PART 7 - TOFINO TO SOOKE
July 16th - Day 48 - A Day in Tofino
I slept until late. Goodness me, after camping with a thin mattress, you appreciate how great it is to have a bed to sleep on.
The hotel receptionist last night found a great spot to keep the kayak behind the bar on the outdoor patio. “No one can see it here and it will be safe. You have to keep an eye on things in this town. Bicycles, and sometimes even surf boards let out on the porch grow legs at night and wander off never to be seen again.”
My morning priority was to find a laundromat and get my clothes washed. The heat from the three previous days meant that, by weight, they were now more sweat than fabric, and I had to hold my breath to toss them into the washing machine.
“Well, now to find some breakfast while these clothes are washing.” I thought.
There was a coffee shop a block away with a friendly look and a line spilling out the front door.
“This must be a good place.”
When it was my turn I ordered a hot chocolate, a kitchen sink cookie and a four-egg omelet with cheese and bacon.
“Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t take credit cards.”
“Really? Is your machine broken?”
“No, we just don’t accept credit cards. We are a cash business. The bank branch is next door, so we just deposit the money at the end of the day. It saves us from having to pay credit card fees.”
“I don’t have enough cash on me. Can you make an exception?”
“Nope sorry. You can use the bank ATM.”
I went to the ATM at the bank. It charged me 5% currency conversion fee which got me a little mad. Not with the bank, but with the coffee shop. When I paid my bill, I made it a point to hand them a hundred-dollar bill.
“Sorry. That’s all the ATM gave me.” I lied. “Oh, and by the way, would you mind giving me 20 loonies? They’re for the laundromat. I have a lot to wash.”
The cashier opened the register and handed me all his coins.
I made a short excursion on my kayak to Meares Island, where my guidebook said there was a grove of ancient spruce trees. Getting there was challenging. The low tide exposed a maze of mudflats and sandbanks. When I arrived at the island dock, it was the trough of the tide. I looked for the high-water mark but there was none.
“Don’t leave your boat on the sandbank. Put it on top of the dock. The water rises fast, and it will be floating before long.”
The voice was from a kayaker that had just appeared from around the channel bend and had spotted me walking on the tidal beach uncertain about what to do. He was a guide leading five other paddlers.
“I was wondering about that. The dock is a little high to lift the kayak up there on my own.” I said.
“I’ll help you get it up there.”
His words could not have been more prescient. I went for a walk in the trail to see the spruce trees and returned after less than two hours to find the entire sandbank covered in knee deep water.
In the afternoon I took a stroll through town. When I went by the docks, I came across a curious billboard. “The Smoked Fish Store.” It said, and under the main sign was a catchy slogan, “Follow your nose.”
Indeed, the air on the boardwalk was saturated with a delicious scent of smoked salmon and I reeled through the walkway to the shop’s front door like a fish on a hook.
“I hope there’s a strong padlock on your door. This is where the town bears hang out on the porch at night.” I said to the shopkeeper who laughed at my joke.
“They keep the drifters away,” he said. “What would you like?”
“You have candied salmon?”
“Of every kind.”
I looked through the glass case. There were indeed salmon sticks of every kind. Some ruby red, and others with deep pink hues. One was chopped into cubes encrusted with a glossy layer of brown sugar, and another was flakey and covered in black spices.
I chose a cut of cherry red sockeye smoked in maple syrup and another that smoldered with teriyaki sauce and black pepper. Both had a flavor that you could feel in your tastebuds recalling the experience in your thoughts.
“This is fantastically good! I wish I could take some home with me, but I don’t want to share it in my tent with a bear.”
“Since Covid, we’ve been delivering everywhere in North America. It’s vacuum sealed and guaranteed to arrive fresh on your door. If you want next day delivery, we do that too.” He handed me a business card; and I stacked it in my wallet for when I am back home in Florida.
July 17th - Day 49
I felt extremely lethargic getting out of bed. If the hotel wasn’t fully booked, I would have stayed for another night. Nonetheless, I got up, loaded the kayak, ate a breakfast of cereal bars with Nutella, and the remaining candied salmon, before heading to the boat ramp.
I paddled out through the narrow gap between Wickaninnish Island and the mainland while being carried by the ebbing tide. This stretch of coastline is exposed to the southwest swells that roll in from the Pacific Ocean, and although the weather was calm, paddled over immense rollers from distant storms far out at sea.
The beaches south of Tofino are a trendy surfing destination. I read in my guidebook that Long Beach was a prime spot where there was also a campsite with good facilities. Unfortunately, when I called in, the camp was booked solid for the entire summer.
“You could try a little further at Florencia Bay.” My friend Lee responded to a text message while I was on the water.
“Don’t get caught camping there, however, the park police will kick you out.”
His warning reminded me of the time when paddling around Florida, I had pitched my tent on a public beach only to have the park rangers tell me to get back in the ocean just as the sun was setting.
I paddled past the headland and into Florencia Bay. At the mouth of the bay was an islet that shields the north side from the southwest swells making a safe harbor. The waves build towards the south with the decreasing protection of the islet. Today however, the swells were rolling in slowly but with a steep face forming before breaking gently over a shallow sand bank some distance from the shore.
“Perfect conditions for surfing.” I thought.
Unfortunately, every surfer in Tofino read the forecast. They were so numerous on the water that from a distance I mistook them for a raft of sea lions and the beach was packed with a forest of sunshades.
I found a quieter spot where I could land without knocking out the head of a surfer or two. Kayak surfing, it seemed, was not going to be happening today. Even the surfers were waiting in line for their turn on the wave.
Instead of surfing I walked down the beach where I struck up a conversation with a family from Ucluelet. Eventually the conversation came to my journey around the island.
“So do the park rangers really come and check if anyone is camping on the beach.”
“Yes, they do. Every day they come, and they are pretty strict about it. They will almost certainly catch you, but I heard that they normally don’t go to Halfmoon Bay on the south side. You can try camping there.”
They pointed at the small strip of sand near the south headland only visible during the troughs between the swells.
“It’s separated from the main beach by a headland and you can only get there through a very steep trail; almost no one goes there, and I doubt the rangers would want to walk all the way there and have to come back in the dark.”
I thanked them for their advice, got back on my kayak, and paddled across the bay where I squeezed between two rocks to disembark on a small strip of sand. I dragged my kayak behind a large driftwood where the shiny yellow deck would not be as visible from anyone on the main beach and waited until 9:00pm when it was nearly dark to pitch the tent. After the incident in Florida, I am adamant to take all precautions I can.
July 18th - Day 50
At 5:00am I thought I heard the humming of a boat engine. That jolted me wide awake and I peaked my head out of the tent to see what was going on. Fortunately I think it was my imagination as there wasn’t a soul in sight.
The weather was calm, the swells had died down somewhat, but still looked good for catching a wave or two on the kayak, and the beach was empty. But unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling it this morning.
“Ugh, I’m going to have to pack the kayak, paddle to the beach, unpack the kayak, pile all my gear on the sand, and then later pack everything again, and come back here and unpack again to camp. It’s too much work. I don’t have enough desire to surf if I must do all that.” I thought.
“And who knows; the surfers will probably show up again today right after I catch the first wave or two, and then I’ll be out of luck. And there’s no place to bathe here, and there is a bed waiting for me in Ucluelet.”
Maybe surfing and expeditioning aren’t meant to go together. At least not if you can’t find a proper place to camp.
The harbor entrance into Ucluelet was very rugged and narrow with jagged rocks and towering cliffs. On the mainland side was a tall lighthouse to mark the tight turn into the harbor. The lighthouse looked down to an archipelago of small islets where the swells crashed in enormous white puffs of spray and foam. In between bobbed a sounding buoy that made a puffing sound as it rose and fell with the swell. The buoy marks the safe route into the harbor, not too close to either the cliffs or the islets, which in storm or fog you would struggle to see, and where the water was deep enough that only the largest swells in the worst weather would break.
Today, however, it was calm. The sound buoy seemed to be breathing easy, and I paddled gently with the push of the swells past towering kelp beds swinging gently in the translucent water.
I made a quick stop on a beach outside the town and called JF. He appeared some ten minutes later with the air mattress I ordered on Amazon to his address.
“You look so different in normal clothing. I’d begun to think that the red dry suit was your natural skin.” I joked.
“I am sure you would look much fresher after a bath as well. You need laundry done?”
“My gosh, it’s only been two days since I slept on a bed. Has my cleanness worn off so quickly? Perhaps so… Laundry not so much. Got that done in Tofino, but thanks.”
I was really hoping he’d offer a shower and a bed instead of laundry, but I was embarrassed to ask. He said he had to get back to work and we were each on our separate ways.
Later in the day I found a hotel on the backside of town not far from the boat ramp, and took a walk to the lighthouse I had seen from the water a few hours earlier.
It is a little strange to see the same landmark from both the water and the land. From the land the vast expanse of the ocean looks ominous. Even the fishing boats in the distance are barely more than specs that disappear in the folds of the swells that roll as far as the horizon. Having my feet on dry land gives a comforting sense of security that emanates from the thought of not being out there. And yet, when I am out there, tucked inside the cockpit of my kayak, I do not feel dread or lost in the vast expanse. If you can see the land from the sea, you feel safe, because you know where you are, if you are on land looking at the sea, you see just how big the place the sea can be to be. If, however, you are at sea and you lose sight of land then maybe you might feel the dread of knowing you are lost.
July 19th - Day 51
South of Ucluelet is a wide bay with hundreds of islands called the Broken Group. On a map it resembles the shards of a shattered green wine glass, and is a maze of narrow passages, tidal flows, and hidden beaches. There are many families of sea otters living here that stake their territorial claim on every bed of kelp, and sealions populate the rocky islets sticking out from the sea in their hundreds, constantly yelling loudly at one another like a rowdy crowd in a football match.
Occasionally, a pod of orcas patrols the sea lion colonies looking for easy pickings. The most vulnerable sea lions are the glutenous ones, those who go out hunting for herring and eat more than they should. They get bloated, and fail to keep up with the herd. These are the ones the orcas look for. Although the sea lion can be acrobatic in the water, it is no competition for the speed and agility of the orca which can whack the three-hundred-pound animal into the air with its tail like a tennis ball.
Alas, however, today if any of these trials of life were happening, they would have been hidden in a veil of dense fog.
I saw only one boat pass by me early in the day. It had a quiver of a dozen kayaks, and some hours later at the western edge of the Broken Group I ran into the flock of paddlers they belonged to.
“Wow, you are here already. That was fast. We saw you from the boat this morning.” Said one of them.
We took a break to chat; they were a group of ten friends from Ontario on a five-day kayak camping trip in the Pacific Rim National Park and had booked this trip some six months ago.
“You can’t pick the weather, but you must pick the dates. All the campsites in the park get booked months in advance this time of year.”
“Oh really, so I won’t find anywhere to camp south of Bamfield through the park?”
“Almost certainly not, eh… All the spaces are reserved. Maybe there’s a no show, but you won’t know until you’re there.”
“Hmmm…. That will be a problem… It's almost 50 miles to paddle from Bamfield to Port Renfrew. Would be tough to cover that much distance in a day.”
“Better start early tomorrow then…”
I checked the distance on the GPS, from Bamfield to Port Renfrew is 44 miles as the bird flies, which would be about 50 miles on the boat.
After leaving the Broken Group the bay had a four-mile crossing exposed to the Pacific Ocean before reaching Bamfield. The ocean breeze picked up, cleared the fog, and large swells began rolling in. Each wave period must have been about a minute; they rolled gently and carried me further up the bay until I was lined up with the harbor entrance which splits the town down the middle.. There’s no bridge or road that connects the west side to the east. The eastside seemed open only to pedestrian traffic via a long winding boardwalk.
I paddled down the harbor looking for a lodge or marina to land. The HarborSide Lodge seemed inviting. I called the number on their billboard.
“Hello, good afternoon, would you have a bed for one person tonight?”
“We do, when are you arriving?”
“I am the yellow kayak floating by the dock. Are you the lady on the porch with the cell phone?”
“Indeed I am.” She said laughing. “Pull up on the beach and you can get settled in.”
When I undressed from my dry suit, I noticed that my right arm was soaked. While the left arm was dry.
“ God Damn it! It must be leaking.” I thought and felt very disappointed with Kokatat. This entire journey I have been extra careful with my dry suit. I washed it in freshwater at every chance, I waxed the zippers and sprayed the ankle and neck gaskets with silicone and beat off any grain of sand I found in it, but it seems, it was not enough. How the arms could have sprung a leak is beyond my comprehension. Perhaps the paddling is causing parts of the suit to rub against one another, but that should be what the suit is designed to do.
“They will get a piece of my mind when I’m back. A $1,200 suit shouldn’t do this.” I thought
Strolling down the boardwalk in the afternoon I found a mini market, which had my favorite food, ice cream. I asked for three scoops of chocolate fudge on the waffle cone, and then had a second three scooped serving of mango.
“I guess I should have more ice cream in my diet.” Said the owner of the mini mart. “How can you not be fat and eat so much ice cream?”
“I’m living life to the fullest right now.” I joked.
“With six scoops, I’d be surprised if anyone said they were not.”
July 20th - Day 52
The morning brought a very dense fog. After rounding the Cape Beagle Lighthouse which marked the entrance to the Broken Group I lost sight of land for several hours and had to judge my distance from the coast by whether I could hear the waves breaking.
When the fog cleared close to midday, I was greeted by the sight of a broad waterfall plunging down a fifty-foot cliff face onto the beach. From a distance it seemed to drop directly into the sea and the whiteness of the foam contrasted with the dark forest, as though someone had notched a breakline along a green horizon. I think that this waterfall must have formed in the same way as the waterfall I saw when paddling with the Skils group. A stream that emptied in the ocean must have existed here once, and an earthquake uplifted the land, turned the stream into a lake, and now it overflows onto the beach like a spilling bathtub.
I considered landing by the falls, but the wind had picked up, and I had hopes of making all the way to Port Renfrew. Alas I regret not stopping to appreciate more of the scenery. It would have been a lovely place to camp and spend the afternoon.
South of the falls, I stumbled onto a huge colony of sea lions perched on a slanted rocky islet. From a distance they looked like piles of raw sausages on display at the meat section of a grocery store.
“That must be what the orcas think. Hey, let’s make a trip to the supermarket and get some sea lion hotdogs. Maybe they’re having one of those yummy baby sausages.” I thought.
The sea lions were very aware of me. A raft of them on the water swimming to the rock stopped and poked their heads up to observe me. What they were thinking is hard to say. But they kept a healthy distance. “Well, it kind of looks like an orca, but I’ve never seen one that is yellow and has a weird shimmering green kelp on its back.”
They followed me staying behind my kayak and whenever I stopped, they would stop as well. I concluded that this must be their way to safeguard from the danger. If you must swim with orcas, keep them in front of you where you can see them.
July 21th - Day 53
Yesterday I had to do the first surf landing of the journey. It went just like an instructor would have demonstrated. I surfed in a three-foot green swell until just before the shore. When it was about to break, I made two back strokes to let go of the wave which crashed onto the steep sand, and I coasted gently to a stop with the foam pile.
The launching in the morning, however, was quite a bit tougher. The waves were dumping, and I opted to set up above the reach of the water. That meant I had to do the gorilla crawl down the sand and get picked up by a receding wave, but that hardly ever goes perfectly.
It took me two attempts. On the first try the rushing wave spun me sideways, and I had to get out and realign myself. One the second I was pulled down the beach straight as an arrow, but it happened together with a set of breakers wanting to push me back up the sand. The first wave I managed with two strong strokes to ride over before it broke, and the kayak bow thumbed loudly on the back side.
The second wave was a bit bigger, and it was set to break on top of me. I duck rolled under the foam pile which shook me with violence and carried me back some distance to the shore before releasing its grip. When I rolled back up, I was broadside to the next wave, which mercifully rolled gently underneath me, and gave me the breach needed to paddle out of the break zone where the sea was calm, and I had time to catch my breath.
The morning fog was even denser than yesterday and only began to dissipate once I reached the mouth of Port Renfrew Bay, where suddenly I caught the magnificent, if somewhat bittersweet, sight of the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State.
“It’s almost over.” I thought.
The mist thinned quickly the closer I got to the back of the bay and soon the sun was bathing the landscape in a light so bright I had to squint my eyes even with sunglasses.
Along the north shore I passed by some rock features I recognized from my time here in the previous fall kayaking with Lee. There was a sea cave we had paddled into and a gap between two rocks which we could only paddle through on the crest of a wave. I felt the same strange sense from when I had paddled through the Surge Narrows almost a month ago. Everything you see in the journey is new and mysterious, and then suddenly you have a feeling of familiarity with the landscape, and you think, “Oh, I know this place. I know what’s around the next bend.”
I continued along the north shore of the bay until the mouth of the Gordon River where I knew there was a campsite with a boat landing, and some lovely colored barrel cottages I wanted to spend a night in. And fortunately, there was room.
Last time I was here in November the winds had been funneling large swells onto the beach. Today, interestingly, even though the offshore breeze was blowing from the same direction, the sea was flat and instead of waves, the wind was funneling a delicious smell of fried fish.
I followed my nose along the beach before crossing the bridge over the San Juan River past a small hamlet of houses and arrived at the Bridgman’s West Coast Eatery.
It must have been the only open restaurant in town as it was packed with a line spilling out the door and I waited an hour to get seated and could look through the menu.
“What is Caddy Lager? I asked the waiter.
“Oh, that is our local beer. Named for the cadborosaurus, the great sea serpent that lives in the Juan de Fuca Strait. Caddy is its nickname. ”
“Oh, so you folks have a version of the Loch Ness monster.”
“Except ours is real. People see it all the time. Though sometimes they say it’s a type of Basilosaurus or some kind of ancient whale. There’s not enough fish to sustain a sea monster in a freshwater lake in Scotland, but there’s plenty of prey in the ocean.”
Since I had never heard of Caddy Lagger, He offered me a free pint to try. After sipping the drink I concluded that the mythical cadborosaurus must definitely be real.
“Seems kind of like BudLight. ” I joked.
“I don’t think so. Canadian beer is less watery than the American varieties. BudLight’s flavor is closer to the sea snake’s pee.”
July 22st - Day 54
The longest day yet. Forty-five miles! I was carried by a strong afternoon northwest wind and averaged five miles per hour. In the morning I had the rising tide with me, but when it turned the wind against the tide created immense boils and standing waves at the two headlands before Sooke Bay. At times I was gliding over the water with the push of the wind on the sail, but barely moving forward.
The fog never lifted today, and the Olympic peninsula remained hidden the entire time, and on three occasions I heard the loud horn of a large tanker ship but it was completely invisible, and I could not tell if it was entering or leaving the straits. That had me concerned. When I will eventually have to cross the strait and return to the United States I would rather meet the cardborasaurus that one of these naval beasts in the water.
The entrance into Sooke Bay was nearly sealed off by a long spit of sand behind which the waters were calm and shallow. So shallow, in fact, that I had to walk the kayak the last few hundred feet into the mouth of the Sooke river.
I was too exhausted to do anything other than sit down and eat an early dinner. I barely remember a conversation with a man at the camp who’d said he paddled around Vancouver Island some twenty years earlier.
“It’s the kind of thing you do when you have a young vitality. I wish I could be you right now. Enjoy the rest of the adventure. You’re almost done.”
