cougar. And if it is persistent, be prepared to haze the animal. The beaches serve as corridors for wildlife, and you never know if you are in a funnel where creatures pass through on their way up and down the coast.”
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The bears, cougars, and wolves, however, were the least of our worries. After taking a bath at the waterfall I walked bare legged through a patch of grass. When I sat down, I noticed a tick with its head buried in my leg calf and was plump like a red pimple. I slapped the bugger dead with a splash, but the damage was done now. I’d have to monitor the bite for the next five days and make sure a sore didn’t develop into a leishmaniasis infection.
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“Unlikely, but yes, you never know. You should have kept the tick in a Ziplock bag, just in case.” Said JF.
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“Too late, It’s a gooey red slime now.”
July 9th - Day 41
We left our gear on the campsite and paddled further into Nuchalitz Sound. As we neared the end of the Sound, I heard the rumbling of a great waterfall soon followed by a cold breeze from the cascading water. Soon we were paddling against a strong current, and the water turned fresh and foamy. Beyond a rocky outcrop there appeared the thundering the white torrent we had anticipated. It poured from a rocky shelf some twenty feet above the sea where a gentle river suddenly lost its stream bed.
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This physical oddity reminded me of a lecture I had once attended at the University of Florida, on the geologic formations of the Pacific Northwest. Some thirty miles off the coast is the remnant of a slice of oceanic crust called the Juan de Fuca Plate, which is slowly being subducted under North America. Every few hundred years this oceanic plate gets jammed and causes the continental crust along the Pacific coast to buckle like a folding carpet and forms the coastal mountains in northern California and British Columbia. When the plate unjams, it does so violently with an enormous earthquake, and the unbuckling of the continent causes the entire coastline to plunge into the ocean in a gargantuan landslide. The last time this happened was January 26, 1700. Although there were no Europeans here at the time, the natives have many stories of a great flood that took place, and in Japan there is a record of a strange tsunami that hit the island, even though there was no preceding earthquake. Perhaps that is what happened here, I thought. Three hundred and twenty-two years ago the same earthquake sliced the river at this location and the part we were paddling in now fell into the sea, while the remainder was left on the shelf. The waterfall hasn’t yet had the time to erode the rock down to the new sea level.
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I took the opportunity to paddle along a back eddy until I could maneuver my kayak into the current in front of the waterfall where I made two rolls in the freshwater to wash away the salt on my hair and beard. Some of the others liked the idea and did likewise.
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We paddled back of Nuchalitz Sound in the afternoon , retraced our steps through the archipelago of rocky islets, and camped on Rosa Island overlooking the entrance to Esperanza Sound. This was our last full day together as a group and JF noted that we still had a lot of food, and we should not be ceremonious with the leftovers. I volunteered to make a clean sweep of the Nutella and blackberry jars.
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The moment I had been dreading finally arrived in the evening. I ran out of toilet paper. Over the past four days I tried to be as conservative as possible with my supply hoping it would last until Thasis. But with the three fulfilling meals a day JF and Justine cooked for us over the time we’ve been together, my stock depleted much faster than I expected. As I squatted and wondered what to do, until I had an epiphany.
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“Those giant kelp leaves look sturdy enough that my fingers won’t puncture through them.” I thought.
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I crab walked to the water’s edge, fetched a handful of the kelp reeds and polished off my work. A rinse in some fresh water would have been helpful, but that would have to do for now.
July 10th - Day 42
We started early to arrive at the rendezvous point with the group van outside Zeballos. As we paddled up the Esperanza Sound I chatted with Justine.
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“So, what is your next trip after this one?” Asked Justine.
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“Well, this journey will be about two months when it’s done. I would like to do something bigger for when I turn forty in 2024.” I said.
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“You could go around Ireland. I’ve done it. Takes about the same time. Although the weather might not be as calm as we’ve had here so far, with enough time to spare, you can afford to wait out the storms.”
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“I don’t know. Maybe. With enough time, I could go around Britain as well.” I said jokingly.
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“Well, I have a few friends who’ve done it. If you go to a kayak symposium in the UK, I’ll introduce you to a few folks in the UK who might want to meet with you along the way.”
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“Have any of them gotten a corporate sponsorship to do it?” I asked.
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“Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe they got some discounts on gear. Things like that, not much. Oh, I have an idea, there’s this guy in Australia who ate nothing but beans until he consumed his body weight worth of the stuff to show the nutritional value of beans. With a little determination, you could do that with your canned pasta.” She joked.
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“One hundred and eight pounds of pasta in six months? That’s about one can per day. It’s doable, although I think I might tire of it.” I said. “I think that a beer company like Guinness would be a catch. I think their harp logo would look nice on the sail, and I could give away free beer to folks I meet along the way. I would be an active marketing campaign."
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“Maybe , but I think Chef Boyardee has potential for you. You’ll be advertising in a market where they have almost zero penetration. Adults.”
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“You might be onto something. Those are ideas that deserve some thought…”
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Our flotilla paddled up Esperanza Sound until we reached a narrow tidal passage into the Little Esperanza Sound where a gravel road off ramped into a dirt path by the water. This was the first road I had seen in two weeks and the rumbling of a vehicle passing by seemed like an alien sound. JF set up the food table for one last lunch together while we emptied the hatches and carried the boats and gear to the roadside and waited for the van to pick up everybody.
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“Hey Felipe, do you want these?”
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“Oh, you are my best friend, JF! That's the best gift ever!” He had just handed me a brand-new roll of toilet paper.
When the van arrived, things happened very quickly. Boats were loaded on the trailer, I picked up my dolly, which I was happy had not been lost, and all the luggage was thrown into the back seats.
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We took one last group photo to commemorate the occasion. “When you get to Friendly Cove, look for Donna and Doug. They are friends of JF and mine and we’ve worked as their release lightkeepers before. Donna bakes great cookies, she might offer you some.”
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And with that, folks wished me a good rest of the trip. Everyone climbed in the van which quickly made a U-turn off the bridge ramp. They gave a last parting honk and disappeared around the road bend. The sudden and abrupt quietness gave me a feeling of anxiousness. The group hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes, and I already missed their company. I paddle most of the time alone, but as I made my way back through Esperanza Sound, the return to the normality of being alone with only my thoughts for company felt unfamiliar.
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“You’re in charge of the journey again.” Said a voice in my head. That felt empowering, but also fearful.
“Tahsis is a long way still, and you must get there today. Get paddling.”