A last minute decision to do a solo kayak trip in June, brought me back to Kyuquot Sound, a spectacular region of NW Vancouver island that I had been to before, already 10 years ago. After getting all the preparations ready, I threw my trusty old baidarka on the roof of the car and made the somewhat long trek, ferry to Nanaimo, drive up the island highway and logging road to Zeballos. I spent the night at Nick's, a colourful Bulgarian with whom I had the pleasure of meeting 8 years ago, on another kayak trip with my friend Erik to Esperanza inlet. Our thoughts at the time of Zeballos becoming perhaps the new Tofino did not materialize at all. It's still a tiny, sleepy, two-bit town in the middle of nowhere, at the end of the gravel road. I left early the next morning to drive another 45km north-west on another logging road to Fair Harbour, where I parked and put in at the end of a long inlet. I was on the water and paddling by 10:30. Luckily, it was overcast and cool, with just a light breeze. I paddled a couple of hours to a small pebble beach on one of several islands of the inlet. That's about the longest I can handle sitting on my butt before my legs start getting numb. The places to land however are few and far between with either the forest dropping right to the water or a series of seaweed covered rocks at low tide.
Back in the yak, it was another hour or so of paddling before I could the see the horizon of the ocean and feel the swell on the water. I always get excited at that point because the marine environment changes. You start seeing different rock formations, a lot more kelp and marine wildlife like seals and sea otters. There is more variety than the long inlets of green forest that come down the mountains to the water.
Another stop on a beach to stretch my legs before paddling the last leg to my destination, the western end of Spring Island. Part of the Mission group of islands, it juts out into the mighty Pacific in a relatively sheltered way from the coast. I remembered this spot from my previous trip and knew that it is one of the best places to camp on the entire west coast of Vancouver Island. The western tip of the island is a bit like an hour glass, with two beaches, one facing east, the other west. Enough room in the middle to put a tent near a small grove of trees. You can watch the sunrise on one beach facing the south eastern coast of the island as well as watch the sunset on the other side, facing the mountains of the Brooks peninsula.
I ended up staying there for five days. There was lots to explore on foot as well as in a kayak. Many natural pools of water filled at high tide, jagged black volcanic rocks and reefs, windswept trees... and always the sound of waves. It takes a while to get used to being alone, to slow down and absorb the rhythm of your natural surroundings. I find that to be a good experience. You really are alone, small and insignificant in the world. Nature is indifferent to your existence. You tend to do things to keep busy but of course you have lots of time too for reflection or just to appreciate all the beauty around you.
I remembered a turned over driftwood stump with its root system exposed on the beach. It was there ten years ago, but in a different spot. The winter storms most likely tossed it further up the beach. There are hundreds of driftwood logs, some that fell naturally, most from logging. I had noticed many freshly cut logs scattered all over the rocks and beaches. One spot had enough to build a house and I estimated that one of those logs, especially the cedar ones, would be worth several thousand dollars each. A few days later, whilst on a paddle, I met a local man in a skiff who was surveying the logs. Turns out his brother had cut several hundred logs that were all on a barge out off the coast. A crucial stanchion broke, tipping the entire load into the ocean as well as the crane. This happened a month ago. Some were being recovered, many however were in spots that would be difficult to haul out with a boat and wenches.
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| A few watercolours I painted on Spring island. |
It was my first time back on the west coast camping since the tsunami in Japan. I was expecting to see perhaps more garbage than usual on the beaches. Sure enough, there were many brightly coloured fish net buoys, with Japanese writing on them. There were also a lot of Chinese plastic drink bottles and lots of junk from the English speaking world as well.
After five days, I paddled the one hour to the town of Kyuquot, a small village and native settlement on the coast, accessible only by water. It was Sunday morning so everything was closed. Just before getting out of my kayak on the dock, there was a large sailboat with a Kiwi flag at the stern. From their deck looking down at me, I met Pete and Raewyn who live on their boat and have been sailing the world in it. They had just come down from Alaska and were spending another week on the west side of Vancouver Island before crossing over to Hawaii then to the South Pacific and back to New Zealand. They were "living the dream" as sailors often say. They told me about a house over on settlement side that was like a store, and that if I knocked, they would most likely open up. I paddled over, filled up on water and bought an ice cream as well as a couple of jars of canned salmon that the Kiwis told me was very tasty.
Back at camp, I decided that the next day, I would paddle over to Rugged Point, at the southern end of the Sound and spend a night or two there before returning to Fair Harbour. I watched another spectacular sunset, had a few shots of scotch from the flask whilst enjoying a small fire and noticed Venus shining bright in the sky. I never ended up going to sleep when it was completely dark as it was the week of summer solstice and there was still a wee bit of light up until 10:30 pm. I woke up early the next morning as I was hoping to break camp and be on the water by 6 am. It's usually quite calm until noon but that night the wind picked up and I heard it whistling through the trees. I crawled out of the tent to a grey sky and a good size chop from the SE, the direction I was paddling into. I decided to go back to bed. Walking up a few hours later, the waves seemed to have subsided a little. I listened to the forecast on the VHF radio and there was nothing more than 15 knots for the rest of the day. I had a quick bite and started to pack my things. As I was folding up my tent, I saw a lone wolf walk by on the beach, about 30 feet away. He ignored me as I watched him trot along the shore. I got up and watched him for a few minutes until he disappeared into the forest. All of a sudden, I had a surge of emotion as I thought of my father. He loved wolves and I felt like as if it was his spirit, coming along the beach, to check up on me.
I paddled across a section with many reefs, which helped break the waves coming at me almost broadside. When I went by a section called the White Cliffs on Union island, I thought of the time I was here last, we were going the opposite direction and ended up in these massive swells of about 8 feet. We had to paddle at least a km from those cliffs because of the rebound effect of those massive swells. It was probably the scariest time ever for me in a kayak. It was a good two hour nerve wracking paddle before those same reefs I had just passed offered protection. I went on the inlet side of Rugged Point and set up camp just before seeing the Kiwi sailboat on the horizon. Pete and Raewyn dropped anchor and came ashore in their dinghy. We went along the short hiking trail to the long beach facing the ocean side. Both times I had been to Rugged Point, there were cougars that had had encounters with humans. The last one happened last fall, a local in the village told me that a kayaker was on the beach, taking a dump near the driftwood logs when a cougar jumped him. His mates came to his rescue and he was ok, with several cuts. Rangers later tried, unsuccessfully, to find the cougar. There were bear, wolf and cougar tracks on the beach, and I told the Kiwis that the last time I was here, I had seen a pack of wolves at that very spot. I could not think of a better name for that small peninsula than Rugged Point.
It was a gorgeous day the next morning but I decided to pack it in and paddle back to Fair Harbour. It was a little too calm on the water when I set out and I was getting hot. Thankfully, after an hour of paddling, the wind picked up in my back and was blowing toward the inlet where I was headed. By the time I almost reached the car, there were small white caps. I met a couple of kayakers that were just heading out, we chatted a bit, bobbing in the waves, but I did not envy their paddle to the ocean against the growing wind and waves.
Cortes is a beautiful island with an interesting variety of locals, people from all over. Almost everyone has a boat, or two. That got me thinking small sailboat again... One of their friends uncovered an umiak, (a large skin-on-frame open boat that the Inuit used to hunt whales) that was covered in the forest for many years. After hauling it on a trailer to one of the lakes on the island, we went for a sail with it's two mast sprit-rigged sails. Now that was a lot of fun! I also appreciated the many arbutus trees on the island, apparently their most northerly range in the Gulf islands. The weather was gorgeous and time flew by before I had to return to the city and work. I was hoping to see a humpback breaching from the ferry to Quadra island like I had on the opposite way five days earlier. Such an amazing group of islands on one of the most spectacular coastlines in the world.
