Tom: "I have three dry bags."
In a string of emails planning this short sea kayak trip on the east
coast of Vancouver Island, this one catches my attention. How
exactly does one paddle on the ocean with just 3 dry bags? I
consider myself a minimalist yet, between Doug and I, we probably
have 10 times 3 dry bags. Perhaps Tom has three enormous dry bags?
One of each fills the bow, stern and central compartments of his
massive Seaward Passat double kayak.
Doug and I are on an extended trip back
to Canada, but we have not come equipped to kayak. Back when we
lived in the land of snow and ice where summer came on a Tuesday and
was gone by Wednesday; for a dozen years, we spent one week a year
paddling somewhere on the west coast. We paddled a double
Feathercraft, a skin and frame kayak made in Canada, and, at the time
one of the best "folding boats" on the market. But, it was
a wet boat. Not like a wet bar, where drinks with umbrellas and
olives are readily available, but wet as in we sat in a pool of ice
cold sea water the entire trip as the deck and spray skirts dripped
steadily.
The Feathercraft in shallow water in the Palau Islands
In hindsight, there were perhaps some
other weird email conversations surrounding gear for our upcoming
trip: "I could find a whistle, if I had to," and "I
have a bicycle light but it doesn't like sea water", and even,
perhaps most concerning "I don't have a map." But what is
a sea kayak trip without a little adventure?
In the end, we did procure a map. And,
by scrounging through our relatives recycling bins we managed to
scrape together enough water containers to ensure we did not die of
thirst while out on the water. British Columbia, despite being awash
in water (rain) most of the time does not give up drinking water
easily on the small islands kayakers usually visit. The
plan,however, should a kayak paddle break was, and I quote Tom
freely: "paddle with the non-broken half like in a canoe."
Flashback to kayak camp in Desolation Sound
The black blob is our 32 kg Labrador who came with us
Our destination was a group of closely
packed islands known as the Broughton Archipelago on the protected
east coast of Vancouver Island and on the edge of British Columbia's
fjord country where deep inlets run east up towards some of British
Columbia's highest and most remote mountains.
We drove north up Vancouver Island for
hours crammed with a week's worth of kayaking gear in Tom's small
car, occasionally stopping to reattach the kayaks to the car roof
after various parts of the roof rack flew off and landed in the road
ditch. Luckily, each time a piece of the roof rack was ejected there
was a loud thud as it hit the car on the way past so we could pull
over, retrieve it and reinstall the part back on the roof. The rain
fell in sheets the entire time, but some how, miraculously cleared
when we reached Alder Bay.
Alder Bay is a little further west than
the better known Telegraph Cove which throngs with tourists during
the short summer season, most of whom come to see the resident Orca Whales that summer in Johnstone Strait. The caravan park at Alder
Bay charges a small launch fee and fee to park a car, but in exchange
provides an easy kayak launch, drinking water, garbage facilities and
showers after the trip.
Does this paddle make me look short?
We had no dry bags, Tom's three dry
bags understandably being in use, so our system involved stuffing
everything into plastic bin bags tied in knots then stored in
Woolies-type reusable shopping bags. Somehow it worked, although
this packing system made for an annoying week of continually opening
and retying bin bags searching for the one item we needed right now
from an array of indistinguishable bags.
Our kayak, kindly provided by Tom, was
a monster of a boat. Nearly 3/4 of a metre wide and almost 7 metres
long, the Seaward Passat certainly inspired confidence in its
stability, although the marketing literature which described the boat
as an "extremely fast racing tandem" did seem a bit
hyperbolic. Doug and I were both equipped with 220 cm paddles, which
necessitated a rather interesting paddle stroke much more like rowing
a Viking long ship than paddling a sleek kayak.
It was late afternoon by the time we
launched the boats and paddled out to Broughton Strait. Our current
charts, which we were inexplicably organised enough to have (maybe as
they were free), indicated we were starting out right at maximum flow
through Weyton Passage, so we decided to make our destination for the
night the Pearse Islands. Sometimes, I feel just getting away from
the car on the first day of a trip is success enough.
First camp at the Pearse Islands
There was no wind, and, of course, no
swell, but there was a tidal stream near the southwestern tip of the
largest Pearse Islands, although once nearby, the current seemed to
amount to little more than surface riffles. I've certainly been
swept further off course when crossing to Montague Island from
Narooma.
There are almost 10 little islands
squashed together in a couple of square kilometres at the Pearse
Islands and it was pleasant paddling through them. The current
didn't seem to matter. If the tide was flowing the wrong way, we
simply paddled in eddies along the shore line. We found a pretty
little camp-site on a small peninsula and set up camp for the night.
Tom
Next morning, we got up early, 5.30 am,
to catch slack current as we crossed Weyton Passage heading east. We
managed to breakfast and pack in a lull between rain storms, and
admittedly felt quite smug passing by another group of kayakers
camped at the Plumper Islands and looking miserable in the steady
rain.
We paddled perhaps 20 or 25 kilometres
that day. After lunch the weather cleared and a watery sun came out.
There were seals and sea eagles, tiny rocky islands covered with
evergreen trees, bouldery bays, narrow passages. As we paddled north
through Swanson Passage we entered into an ocean amphitheatre of
small islands that had the most amazing echo. This kept us
entertained for a full half hour as each cat-call was bounced back
around half a dozen times, the volume gradually fading away with each
bounce.
Misty Morning
Our camp that night was on Sedge Island
tucked deep into a heavy dark cedar forest. It was a bit of a tough
carry bringing the boats up from a dead low tide through slippery
tidal rocks. There are no sandy beaches to land on when paddling the
sheltered waterways of British Columbia. The bays, which Canadians
call "beaches" are all rocky and hard on composite boats.
The weather next morning was
gloomy with low cloud again. Somehow Tom managed
to fall out of his boat and into the water when launching in the
morning. It turned out that, despite his three monster dry bags, he
only had one set of clothes, so he sat in wet clothes all day. We
were heading south to Hanson Island area.
Again, we paddled through passages and channels passing many small
islands. Tom, who loves to chat, had discovered that we were
perhaps too taciturn companions for him and engaged any and everyone
we passed in long conversations. His opening gambits ranged from the
common "Catching any fish?" to the desperate "That's a
flat bottomed boat you have."
Tom, in search of more loquacious paddling partners
As we were crossing Blackney Sound we
come upon a pod of Humpback Whales and a separate pod of dolphins.
The dolphins are smaller than we species we commonly see around NSW
but they were just as frisky, following along beside our kayaks for a
long time. Tom had not seen either whales or dolphins from his kayak
before so it was a real treat for him.
Gratuitous shot of False Killer Whales really close
to my kayak on the south coast of NSW
We found a delightful camp-site on
Little Hanson Island sitting up on a promontory overlooking Johnstone
Strait. It was our last chance to see the resident Orcas before
finishing the trip and this was a good spot to watch from.
It was hard to get the boats up as we
had to land in a gulch between two small islets that are connected at
low tide. While we were carrying loads, we took our eyes off the
boats and the Seaward Passat gently glided out into the channel on
the rising tide and, once in the current began swiftly slipping away
from us bound for the middle of Johnstone Strait.
Another gratuitous shot, this one taken a
couple of kilometres from our local beach
My intention to be the
heroine of the day by striding out into the water to save the boat
was quickly quashed when I saw that I would have to swim after the
boat, not merely wade. BC water is cold! So while Tom and I watched
wistfully from the shore, Doug, looking like a pallid, albeit skinny,
David Hasselhoff stripped off his shirt and plunged into the water
after boat. Any resemblance to Baywatch quickly disappeared,
however, when he emerged white with cold and shivering from the
water, but, with the Passat in tow.
This was our best camp as
the sun came out and we spent the evening sitting on logs watching
Humpback Whales in the current in Blackney Passage.
Excellent camp on Little Hanson Island
Our last day, we paddled
west along the south side of Hanson Island to look at the sea kayak
glamping sites. These are run by commercial sea kayak tour groups
and the camps are pretty nice, situated on rock platforms with rain
shelters. Sea kayaking is a really big thing in Canada.
Finally, we crossed to the
south side of Johnstone Strait, paddled a lap through busy Telegraph
Cove and ended up back at Alder Bay, just before the next round of
rain set in.
