[Paddlewise] Mermaid in the Mist (Part 3)

Mermaid in the Mist  (part 3)  Doug Lloyd

With confidence building, my "edge" almost back -- and the need to
create some serious effort to restore body heat -- I made the decision
to try for the Finnerty Islands around the northwest side of Lasqueti
Island. I'd paddled long enough over the years to know what I was
getting myself in to, and just how bad it can get when Environment
Canada specifically states "high gusts". While crashing through the
waves, I noticed a number of folks up in their cabin homes, pointing and
looking out their windows at me. One guy raced back and forth along his
room's length. It was time to clear away from civilization. Fegen Islets
off the northeast tip were awash in waves and whitewater, farther out
than I wanted to adventure. That would be too bold, with no escape route
or back-up plan available. Passing Spring Bay to port, I made a straight
line for the Finnerties, my wash-out zone placing me back into Spring
Bay -- more or less.

Gusts were growing in intensity, and really ferocious. I was making at
least three forward paddle strokes for every 1-meter of progress, and
only by using an aggressive forward lean to cut down wind resistance.
That meant less flat-water, efficient paddling technique, but allowed a
steady progress. I changed back and forth a few times to verify, finally
concurring that the "lean-forward" method produced the most advantage.
A number of large islands were positioned between the two main island
groups. I used some of them for cover for temporary rest and shelter
between spurts. I turned on the VHF radio for a moment. The low was
passing directly overhead, apparently. The island chain was at least
cutting down on the wave heights.

I simply could not believe how quickly the SE winds had converted to
westerlies, with full-on squalls. One squall after another belted the
coast. Securely tethered to both paddle and boat, I nevertheless planted
every stroke carefully, and simply held position in the very worst
gusts. Not being a big, aggressively built person, I needed to
overcompensate with available tenacity and hard-won skill, continually
interpreting sea state, currents, and maintaing a pro-active approach
where one anticipates and avoids certain situations ahead of time. I was
on a multiday excursion, not a do-or-die storm paddle like some of my
training outings. Keep it fun, keep it real I kept repeating. Seas out
in Stevens Passage were getting obscene. The Sister's Lighthouse report
heard back behind the rock pile via my VHF, was obviously way behind on
an updated wind speed. That's the trouble sometimes, when attempting to
utilize report information.

Looking out toward the direction of Comox I thought about Werner, and
how these seas eventually overpowered and killed him. I glanced off the
Finnerties, and headed back to Lasqueti, running the gap between the
main island and the Olsen Island group, but not before taking advantage
of some nice rock garden/clapotis combinations. Ahhh, some real calm had
finally presented itself. Its always a nice feature on a trip to find
shelter just at the point where one's nerves are starting to fray.
Higgins Island, laying at the entrance to False Bay where the town is
located, had some really interesting, creative homes. I spoke with one
homeowner desperately cleaning out his clogged gutters. He warned me not
to head out of the bay. I said I was just coming in. He used some choice
adjectives. Given he was on a copper roof in slippery gum boots, it was
I who though he was the foolhardy one.

Back in town, I checked in with Werner's former partner and a bite to
eat. She had read the article, and liked it for the most part, adding I
had miss-reported the fact that Werner didn't have a knife. She found it
in his anti-exposure suite, returned by the RCMP along with the kayak. I
apologized, but reminded her that it was she who provided the original
details for the SK safety report. I mentioned that there was no artwork
available of Werner's. She said they spent a winter together in cabin
they built on Finnerty Island, deep in the bush. With instructions how
to find it, I was told that there was some artwork in the old cabin. I
could go fill my boots. She wondered how I was going to cope with the
seas outside the bay. I didn't tell her I had just come back in from
being out there, off the open tip of Lasqueti. After all, I was supposed
to be a safety writer.

An RCMP boat had pulled into the dock and sent the inhabitants literally
running the afternoon I had arrived. I was finally bold enough to
inquire. Apparently, these raids happen occasionally, and unlicensed
cars (brought over by barge), are ticketed if found on the roads without
license. "Crop chops" are also common, with most of the confiscated
marijuana plants shredded behind the propellors of the police catamaran.
The police have given up prosecuting in most cases, I was told.
Marijuana... maybe that was the secret behind "Lasqueti time."

As quickly as the westerly winds had come up, the seas calmed down
again, just as the sun broke out. The rapidity of change was
unbelievable. Seas were still a bit bouncy though. While crossing back
to the Finnerties, the northwesterlies kicked up really quickly. It was
a new regime. Once in the lee of the islands, I was immune to the new
strong winds. I was worn out, and my underarms worn raw by the drytop
fabric bunching up under the PFD and constant saltwater wetness. I dared
not venture out to test my metal any further, out past the Finnerties.
Out in Georgia Strait central, huge whitecaps jostled with the recent
westerly wave pattern to try and establish a new one. Some southerly
patterns collided with the mess directly out from the middle of Texada,
from the earlier southerly blow. In all my years paddling, I'd never
seen such a mess in the throws of sorting itself out.

With the seas piling up and the sun gleaming off the whitecaps, lowering
on the horizon, I couldn't have asked for a better backdrop to the
exceptionally beautiful islands. I doubt the area had been visited much,
given the huge draw of Jedediah Island. Narrow channels coursed between
the moss covered islets, often presenting interesting mazes that
terminated into crashing waves on the open side. I landed on the main
island, taking some time in the heavy underbrush to find the Werner's
old cabin. The inside had been covered in heavy white paper stock. Extra
anti-exposure suits, old and ragged, hung behind the door. Werner and
his partner had lived here with a degree of happiness, returning to town
by kayak when groceries were required and winter seas allowed. I found
one piece of artwork. And I just couldn't take it. The painting was
partially completed, outlining a moon over abstractly painted seas.
Removing it wasn't the correct thing to do. I didn't touch anything. I
stood for a moment of silence, for a fallen comrade who had put his life
in harms way in the pursuit of a radically different lifestyle -- one of
solitude, where a kayak was used for recreation and daily
transportation. It was a life so completely foreign to my busy
vocational and avocational life.

I shut the door behind me, walking slowly and methodically through the
thick forest, breathing deeply while contemplating my own overall goals
and objectives in life. Back in the kayak, I headed for a camping spot
noted on the Coastal Waters Recreation map. I was disappointed with the
poor detail and possible unreliability of the map, but that was my fault
for treating it like a chart. However, persistence to the indicated
information paid off, and an exotic stepped area of grassy highland
loomed ahead, atop some low cliffs. It had open views of the entire
area, including a straight-line view across to French Creek. I wanted to
try crossing back in the morning. The combination of sun and wind had
the effect of drying everything out. Throughout the night, the full moon
acted like a giant, cosmic flashlight, outlining the abstracted, rippled
surface mid-strait. It was a wonderful, sensual night of comfort and
solitude, rest and relaxation -- bathed by constant moonlight further
backlighting the odd cloud pushed through by fresh breezes as a high
pressure system reestablished itself. I was on the water by first light,
though my hull was heavily scratched by the 50-meter launch zone of
barnacle covered, low-tide boulders.

Five minutes out, my armpits burned with intense pain. It was still
bouncy mid-channel, and I didn't want to take off my PFD or risk
paddling without a drytop -- though I was calling it my "wet-top" by
then. A northwesterly against a spring flood makes for nasty conditions
half-way across. I conceded defeat, and headed for False Bay. Another
crossing, thwarted by a bad gear combo. There was a ferry, the first one
of the new week, due soon. I loaded the kayak myself after the ferry
docked and the crew took off for a minute or two. Once underway, I
realized I was short of cash again. They said I could pay the difference
"next time" I came over. An old man, seemingly agitated, came over to me
asking if I was the idiot from yesterday out off the northeast end in
the squalls. He said they get a lot of kayakers visiting Lasqueti
Island, and no one paddles in that kind of weather. Apparently, he
phoned ahead to all the cabins along the route in the direction I was
headed, asking his buddies to keep an eye on some foolish kayaker headed
their way. I allayed his fears, explaining a kayak's capabilities and
self-rescue strategies, etc., which meant Werner's name coming up. He
knew him, so I agreed to send him a copy of the article, and closed that
chapter of my life.

Once back on Vancouver Island, I phoned work, telling my boss I was
going to take a few more days off, if it was okay, so I could "just to
hang loose." I was, after all,  now on Lasqueti time.

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