[Paddlewise] Clapotis and a paddle to the sea

A question first :


Sometime ago I read from someone  I think it was Matt, a definition for
clapotis. It is not in my dictionary and a search on the web turned up some
resorts in France so.......... I am wondering where the word came from and who
was it that brought it into our usage?


Thanks hope you enjoy my trip........





I paddled with my son last weekend from the bridge on old Chemanius Rd down
the river to the sea. We were warned that the current and "rapids " would
prevent us from from returning but decided to scope it out anyway. Our boats
are Prijon Seayaks, plastic, a definite asset in a shallow river. The idea had
been to check out the paddling possibilities for a club paddle later in the
summer. We left a few hours after the tide  began to rise from zero, assuming
we could use the rise on our return. The first rapid I shot through I
immediately turned and made my way back up for reference to my ability to
handle the current. Matthew, my son is  a very accomplished paddler so I was
more concerned about my challenges than his. That done we proceeded past the
next riffles and pools at the Bald Eagle Campsite where I swung around and
went through a dog's leg backwards to the amusement, I'm sure, of the campers
sunning on the beach. I was proud of how I had ended up in the back eddy,
where I quickly spun around and continued on down stream. The banks of the
river here are mud and clay overhung with Broadleafed Maple, Cedars, Alder and
Cottonwood. Further back the Fir and Hemlock dominate, although the swampy
areas have a lot of native wild Apple, Willow and, Red Osier Dogwood. There is
a lot of wood debris  in this river. Many miles upstream there are some
massive logging operations and every year trees and stumps and chunks are
washed down. So in places the banks are piled high with the deposits of high
water as well asthe  deadheads and sweepers we were dodging. Matthew and I
played catchup as one thing or another grabbed our attention, until  we came
to a fork in the stream. We had been told that there was a split where the
river flowed south-east, so assuming we would return up the other branch, we
continued in that


direction.


We chased a family of Mergansers around a corner and came upon a large
boulder, smack dab in the middle of the stream. Matthew suggested we practice
doing ferry angles there and managed to surf his boat sitting almost
completely still in the current. To the right of the boulder the water opened
up into a long channel reaching about a mile back into the swamp. Flanked to
the north by a rock bluff, it created a beautiful swimming hole so we stopped
and had a snack contemplating the large Oak overhanging the pool. A side trip
into the swamp channel brought thoughts of the bayou and mangroves until the
water weeds and lilies made it difficult to continue.


Around another corner  on our Paddle to the Sea,  and we were into the flood
plain. Above us it seemed there were miles of reeds and grass, although off to
the right the plumes of the Crofton Pulp Mill were dominating the horizon.
Then up ahead a family of Canada Geese, the goslings still in their


downy covering, swimming across the channel, and  the sounds of many more as
we came into view, threatening their safety with our large presence. I called
out to Matthew when I saw the first Eagle sitting at the edge of the shore,
and then there were others, more and more of them. Adults,


fledglings, immatures. At one point we counted a dozen sitting on rocks or
stumps along the waters edge in our view.They were all around in the air and
the trees as we made our way through the estuary and into the ocean.


Such a change from the fresh to the salt! As we rounded the south end of
Willy's Island and paddled into the wind against the prevailing tidal current,
I contemplated having to return up river in the dark. We made progress,
staying close to shore, seals watching on occasion, and stopped again for


more fuel at a pretty beach campsite where the previous visitors had enjoyed
some of the clams and crab they had captured, leaving behind a powerful stink.
At first I had thought the wind was carrying the smell of the Sea Lions but
the evidence lay all around us.


A short paddle forward and we came around the north end of the island and into
the estuary again. The tide had done it's work, although none to soon, as we
bottomed out a few times crossing the flats searching for the other channel.
More Eagles here waiting for dinner to surface, they didn't seem at all
disturbed by our passing. After a major slog across the flats, the river
itself was quite a pleasure to paddle, for the first little while. A very
different environment, lots of Arbutus trees and evidence of human habitation
here. I did manage the first bit of rapids but the river widened out and we
had to exit and pull the boats upstream. Matthew plunked himself into the
kayak with his feet hung over the side and paddled when he could. I chose to
line my boat until the water deepened, dispensing with the spray skirt and
paddling soaking wet. Eventually we arrived at the fork again. A narrow
passage with overhanging tree meant for me that I exit and pull the boat
through. Matthew decided to paddle and once again impressed his old man with
his skill and ability. 


It was semi-smooth sailing after that. A barking dog at the campsite, at
waters edge to investigate, made communication with its owner difficult.  I
managed, by entering the channel at just the right spot to make it up the
dogleg. Wow! Great paddling. Especially with an audience. Actually I think


those two young women were there to watch Matthew who obliged by putting on a
bit of a show for them. I ended up pulling the kayak through the last bit of
rapids, too bagged out to fight the current with the pullout in sight.


And well before dark.


See you on the water,


Michael Justice


On sometimes-sunny Vancouver Island


48.48


-123.40









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