[Paddlewise] Pushing the Envelope - trip report

Had an awesome paddle Monday. Forecast was upgraded from 30-35 knots to
35-45 knots with 7-foot seas, since my post day before yesterday.
Absolutely a wicked paddle...

--------

Log Book
April 30th, 2001

Big blow out on Juan de Fuca, so carbo loaded on spaghetti for lunch,
then left house with first signs of diminishing rain squalls. Drove out
to East Sooke Park. Some BC election signs blown over (yeah!). Some
debris on roads. Sooke Basin was white capping madly, with wide fans of
giant cat's paws evident from gusts. Drove to the controversial Silver
Spray's private property look-out to scout-out Secretary Island on open
side. The sight may be home to an eco lodge one day, with high class
homes abounding. Until then, I will continue to enjoy the remote
location remiss of do-good citizens calling the Coast Guard. The route
looked do-able, but the return phase, I figured, would be hampered by
contrary winds and squalls. Made decision to go, based on predisposition
of flood tide. My pre-trip permutations included the fact that the early
morning 30-knot winds would have been wind against ebb, which is my
limit for this area. The afternoon was calling for 45-knots, but with a
big flood, which is approaching my limits. Sea state looked steep, with
lots of clapitos. Made a mental note to give myself two red flag
warnings only. Sea was a wonderful shade of green, with white-as-snow
whitecaps highlighted by the breaking sunlight. Drove west to Whiffin
spit, 20 minute travel time on the hustle.

Tide was far out, and flooding fast. Topped up pre-paid cellular phone
time from scratch card. Noted I wasn't very prepared as I would have
liked to have been. Put on poly underwear pants under Farmer John, and
fleece paddle sweater under dry-top. It was too windy for anything else
other than scull cap in terms of head ware. Hail and ice pellets were
pelting down hard. Looks of consternation from wave-watchers were
noticed. Left 2:30 pm., running with rudder up, as too much turbulence
and mayhem off headland destination. I soon realized the surf helmet was
left behind. Figured I'd have to moderate rock garden playtime. Poggies
and 3/4 gloves worked well, but I was overheating in the sun breaks. Did
not attempt to rotary cool, as spin drift and clapotis waves should
suffice one the danger sector was reached.

Reefs were heavily exposed with lower, negative tide. I don't normally
make it out here on a negative tide. New to me reef all over.
Winter-sized storm waves evident off headland. Attempted to negotiate
between two reefs 30-feet apart. Waves were very steep and moving fast.
Bow suddenly raised skyward, due to rogue wave action bearing down.
There was absolutely no regularity to wave pattern. Too many sustained
days of westerlies, obviously. A big hole suddenly opened up, and I was
unable to clear in time. Was side-surfed by wave that broke over my head
just as bow submerged into face of same. Kayak was driven the full
15-feet toward the reef in micro seconds. "Sweet Mother of Jessie, I'm
dead meat!" All I could do was think about protecting my helmet-less
head. More importantly, made a nano-second decision to keep my head, and
not panic. I was amazed at how much information I was able to process in
the blink of an eye. Sculled over with paddle blade into soup of the
breaking surf, presenting heavy-duty hull to reef. Reef was about four
feet above water (more than that if viewed from bottom of trough). There
was no time to pray. Wave carried kayak perpendicularly up and over
leading edge of reef. Once on top, I was able to actively pull scull
brace over to an outstretched forward close-bow brace (by the grace of
God) and exited down back side of 20-foot wide reef, stern first (the
only safe way to do it). Noticed kayak at about a 40 degree angle, so
was afraid of back-pitch poling at bottom of reef. Slammed head to front
deck, and was able to arrest momentum, and then came off reef with a
high brace-come-forward sweep, clearing the danger zone before next set
of steep breakers.

It was one of the wildest rides I've ever had in my life, executed with
aplomb. Funnily enough, I felt no emotion, no joy, no terror. Definitely
a demented maneuver, however, though reactive as opposed to anticipated.
Funny how years of muscle-memory and reflexative maneuvering stay with
you over the decades. The ride over the reef was something I'll never
forget, and was definitely an awesome experience. No arcade ride even
comes close. Tsunami Ranger wannabee.

Seas were getting wilder near headland proper. Absolute concentration
necessary, with copious awareness needed on all visual scan fields.
Bracing was difficult in high wind. Extremely challenging paddling. More
like open Pacific paddling. Flood tide seemed to be bringing in high
waves, or intensifying them. Reminded self that one red flag now flying.
Was able to get around headland but last reef really pounding. Have not
been out there in stuff like that for ages. Tried to count wave sets in
order to run "the gap", my favorite chute to play in. Seas were
exploding all around me. I backed out, but wind gusting fiercely. Told
myself I was being a chicken. "Go for it", then,. "Oh Mr. Lloyd, this is
demented!". Stern was lifted dramatically. "Holy ship, Batman, back out
now!" Strong back-paddling skills saved the day. The whole 30-foot gap
broke clean across with a huge breaker. It partially reformed and
smashed into the 300-foot high cliff of the private look-out, where I
had looked down from earlier. "Oh fig!" "That's two red flags waving; no
more rock gardens".

Then another big set came bearing down. It started piling up against the
reef that forms the seaward side of  "the gap". It didn't look too
survivable. There's no way I could back paddle, turn, and skirt the
outside in time. Then I realize the sudden big burst of gusting wind
could be my allied help in time of need. One's got to think fast in
these kind of situations. I back paddled just enough, then let the wind
push me right past the front of the reef, seconds before another breaker
exploded on top of it. I further surfed the backwash away, then rode the
wind-driven swell into the shelter of my bailout/rest beach at Iron Mine
Bay.

I landed and drank cold water as fast as I could. I then determined to
give a wide berth to the reefs on the way back. There was no one out
there, so flares would probably not draw any attention, and the VHF
would be my only link (which was stored in the day hatch). If I bailed,
I'm would be in big trouble. Big, big trouble. If I shredded my skull,
on my own, I'd be hard pressed to swim to safety. I relished the calm
for a few more moments, but the forecast was not promising, and more
squalls were on the way. I headed back out, feeling a bit more relaxed.

I was able to keep well clear of "the gap" portion of the headland, and
found the going a bit easier, as I was able to see everything coming at
me. The seas were really pounding over the reefs, now that I had a full
sweep of the view, and waves crashed against the cliffs. I maintained a
500-foot minimum distance from shore. I turned parallel to the
shoreline, and had to brace into every breaking whitecap and
bottoming-out breaker. Then I saw a dark band moving fast toward me.
Within seconds, the full fury of a squall nailed me in the seaward
facing cheek of my left side. I knew I had seconds to turn into it, in
order to hold ground in the direct facing defensive position. If I
didn't get the kayak turned, Id be side-blown into the area of the gap
and associated reefs. Secretary Island was blurred-out by the sleet. I
made reference on it regardless, after managing to get a heavy-handed
front sweep in, just in time. The home free-weigth workouts were paying
off big time. The rain pelted unmercifully at my face. I didn't want to
chance turning and running for shelter. Besides, it would take me
forever to walk out.

I resigned myself to ferry gliding into the wicked wind, maintaining a
degree of forward propulsion, at just enough of an angle to make
westward progress. It's not as though I hadn't expected the squalls, and
I did know that squalls do diminish eventually. That one took awhile.
"Okay, now I'm afraid, so who ya gonna call?" I forced myself not to
pray. I concentrated on relaxing my hips, staying loose, responding to
the immediate threats, and not worrying about the overall picture at
that moment. After all, that's how we get through difficulties in life.
But heck, fear is tangible, and I dealt with it as best I could. It can
be so disabling if you let it, and such an energy waster if not
channeled in to determined positive attitude and adrenaline. I made a
mental note to start some interval training again. It pulled me out of
the Storm Island maelstrom, and I should get back to it for the reserve
strength development. The going remained tough for awhile. My breathing
was heavy -- all through the mouth. My heart beat got quicker and
quicker with the tempo of the workout. My eyes stung with salt.

Eventually the sea backed off a bit, and I make a mad dash in order to
clear the blunt headland and indentations. The tide set up some nasty
goodies along the way, but with the progress, I was back in the right
frame of mind. I hit my happy zone, and a big grin came over my face.
But the seas still demand concentration, and I got knocked over in an
inattentive moment. I yank out a scull-for-support, then high brace back
up with a hard slap. "Don't relax too much there buddy!"

As I come close to the west end of the headland, another big wave
exploded, this time on the foredeck. It closes down from both sides,
rebounds off the deck and straight into my nose and sinus. Cough,
splutter, scream. "Man alive, time to get home for dinner!" After
finally entering the less boisterous seas near the beach of Whiffin
Spit, the subsided seas apparent in that area, caused another set of
difficulties. With no troughs and wave sets to shelter paddleable
moments, the full force of the wind slows me down to a crawl. I look
like an ant, meandering back and forth the last mile. I hit the beach,
limp from exhaustion, load-up, inform base unit I'll be home for dinner
shortly, and zoom home - still in wet-suit. Within seconds of driving
away, an intense tension headache, not surprisingly, engulfs my
convoluted gray matter. The euphoria of the paddle counterbalances the
pain.

At home, I remained wet-suited at the dinner table, chowing down bland
boiled tofu. Okay, maybe my life is a bit boring -- interspersed with
glorious moments of sheer excitement and wonder out in the wicked wind
waves, and weather. My seven year-old daughter looks up at me: "Daddy,
aren't you going to change out of that wetsiut?"  I've hardly spoken to
anyone yet, still making the micro adjustments back to domestic
normalcy. "Um, some how, er, the wet suits me, darling," I reply with a
pun which Emily loves. Life returns to a normal flow, my heart beat
finally slows to normal. An inner music fills my inner man over the
night and next day. Yvonne says I appear happier than normal.

Doug Lloyd (flowing in the blow)


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