alexsidles
Paddler
As a folding kayak paddler, I have to be very mindful of weather and water conditions. In rough seas, the boat can take on water quickly, and when a big, open boat like a folder fills up, we are talking about an enormous quantity of water. Pumping out a swamped folder with a hand pump is a task roughly on par with building pharaoh’s pyramid: it can be done, but it's incredibly strenuous, and it takes forever, and you would basically have to flog me to get me to do it.
I avoid the nightmare scenario by confining myself only to easy paddling conditions. Luckily, we here in the northeastern Pacific have the longest stretch of sheltered waters anywhere in the world, so I have never lacked for delightful kayaking opportunities. Sometimes, though, when I gaze at a map, my eye is drawn to our outer coasts, and I wonder what adventures I'm missing.
Last December, I heard the call of the open ocean swells more stridently than usual, and this time I obeyed. I spent a week alone in Clayoquot Sound on Vancouver Island's west coast, visiting an area that is usually too rough for this folding kayaker.
From Seattle, it takes ten or twelve hours to reach Tofino via Tsawassen–Nanaimo, depending on how accurately you hit your ferry sailing. This time of year, the day is only eight hours long, so at least some portion of the drive will be in darkness. On the way out to Tofino, I scheduled the dark portion to occur just outside Nanaimo, and that was a mistake. The narrow, winding Highway 4 was a nightmare with all the ice and rain in the darkness. The Ministry of Transportation did a good job gravelling the pavement, but it was still a hellish drive.
Arriving long after dark, I discovered all the official campsites were closed for the season. I car camped at Incinerator Rock, about 20 minutes south of Tofino. I was the only one there, but it’s not an official camping site, so I didn’t want to set up a tent, even though I paid the fee. Car camping is slightly miserable, but as a consolation, the sky cleared, and I saw some beautiful moonlight.
I launched from Tofino bright and early the next morning. My ultimate destination was to be Hot Springs Cove in the northwest of Clayoquot Sound, but I started the trip with a two-night circumnavigation of Meares Island east of Tofino.
To my surprise, there were very few alcids in the sound. Instead, there were tons of cormorants and grebes. I saw all three cormorant species, including huge numbers of Brant’s, and Western, Horned, and Red-necked Grebes. I even saw a Pie-billed Grebe, the first time I’d ever seen that species on salt water. There were also tons of ducks, especially Bufflehead and Surf Scoters.
The area behind Meares Island was heavenly, with snow-capped mountains towering over still, blue waters. I was the only boat out there, once I was away from town, and I drifted along, enjoying the birds and clouds.
I was surprised and dismayed to see the logging scars on the hillsides. What a lot of forest has been cut down! I hope the money they got was worth what they gave up.
The flood tide carried me through to Cis’a’quis, a cedar shingle cabin built by environmental activists. I slept in the cabin, secure in the knowledge that no one else would be coming by in December. It wasn’t so much that it was cold—although it was—or that winter storms were so dangerous. It was more that there simply wasn’t enough daylight to get anywhere. I was the only kayaker out there the entire week.
In the morning, I had to wait a few hours of an ebb tide to carry me to my next Meares Island campsite, Ritchie Beach. The wait for the tide delayed me enough that it was getting dark by the time I arrived at Ritchie Beach. The weather forecast was for strong winds the next day, so I took the time to set up a tarp over my campsite.
By the time dinner was ready, it was full dark. I was sitting on the beach, eating my spaghetti and chicken, when a darting, dark shape of indeterminate size came racing over the gravel at me! I did what I always do in such threatening situations: I yelled “Aaaaaaah!” and kicked over my coffee cup.
The intruding animal was just as frightened as I was, and it ran up a tree. Shining my flashlight on it, I saw that it was actually a small mustelid, no threat to me at all, and really kind of a cool visitor. Usually, when you see a small mustelid on the beaches in BC, it’s a mink, so I assumed that’s what this one was, too. But when I shined my light on it up in the tree, I noticed some distinctly un-mink-like features: the creature in the tree had triangle-shaped, stick-up ears, which mink don’t, and it had a buffy breast, which mink don’t, and most strikingly of all, its eyes reflected a bright, electric blue light! I’d never seen anything like that before! Minks’ eyes reflect yellow light. The only mustelid whose eyes reflect blue light is the American Marten, and that’s what this was. I’d never seen one in the wild until now.
CONTINUED IN NEXT POST
I avoid the nightmare scenario by confining myself only to easy paddling conditions. Luckily, we here in the northeastern Pacific have the longest stretch of sheltered waters anywhere in the world, so I have never lacked for delightful kayaking opportunities. Sometimes, though, when I gaze at a map, my eye is drawn to our outer coasts, and I wonder what adventures I'm missing.
Last December, I heard the call of the open ocean swells more stridently than usual, and this time I obeyed. I spent a week alone in Clayoquot Sound on Vancouver Island's west coast, visiting an area that is usually too rough for this folding kayaker.
From Seattle, it takes ten or twelve hours to reach Tofino via Tsawassen–Nanaimo, depending on how accurately you hit your ferry sailing. This time of year, the day is only eight hours long, so at least some portion of the drive will be in darkness. On the way out to Tofino, I scheduled the dark portion to occur just outside Nanaimo, and that was a mistake. The narrow, winding Highway 4 was a nightmare with all the ice and rain in the darkness. The Ministry of Transportation did a good job gravelling the pavement, but it was still a hellish drive.
Arriving long after dark, I discovered all the official campsites were closed for the season. I car camped at Incinerator Rock, about 20 minutes south of Tofino. I was the only one there, but it’s not an official camping site, so I didn’t want to set up a tent, even though I paid the fee. Car camping is slightly miserable, but as a consolation, the sky cleared, and I saw some beautiful moonlight.
I launched from Tofino bright and early the next morning. My ultimate destination was to be Hot Springs Cove in the northwest of Clayoquot Sound, but I started the trip with a two-night circumnavigation of Meares Island east of Tofino.
To my surprise, there were very few alcids in the sound. Instead, there were tons of cormorants and grebes. I saw all three cormorant species, including huge numbers of Brant’s, and Western, Horned, and Red-necked Grebes. I even saw a Pie-billed Grebe, the first time I’d ever seen that species on salt water. There were also tons of ducks, especially Bufflehead and Surf Scoters.
The area behind Meares Island was heavenly, with snow-capped mountains towering over still, blue waters. I was the only boat out there, once I was away from town, and I drifted along, enjoying the birds and clouds.
I was surprised and dismayed to see the logging scars on the hillsides. What a lot of forest has been cut down! I hope the money they got was worth what they gave up.
The flood tide carried me through to Cis’a’quis, a cedar shingle cabin built by environmental activists. I slept in the cabin, secure in the knowledge that no one else would be coming by in December. It wasn’t so much that it was cold—although it was—or that winter storms were so dangerous. It was more that there simply wasn’t enough daylight to get anywhere. I was the only kayaker out there the entire week.
In the morning, I had to wait a few hours of an ebb tide to carry me to my next Meares Island campsite, Ritchie Beach. The wait for the tide delayed me enough that it was getting dark by the time I arrived at Ritchie Beach. The weather forecast was for strong winds the next day, so I took the time to set up a tarp over my campsite.
By the time dinner was ready, it was full dark. I was sitting on the beach, eating my spaghetti and chicken, when a darting, dark shape of indeterminate size came racing over the gravel at me! I did what I always do in such threatening situations: I yelled “Aaaaaaah!” and kicked over my coffee cup.
The intruding animal was just as frightened as I was, and it ran up a tree. Shining my flashlight on it, I saw that it was actually a small mustelid, no threat to me at all, and really kind of a cool visitor. Usually, when you see a small mustelid on the beaches in BC, it’s a mink, so I assumed that’s what this one was, too. But when I shined my light on it up in the tree, I noticed some distinctly un-mink-like features: the creature in the tree had triangle-shaped, stick-up ears, which mink don’t, and it had a buffy breast, which mink don’t, and most strikingly of all, its eyes reflected a bright, electric blue light! I’d never seen anything like that before! Minks’ eyes reflect yellow light. The only mustelid whose eyes reflect blue light is the American Marten, and that’s what this was. I’d never seen one in the wild until now.
CONTINUED IN NEXT POST
I am also working on my TR for Haida Gwaii.....
