I had another weird dream about my kayak last night. I was paddling when suddenly an enormous hole had opened under the hull like a wood board floor being ripped by a saw. The cockpit had filled up with water, but the water was warm as if I was in a bathtub. Suddenly I woke up from the dream, and I knew exactly what the dream meant. I had to urgently go pee. The alcohol was working its way out of my system. Just in case, I also went to check up on the kayak sitting on the balcony. The hull looked just fine.
From Kelsey Bay it’s only 70 more miles to Port Hardy. The conditions in the morning were calm with a slight breeze from the east pushing the ebbing tide.
“You better get moving to make the most of this while it lasts, eh?” Said Mr Garr as he split some logs with an ax.
“And keep an eye for the floating logs.”
He wasn’t kidding, there were a lot of very large driftwood logs floating about the water, and sometimes I had to deviate from them like potholes on the road. None of them seemed to have any barnacles, so they mustn’t have been floating for very long.
There were several logging boats transiting along the channel. They were of two types. One was a tugboat that dragged a huge raft of logs tied together like cattle in a corral. The other type was a barge that carried a comical quantity of logs piled on the deck.. If a big wave tossed the barge too far to one side or another all the logs would roll away like pencil sticks. Perhaps that’s how so many logs were lost on the water.
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By late afternoon I arrived in an estuary called the Naka Creek, where there was a proper campsite. There were no facilities nearby, but clear stream running close by the campsite served for a great freshwater bath, and I also washed the dry suit clean of the crusty salt.
There was only one other trailer on the campsite. A girl and her boyfriend on a summer trip, and their three over-the-top friendly Labrador dogs.
“Gosh, how do you feed them every day? You must go through sacks of dog food.”
“Indeed, we do. About a ten-pound bag every week. And having them in the trailer with us every day is like a sleepover party every night. Sometimes I wake up with a dog’s butt on my face.”
“Are you French?” I asked, noticing that she had an accent.
“We are from Quebec,” said her boyfriend
We switched to talking in French which for some reason really delighted them. When I was ready to turn in for the night, the boyfriend said to me, “Thank you for speaking French!” and handed me a can of Molson Beer.
Sea kayak Vancouver Island Circumnavigation
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