The relentless icy rain this Sunday morning was pretty uninspiring. But we thirteen Jericho Beach Kayak guides had committed to a group daytrip weeks before. So we had a certain professional pride (plus a gender-neutral machismo) that dissuaded any of us from chickening out in front of our peers.
We waded through a small ice-water lake in front of the Jericho Beach Kayak hut to schlep the boats out to the roof racks waiting on our vehicles (the prudent—or at least the so-equipped—of us had heeded EJ’s suggestion to bring boots for this portage.)
Our little car convoy made fine time to the Horsebay Ferry Terminal, and caught the 10AM something boat across to Nex̱wlélex̱wm/Bowen Island. Enroute, we had a quick huddle in the passenger lounge to confirm launching, the paddle plan and radio channels.
final pre-paddle briefing on the ferry
As if to reward us for our perseverance, the rain stopped just as we launched from Tunstall Bay at noon. On the cliffy south side of the bay, a frozen waterfall testified to the unseasonably cold weather of the previous week.
Ice, ice, baby! A frozen waterfall on the south side of Tunstall BayEnroute to Worlcombe Island
As we approached Worlcombe Island, we could see vast flocks of large birds gyring above the treetops. They proved not to be vultures lurking for under-prepared kayakers, but eagles young and old. (They’re clearly visible at this point in my buddy Mike’s video of our outing.)
Along the north side of Worlcombe Island
We alit a little after 1PM in a small bay at the southwest tip of Pasley Island. In summer, I wouldn’t bother firing up a stove for lunch, but in winter, it’s nice to stoke the inner fires with pre-warmed fuel. So my trusty WindBurner stove came into play. It was not only mucho fast but also provided much amusement for my tripmates, as the vast clouds of steam made it look like I was either improvising a sauna or preparing to do a magician’s disappearing act.
It being the offseason, the homes on the upland above our picnic spot were not occupied. This was fortunate, since it meant that those of us who lined up facing the southern rockwall to take the necessary pre-launch precautions to ensure our drysuits would remain dry for the next leg of the voyage were not accosted by irate cottagers.
On an offshore rock near the northwest tip of Pasley, we spotted a bleached white skeleton. This was not a kayaker who’d been marooned by an insufficiently secured boat, but a brilliant bit of sculpture installed by an unknown artist for the delight of passing boaters. It even included an appropriately wind-tattered pirate flag.
Somewhere between our boney friend’s reef and Mickey Island, the rain began to fall intermittently. But it had held off for our lunch stop and was pretty tolerable while we were buttoned up in our boats and pumping out body heat with every stroke.
As we bobbed in the lee of Mickey Island, confirming our course home and who was leading the next leg of the trip (me, as it happened), swooping and diving seagulls just off the point on Pasley Island south of us showed something was afoot (or perhaps, afin). And as we got nearer, swirls and splashes from beneath the sea, like reversed raindrops, confirmed that fish were being herded up from below. Sure enough, enormous thick brown necks suddenly broke the surface, accompanied by huffs and snorts. (As an aside: I’ve been within paddle-poking distance of Orca more than once over the years, but I continue to be more wary of sealions than killer whales. Still, I comforted myself with the idea that if they decided they were tired of seafood and wanted a little red meat, the odds were only one in thirteen I’d be dinner!) The sealions are best visible at this mark in Mike’s video.
Switching leaders once more at the western tip of Worlcombe, we handrailed along its south shore, encountering more sealions on route. They proved pretty camera-shy, appearing only in the distance anytime I had my Go-Pro in hand.
along the south shore of Worlcombe Island
We landed back in Tunstall Bay a bit after 4PM, with a rain falling so steadily I opted not to change out of my drysuit, but to drive to the ferry terminal still wearing it.
The last of us rolled onto the five-something ferry just moments before it sailed, as if it were our own personal, private transportation. Upstairs in the passenger lounge, we ambushed one of our number, whose birthday it happened to be, with donuts and singing.
After offloading the boats back at Jericho Beach Kayak, we supped at the Wolf And Hound. It’s amazing how many of our adventures end there. It’s almost become our off-season office!
The fabulous thirteen!the route of our daytrip
Thanks to all my colleagues for the pleasure of their company, and to Mika, Chris, Natalie, Tomo, Warren, and EJ for sharing pictures for this post.
I hugely enjoy my work as a sea kayak instructor, but since I’m only certified to teach up to Paddle Canada’s Sea Kayaking Level 1 on my own, I usually just get to paddle locally in the Iy̓ál̓mexw/Ayyulshun (Jericho Beach/English Bay) area with my students. So when the opportunity arose to assistant-instruct on a Paddle Canada Level 2 Sea Kayaking course, with three days and two nights away in Átl’ka7tsem/Txwnéwu7ts (Howe Sound), I was in faster than you can say “re-entry roll”!
Sweetening the pot was the fact that my friend and colleague, Mike McHolm, would be the lead instructor on the course. I’ve known Mike since he was a customer at the late, lamented Ecomarine. Mike absolutely caught fire as a kayaker, and recently earned his Paddle Canada Sea Kayaking Level 4 (for those not in the know, that’s about one step below being able to calm the seas and walk on the water.)
Mike and I have co-instructed on Paddle Canada Beginner Sea Kayaking and Intermediate (Level 1) courses before, and found we have nicely complementary skill sets: he’s the master of advanced strokes, braces, scrambles and rolls; I’ve got a solid background of practical experience with extended touring and navigation.
The prep for the trip portion of the course included two intense days of on-water and on-shore instruction at Jericho Beach over the September 16-17 weekend. As it happened, three of the six students in this Level 2 course were graduates of a Paddle Canada Level 1 course I’d taught the weekend before.
September 29, 2023
A bit after 8AM, Mike and I rolled into Xwawchayay (Porteau Cove) in the Yakmobile (a Yukon truck with a custom-made roof rack that can accommodate up to ten kayaks). As we offloaded the boats, our students joined us. The usual knocked-over-anthill scurrying about ensued, as we all packed our kayaks for the first time on this trip. Next, we had a pre-launch meeting, where we went over “Me, We, and The Sea”, reviewed some compass navigation and dead reckoning techniques, confirmed our planned route, and designated lead and sweep paddlers.
prelaunch briefing at Xwawchayay/Porteau Cove
We launched around 12:15PM onto calm and sunny seas, course set for the Defence Islands. About 45 minutes later we hit the gap between them, pretty much bang on our time-distance-speed prediction.
Crossing to the Defence Islands
From there, we handrailed along the shoreline to Ts’itpsm (Zorro Bay), practicing our bow and stern rudders as we went. The slight inflow wind that had picked up nudged us gently on our way.
Our class included many with prior sea kayaking experience, including Chessy, who’s previously paddled with Mike in some serious seas. She entertained us (and cooled herself off) by nonchalantly popping off both paddle and hand rolls enroute.
Chessy handrolls
We arrived at Zorro Bay to find, amazingly for a long weekend with such nice weather, that we had it all to ourselves. Some of us doubled up our tents on the pads sites to leave at least one platform open for possible later arrivals.
Arriving at Zorro Bay/Ts’itpsm. That’s me in the attractive orange Nor’western hat. Thanks to Julia for this image.
At about 15:30, we relaunched into the bay to work on bow and stern rudders and hanging draws. The shallow waters of the bay were turquoise, which combined with the sunshine to create an almost tropical vibe.
Actually performing a roll is not a requirement to pass Sea Kayaking Level 2: you’ve just got to be able to demonstrate you understand the theory. But Mike had led a rolling session during our pre-trip prep weekend, and some students had really gotten into it, among them Leah. Spotted by Chessy (she who had demonstrated hand rolls earlier), Leah pulled off a few paddle rolls herself before coming ashore.
Mike McHolm sea kayak instructingstern rudder practice in Zorro Bay
Evening class was on knots and ropework as related to rigging tarps over tents and kitchens. Fortunately, this was all merely theoretical, as the clear skies continued.
With all this learning, we dined European-style late. The main course was a spicy dish of noodles in peanut sauce with stir-fried veggies, including wild-harvested mushrooms courtesy of Claus and Alysia (since none of us started tripping out or tripping over, we can assume they know their ‘shrooms.) For dessert, I heated a deep-dish apple pie in my Outback Oven ‘til it had a convincingly fresh-baked feel, then topped it with real, albeit aerosol-can, whipped cream. (In response to questions from the class, I did acknowledge that I’m not always sure whether I eat in order to kayak tour, or kayak tour in order to eat…)
I got to bed about 10PM. Initially it was warm enough that I merely draped my winter-weight down bag over myself duvet-style, but later in the night things cooled down enough that I burrowed into it full mummy-style, and was glad to have the option: crawling out of bed pre-chilled in the morning is not inspiring for a day of challenging paddling.
September 30, 2023
I made my way down to the beach to find warm and sunny conditions, with the water outside the bay windy with whitecaps – perfect Level 2 conditions (it’s a requirement for passing the course that students complete at least some paddling in waves with winds in the 19 knots range.) Tragically, the wind and waves died shortly after we launched at about 10:40. So all the students, who were attempting cowboy scramble re-entries (and reverting to paddlefloat re-entries if they couldn’t pull one off), got to swim in calm water.
It’s worth noting that Level 2 is the point at which instructors begin to stress test students a bit. It’s not stress for the sake of stress: it’s because, as Mike noted during class, overnight trips are getting into life-and-death decision territory, so it’s better to learn lessons from mistakes in practice than “for real”. It was in that spirit that I yanked an insufficiently-secured paddlefloat off the end of one student’s paddle during their re-entry. As I explained to them later on shore: if you think I was being harsh and unforgiving, imagine how harsh and unforgiving one metre seas would be. Fortunately the student understood my point completely, and no hard feelings resulted.
After reviewing the bow and stern rudder and the hanging draw, we handrailed south along the shore towards Lhemlhemḵwús (Islet View) campsite. Enroute, Mike encouraged the students to head at maximum speed straight at a convenient cliff. This was not so much to test the strength of their kayaks; it was more to encourage them to deploy a low or high brace turn effectively!
Putting his money where his mouth is: Mike McHolm uses a last-minute high-brace turn to avoid turning his very expensive sea kayak into very expensive kindling.
We landed at Islet View about 12:40. Shortly afterwards, a family arrived in a small RIB stacked high with camping gear and were visibly relieved to discover that the eight of us paddling riff-raff were just there for lunch. As Mike went over the shore lesson (the signs of and responses to hypo and hyperthermia), several of his friends from SKABC paddled in.
Ashore at Lhemlhemḵwúss/Islet View campsite, Howe Sound
We relaunched about 14:20, and did tows with both throwlines and towlines, working up to towing a victim who needed to be stabilized by being rafted with a second rescuer. This culminated in teams of three – two rescuers, one hypothermic capsize victim – towing a patient back to Zorro Bay, and setting up a rewarming “burrito”.
Tow me the way to go home: as one rescuer tows a “hypothermic capsize victim” a second rescuer is rafted up with the sometime swimmer to prevent a recapsize.Helping hands: the rescuers help the hypothermia victim out of her boat and onto the shore.Taco Time: as simulated hypothermia victim Chessy waits in the recovery position, Julia and Drew lay out a “burrito” for rewarming her.
Leah was once again keen to practice her rolls before supper, so I spotted her, occasionally offering my bow for a bow rescue. She returned the favour when I was ready to try a few. Fortunately for my instructor honour, no bow rescue was needed — all my rolls worked, though it has to be said that none of them were pretty or “demonstration quality.” Leah generously proffered the rationale that this was because we’d had a long, tiring day, and I gratefully seized on this pretext like, er, a kayaker who’s repeatedly failed their roll grabbing a friendly bow.
My drysuit insulation layers were mildly damp from a combination of sweat and slight seepage during my rolls. It was too late in the day to sun-dry them, so I used a trick from my days touring on the Northern wet coast: layering them onto the gear loft in my tent, then suspending a lit candle lantern a safe distance below. The gentle heat dries out the moisture and, as a bonus, provides a welcoming beacon for finding your tent after dark.
Drew and Julia were on supper duty, and did not disappoint: an excellent home-made chili with grated cheese, sour cream, bread and all the trimmings. I was once again the dessert chef. Tonight’s course was assorted Auntie’s Puddings. I hadn’t been able to fit the microwave oven recommended for reheating them into my skeg kayak, so I simmered them in hot water for 20 minutes instead. While that was happening I whipped up the instant custard without which no proper English dessert is complete. (I briefly thought I’d made far too much custard, but Leah and Julia actually hoarded the surplus in a water bottle overnight and added it to their breakfasts the next morning in lieu of milk!)
We were not the only mammals who dined well: as a shriek from the direction of the food cache box announced, Mike’s improvised fix to the box’s rusted-out bottom (piled-up gravel and rocks) had failed to keep out the mice. Fortunately, nothing critical was spoiled, and we moved our remaining provisions to the greater safety of the kayaks.
It was a working supper: as we ate, we covered Collision Regulations, Environmental Impact, Tool/Repair Kits and Indigenous Relations and Considerations (the latter especially appropriate as today was the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, plus we were camped on First Nations Land generously made available as a water-access site.)
October 1, 2023
Determined not to be robbed of rougher conditions again, Mike had us all on the water shortly before 9AM. The sea state was a satisfactory brew of whitecaps and wind.
Making waves: rescue practice in rougher waterBow rescue practice. For her first several capsizes, Chessy instinctively rolled up before Leah could “rescue” her. She had to make a conscious decision to refrain from rolling for this attempt. Returning the favour: Chessy T-rescues Leah in Level 2 conditions.
As expected, the class found all their maneuvers, from turns to re-entries, rather more challenging in sporty water. But when you think about it, bouncy seas are exactly the conditions in which you’re more likely to need braces, rolls or re-entries. So best to practice in realistic conditions. Enroute back to shore, the class got to use their stern rudders “for real” to keep their boats from being broached by the following seas.
We packed up camp while eating an early lunch, then launched for Porteau Cove, via a dogleg at Furry Creek. Enroute, Mike and I debriefed several of the students two-on-one.
Once we were just off Porteau Cove, a bit inshore of the buoys marking the sunken ship dive site, we did the final class exercise: an “all in” with everyone wet-exited and helping one another back into their boats.
Everyone in for the swim: an “all in” rescue at Porteau Cove
We landed, took advantage of the outdoor showers meant for the Porteau Cove divers to rinse the salt water off our immersion wear, skirts and PFDs, then packed up, including reloading several kayaks onto the yakmobile — that went a lot faster with a crowd of willing hands than it had on Thursday evening when Mike and I had been doing it ourselves at Jericho Beach Kayak. As we completed all this, we could see rain clouds moving in, proof that our timing had been perfect, weather-wise (and it was wonderful when unpacking at home not to be wrestling with wet and muddy gear).
Mike and I finished debriefing the remaining students, then said our congratulations and farewells. Holiday traffic meant it was fairly late in the day by the time we were back at Jericho Beach Kayak and offloading the boats, so we were both pretty bushed, and much overdue for showers (drysuits keep out the brine but seal in sweat and body odour with equal effectiveness). However, the satisfaction of having worked with a wonderful group of people and helped them towards new adventures kept us energized!
Putting the best face on things: all students and instructors looking alert!
Update: my fellow instructor Mike made a short video about the weekend that will give you a better sense of what dynamic water looks like.
One of the things I love about working as an instructor-guide with a raft of mostly younger colleagues is the chance to spark off their energy and enthusiasm. But at work, the longest paddles we typically do together are day trips. So getting away for three days and two nights up Halkomelem: səl̓ilw̓ət with many of them gave me a chance to feel like I could pay things back a little by demonstrating some campcraft, backcountry cooking and compass navigation to co-workers who might not have done a lot of kayak touring.
Having swung by Jericho Beach Kayak to pick up boats, we arrived at Deep Cove mid morning. I, like several others, was waffling back and forth about whether to bring my wetsuit or my drysuit on this trip. At the present, it was cool and cloudy, with showers predicted, but it was scheduled to get warmer and dryer later in the weekend. In the end, I opted for the drysuit, which proved to be the right choice. At least mostly.
Launching at Deep Cove
Heading out of the Cove. Note the marine sighting compass tucked under my decklines.Tethering up the boats at the Twin Islands dock
As we lunched on the Twin Islands, the rain began to patter down. Shortly after we left the Islands, it upgraded to full showers, with a following wind. I’d stowed a folding sail on the back deck of my boat (I was paddling a kayak borrowed from JBK, and suspected my boss would not appreciate me drilling holes in it to mount a permanent sail, so the clip-on Windpaddle Sail it was.) My cunning plan had been to effortlessly cruise past, or at least alongside, my colleagues. But with the cloud, the wind was not the strong atabatic it would have been on a sunny day, so my sailing was significantly slower than I’d hoped. In the end, I did a series of leapfrogs – sailing until I was a few hundred meters behind the pack, then sprinting with the paddle to catch up, then taking a sailing break again, and so on. The end result was me landing pretty much with the pod at Granite Falls in the late afternoon.
Running through the wind and rain. Croker Island is faintly visible in the distance.
On this rainy Friday night, there were only a few other campers, which gave us a nice selection of sites. Some of our group doubled up tents on one pad, since we suspected the Inn would be much fuller tomorrow (we knew at least three more of our own group would be joining us.)
multi-person portage at Granite Falls
EJ, our fearless leader, had rigged the kitchen-dining tarp by the time I had set up my tent and changed into shore wear. Very necessary as the rain was falling heavily now. Audrey was my meal mate for making the group supper this first night, and was very patient with chopping vegetables (I was making this dish, but with the Chorizo fried separately to be added downstream by the non-vegetarians in our group.) I also managed to subcontract grating the Parmigiano Reggiano to Mika, which left me free to concentrate on toasting the pine nuts, frying the veggies in proper order and boiling a huge pot of pasta. It looked like a lot, but eight hungry kayakers made short work of it. Good thing I’d also brought a strawberry-rhubarb pie to heat in the Outback Oven. And hot custard to pour over it.
June 10, 2023
It continued to pour heavily through the night, so I was glad of the overtarp on my tent. The precip lightened off by the morning, but we were still glad of the kitchen tarp as we enjoyed oatmeal with a range of toppings, courtesy of Chris and Mika.
Paddling past Granite Falls
Then it was to the boats and off to the mouth of the Indian River. We’d planned to arrive at near high tide in order to get as far up the river as possible. With EJ demoing, the group got to practice paddling in currents. Though I used to run whitewater back in the day, being in an unfamiliar boat with a rather loose skirt, I opted to eddy out just below the sandbar the rest of the group made it to, and go birdwatching while they walked further upstream. During all this, we got the call on my VHF from the trio that were joining us today – Natalie, Maggie and Mark. I was pretty impressed that the handheld radios worked with us so far up the river.
Entering Indian River
After the exploration, we ran effortlessly downstream. The falling tide had made the river significantly more boney than it had been on our way in, but we got to a sandbar in the estuary without anything more serious than some sacrificed gelcoat. There Lyra and EJ laid out a beautiful buffet lunch for us. I got a chance to demonstrate a marine sighting compass and the use of a modified Douglas protractor to the group. After a bit of a learning curve with the sighting compass, the group did plot an LOP off the west side of Croker Island that put us where we already knew we were (how awkward if it had been otherwise!)
lunch at the Indian River buffet
On the way home, we both played and learned, experimenting with a variety of old and new strokes. Back at Granite Falls, as we’d expected, there’d been a massive population explosion, but everyone was being considerate of one another, and no-one was operating loud musical devices. (A sensible precaution, as it has been known for boom boxes at backcountry campsites to fall in the water, even from well up on shore. Funny that.) Natalie and Alex fed us to repletion on amazing ramen.
Paddlers in the hoodMark is a stand-up guy!
June 11, 2023
Sunday lived up to its name, dawning clear and dry. I helped Marc and Maggie configure the campstoves to set up a pop-up IHOP, with excellent pancakes and a wide selection of toppings, including whipped cream! To tamp down breakfast, Alex led us all in some improvised yoga paddle warm-ups.
This little magnetic stove tool is made to plunge the jet cleaner needle up and down. Turns out it’s also great for identifying ferrous rocks!yoga posersSunday morning serviceNatalie chills out on a water bed
Even with my lightest layers on under the drysuit, it would have been a boil-in-bag experience save for the fact I was wearing a Mustang Hudson suit, with a neck seal that could be loosened for a bit of ventilation.
We frolicked down the east side of Croker Island, with Marc and EJ giving us an on-water clinic on the use of cross-bow draws and hanging draws to slip along right next to the rock walls. Just off Silver Falls, the water was thick with Lion’s Mane jellyfish, including one monster that must have been a couple of feet across.
big ass jellyfish
As we made our way south, the kind-hearted Mika fished a winged warrior out of the water, where it had somehow crash-landed and stuck. With its wings dry, it was able to take off again from our lunch stop.
With the sun out, the inflow wind rose steadily as we clawed our way towards Thwaythes Landing for lunch. (Where was that wind a couple of days ago when I needed it to race north to Granite Falls?) Elaine and Rita laid out a zesty tortilla wrap buffet for lunch. Since I’d been lagging significantly behind the group just prior to lunch, I opted to launch earlier than them after lunch to get a head start and not hold the fleet back. (By prior arrangement, we were in touch on Channel 69 on the VHF.) Though I was nominally the navigator for the fleet, they assured me they were capable of “keeping the land on the right” until they reached Deep Cove. And so it proved.
Thwaythes Landing
By hugging the shore and finding back eddies from the wind, I made pretty good time back to Deep Cove, maintaining my 30 minute lead. The sea just in front of Deep Cove beach looked like a pond of mutant water lilies, with paddlecraft and inflatable rafts of every colour and size wafting about under varying degrees of directional control.
I tried to put my advance landing to use by running to Honey Donuts, hoping to greet the main invasion force on the beach with a box of a dozen gooey treats. But the weekend line-up was insanely long, so I instead grabbed a quick shower and fetched my car back from the long term parking.
It was evening by the time we got back to the Jericho Sailing Association, offloaded boats, and headed home in that happily weary way that ensures a sound sleep and sweet dreams.
Thanks to all my colleagues for sharing their knowledge, the pleasure of their company, and their photos!
We’d laid plans for this trip with an Option A (Howe Sound/Átl’ka7tsem) and an Option B (Indian Arm/Nuth Khaw Yum Provincial Park). The predicted winds made Howe Sound sound rather too exciting, especially given that if we were crossing from Porteau Cove to the Islets View site, we’d have the wind and waves on the beam coming and going.
So Indian Arm it was. Rhian and I swung by the Jericho Sailing Association compound to grab our boats, then met our accomplices, Paul and Nessa, at the Deep Cove put-in. A light drizzle washed us as we loaded and launched.
Paul and Nessa snap a selfie at the Deep Cove put-in as Rhian and I demonstrate precision kayak maneuvers in the background.
Things cleared a bit as we made our way down the Arm, becoming what the Irish would call “soft”. Scraps of blue sky even appeared, lulling us into a false sense of security.
We paused to frolic briefly in the currents below Silver Falls, then pressed on.
Premature Exhilaration: Paul and I celebrate the blue sky. North Twin Island is visible on the horizon behind my outstretched left arm.
Sea kayak siren self-portrait: Rhian’s selfie
The rain held off as we landed at Bishop Creek (Berg’s Landing) in the late afternoon, letting us all rig both our tents and the overtarps for them. It began to foreshadow the coming deluge as we rigged the kitchen-dining tarp.
Nessa and I approach Bishop Creek/Berg’s Landing on the left. Croker Island is visible just beyond us.Overtarps are de rigueur in heavy rain to reduce interior condensation in tents. So de rigger set’em up!Paul and Nessa’s backcountry pied-à-terre. Happily, the grey overtarp I lent them accessorized well with their tent, else I’m sure they would have refused it.
Fortunately, the group consisted of seasoned outdoor folk, who understand that when it comes to weather, things are what they are. Plus, we had brought a lot of good cheer (mostly of the fermented-red-liquid-in-bags kind.) And, as this group’s now-traditional dessert, we heated a pie in the Outback Oven until it was as warm as though fresh-baked, and drizzled it with hot custard.
April 8, 2023
Throughout the night, the temperature continued to fall, as did the rain. In fact, it cranked up to a volume that made last evening’s showers look like a desultory drizzle. Even landing on the tarp above the tent canopy, it drummed loud enough to preclude sleep. So I stuck in my ear plugs – not usually a recommended procedure in bear country, but honestly, unless Brother Bruin were clashing cymbals to herald his approach, I’d never have heard him over the rain anyway.
I was on breakfast duty and had massively underestimated the time needed to cook a “full English” for everyone in the group. It could only have gone slower if I’d started by planting the potatoes and fattening the pigs. Fortunately, no-one was in any hurry to leave the sheltering tarp, so the meal evolved into a leisurely “full English brunch”, washed down with endless cups of tea and coffee.
Camp kitchen, complete with cold and colder running water (under your feet)!
The ground under the kitchen tarp had gone from fairly damp last night to full swamp this morning. Fortunately everyone had waterproof pants for kneeling to cook or fill plates, and full-frame, above-the-flood chairs for actually eating.
By this point, all of us were wearing every layer we had when outside our tents, and counting our blessings that we’ll all brought winter-weight sleeping bags, pads and clothing. Entering and exiting the tents involved elaborate doffing or donning rituals that would have looked familiar to a hard-hat commercial diver. Vapour hung in the air with our every breath.
In the afternoon, Paul and Nessa, ever the bold and energetic ones, launched for a daytrip to Granite Falls. Rhian went on a wet weather photo safari, finding the beauty in the rain. I did likewise in my own way, hanging out under the tarp and admiring the way the swirling low clouds concealed and then revealed the various peaks and crannies in the fjord walls opposite our camp. And I pondered an additional point I would emphasize to the students in my Online Trip Planning Class: in the Marine Weather class, we typically talk about the importance of being dressed appropriately for whatever on-water (and possibly in-water) conditions prevail. But frankly, if everyone in our group had not been equipped with not just drysuits and appropriate layers, but winter-weight shore wear and sleeping equipment, we’ve have at best been trying to call a water taxi for the trip home and at worst needed to be medi-vaced for hypothermia.
Supper was tamped down with our also now-traditional hot Auntie’s Puddings and custard. (Are you sensing a theme here?)
April 9, 2023
Wanting to be back home at a reasonable hour for what promised to be several days of drying tarps, tents and selves, we’d agreed the night before to aim for a 9:30AM launch. Typically this means we’d actually launch nearer 10ish. But we were all apparently very motivated, and were sliding the boats off the cobbly, shelly beach at the appointed hour. Even with all four on each boat for the portage from the loading station to the water, we all walked very gingerly – one slip on the slimy, lumpy and shifty rocks would have been an excellent way to twist an ankle or break a leg.
Undamped spirits or contagious rictus? We Report; You Decide.
Rhian and Nessa model this winter’s must-have kayak cruise wear. From the high (and watertight) necklines to the little-black-cockpit skirts, they’re sure to make a splash wherever they go!
My three companions, all younger than me, set a smart pace back to base. At first, I kept up well, and was even in the lead for a bit. But gradually, I fell behind. If there had been a Captain Oates Award For Best Straggler, I’d have been a shoe-in. Fortunately, the situation was not quite dire enough for the others to suggest I go outside for some time. Besides, we already were outside.
About an hour out of Deep Cove, we got hammered by a headwind squall and blinding rain. In the low vis, I mistook two other paddlers who were bee-lining for their shoreline cottages as Paul and Nessa, and wound up paddling for sometime at a tangent to the rest of the group. But once the weather cleared, we re-united.
On the final leg to Deep Cove, the wind shifted, and I kept hoping I would get a least a sail assist to catch up with my friends. But the wind just toyed with me – repeatedly inviting me to rig the sail, glide through the water for a few seconds, then dying off. My companions were remarkably patient with all this faffing about. And even with it, we landed at Deep Cove shortly after noon.
The rain continued to fall so hard that Rhian and I simply stayed in our drysuits for the drive back to Jericho and dropping off our boats. Even with the wipers on full blast, the windshield often looked as though it were iced over. The heavens poured one last contemptuous dump on us as we offloaded the kayaks. And naturally, as I drove Rhian home from Jericho, the showers ceased and the sun began to peek coyly out from behind the clouds. That sun of a bi …!
Big thanks to Rhian, Paul and Nessa for sharing their companionship and photos!
Wanting a trip that was low in cost and complications, we’d opted for a fresh water adventure on Alouette Lake in Golden Ears Park. This avoided the time and deadlines of ferry trips, and let three of us revisit a campsite we hadn’t been to in many years. The expedition consisted of myself, my friend Rhian, and Paul and Nessa, two longtime friends I hadn’t seen in person since before the pandemic.
Rhian and I met the other two expeditioneers at the boat launch on Alouette Lake about noonish. As anticipated, with all the faffing about, we didn’t launch until about 1:30 – just in time for the afternoon wind to have ramped up in our favour.
The fleet ready to launch. The Narrows is visible in the distance as the gap between the taller mountain on the left and the much lower hill on the right. Photo courtesy Paul Richards
During the drive to Earl’s Cove, heavy rain showers coated the winding road with sheets of water a centimeter deep at times. It was uninspiring, but by the time we arrived at the ferry terminal, it had cleared.
As we approached Saltery Bay on our second ferry ride of the day, we could see Freil Falls (AKA Harmony Falls) in the distance off the starboard side. Shortly afterward, the ferry crew announced whales cavorting off the port side. I snapped a couple of photos of the “you can’t quite make it out, but this black blur is a whale” variety.
The Falls in the distance
A humpback whale spyhops in the distance
By the time we’d landed it was late afternoon. Packing the boats for the first time on any trip always involves a couple of hours of faffing about, especially when you have to go park the car several hundred meters from the put-in after offloading. So we opted to car camp at Mermaid Cove that night, and make a single hop, all by daylight, to our intended destination at Elephant Point the next day.
Though I had set my watch alarm for 6:30AM, when my bladder alarm went off at 3:30AM, the wind was howling fiercely through the trees and the barometer had continued to fall. I switched off the clock alarm and slept in until 8AM – which was fine: as it turns out the wind continues to blow against me and whitehorses gallop north through the passage as far as the eye can see.
Just getting to the put-in at Prince Rupert from Vancouver has proven to be an epic. I’d driven up from Vancouver to Port Hardy and camped at the Wildwood Campground. The Port Hardy to Prince Rupert ferry which was supposed to leave at 7:30AM on Sunday, August 12, had engine troubles. On the plus side, this meant I didn’t have to get up at 4:30AM to hike from the campground to the ferry terminal. Having driven over to the terminal at 7:30 and dropped my kayak and equipment, I drove back to the campground to park my car long term, and caught a lift back to the terminal in the RV of a friendly Dutch family I’d been chatting with the evening before.
July 12, 2003
I slept until 7:00, clearly tired out after my hike down from the hills yesterday. What with breaking camp and chatting with my neighbours, I didn’t launch until 10AM.
It was a perfect morning’s paddling. I came across two sunken barges, easily visible in the clear, fresh water. Like shipwrecks in the sea, these old hulks act as reefs and nurseries for life. They swarm with minnows and a few full-grown trout. Continue reading →
July 9, 2003
The shuttle driver from Smiling Otter dropped me off with my boat and gear at the north end of Slocan Lake at about 13:00 hours. The weather was lovely and sunny.
The first few hundred yards of paddling was past beautiful summer cottages. Beneath the emerald water, I saw what I’m speculating might be Asian Milfoil growing on the bottom – a corkscrewed shape, like a drill or auger. The branches of an evergreen freshly toppled off the bank vanished into the ghostly green depths of the lake. The water was startlingly clear; in the shallower areas, I could see the shadow of my kayak flitting across the lake bottom.
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