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. *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. 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Hello Paddlewisers! After a long hiatus (from Paddlewise, not paddling) I'm back on the list and noting with interest that many familiar names are still posting with regularity. After a week-long business trip to the Baltimore area I returned to Juneau last Friday after a combined (car and plane) 17 hr trip. The plan was to spend the weekend with my SO in Berner's Bay, about 35-40 miles northwest of Juneau. After a long day of travel the last thing that I wanted to do was pack gear for a weekend of camping and paddling, but that's what was on the agenda. Stephanie (the aforementioned SO) had secured the necessary foodstuffs, but a hectic week at grad school had distracted her from the task of packing for the trip. It was a late night, but the marine forecast on the radio promised sunny skies and gentle breezes as I finally drifted off to sleep. Saturday dawned bright and clear and we loaded her Seaward Navigator and my VCP Skerray on the roof and piled what seemed to be mountains of gear into the back of the truck. It always seems odd to me that we need SO MUCH stuff for a simple overnight trip, but having both lived in Southeast Alaska for quite a while we know that it pays to be prepared for the worst - because that's often exactly what Mother Nature delivers. A quick drive up the coast to the END OF THE ROAD (yes, that's right - the road just ends - and there isn't another road for more than 100 miles) and we reached our put-in at Echo Cove, a long narrow cove opening to the northwest. As fate would have it we almost lucked out, but while the tide would be with us on our paddle out of the cove we were facing a moderate headwind funneling right down the cove. The tides during this weekend were quite large, from a high of 19.8 ft to a low of -4.8 ft, more than a 24 ft variation! The kayaks easily swallowed the mountain of gear, even though the kayak packers' skills had gone rusty over the long dark Alaskan winter, and we quickly set off for the first overnight trip of the year under sunny skies. Berner's Bay, our destination, is a pristine bay fed by two rivers and often home at this time of the year to a large population of Stellar's sea lions and the occasional humpback whale. The paddle out of the cove went smoothly although the writer of this missive was chastised for having delayed the start of the trip by sleeping in too late and thus causing us to have to paddle against the tide near the mouth of the cove, but I found solace by playing (as much as I could in a fully loaded kayak) in the eddies and tidal "boils". As we turned the corner at the mouth of the cove and began to paddle along the magnificent coastline the wind died and the water turned to glass. We could see the bottom 20 ft below us as we paddled along; to me it felt as though I was flying over the top of an underwater kingdom. Pure magic. The sight of snow-capped mountains just out of reach in the preternaturally clear air lent a magnificence to the scene that is hard to describe. The thought went through my mind once again that I actually LIVE here and that I don't have to go home at the end of the vacation (I've been here for more than 5 years and I still feel this way about living in Southeast Alaska!). A quick lunch of the standby PBJ's, Pringles chips and apples (yes, I succumb to junk food when I paddle!) and we were back on the water and making our way into the mouth of the three mile wide bay. We began seeing sea lions almost immediately, just as one of Steph's fellow researchers (a sea lion biologist) had indicated after a census flight over the bay, "the place is HAPPENING right now!" These big sea lions are inordinately curious and like to play games like "scare the kayaker" by coming up silently behind the paddler and exhaling explosively. Fun - for the sea lions _and_ the paddlers. The males can be huge, 10-11 ft in length and over 2000 lbs, and can be a bit intimidating when they get close, but for the most part they were all much more interested in feeding on the plentiful eulachon, (or hooligan in local parlance) a small "smelt". In the distance we spied the tail flukes of a very large humpback as it made a deep dive. More magic. Humpbacks usually follow a pattern of several shallow dives punctuated by a single deep dive during which their entire tail comes out of the water as they turn head down and sink into the dark and frigid depths to do whale stuff. We could see eagles along the shore and also as tiny specks silhouetted against the high snowy peaks - a remarkable contrast between the warm maritime ecosystem and the frigid high alpine only a mile or two inland. As we paddled we tried to keep track of the feeding whale by watching for "blows" and tell-tale tail flukes. We could also hear in the distance a multitude of roars, grunts, moans and growls from a large group of sea lions, but couldn't tell where they were. It almost sounded like a rookery, but neither of us knew of a sea lion rookery in the bay. We finally made camp in a protected sunny cove with a great (and very rare) sloping sandy beach. I've actually decided that the Southeast Alaskan coastline is divided between "rocky shoreline" - rocks too big to pick up, and "beaches" - anything with rocks that you can lift with two hands. A sand beach is a real treat! A disaster with the MSR Whisperlite (scary fire emanating from the valve) almost ruined dinner, but a quick wood fire worked fine and we could actually hear the sea lions in the distance without the roar of the stove masking the sounds. It might be the right time to finally get a Trangia stove. While eating we located a huge pod of sea lions feeding, approximately 50-70 of them just hanging out as a large group, periodically diving (feeding we supposed), and then returning to the surface to continue their garrulous ways. The rookery question was answered. We hauled the kayaks far above the anticipated tide line and settled in for a beautifully calm and cool night. Around 10 pm we both awoke to the treat of a nice display of the Northern Lights - a real treat at this time of year. Sunday morning dawned crisp and clear again - we really got lucky with the weather! After a simple breakfast and a hike to a nearby stream for water we packed up and headed out - planning this time to catch the flood tide into Echo Cove. It was a good shakedown cruise and even though I thought I had EVERYTHING, I did have two little omissions that are still brilliantly apparent - sunscreen and a hat! A spare pair of shorts can do an admirable job as a substitute hat though. Dave Seng (the guy with the sunburned pate) Auke Bay, Alaska *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
Welcome back! Sounds like one of those magical southeast Alaska trips...worth the long winter wait Bob -----Original Message----- From: David Seng <daveseng_at_acsalaska.net> >Hello Paddlewisers! > > After a long hiatus (from Paddlewise, not paddling) I'm back on the >list and noting with interest that many familiar names are still posting >with regularity. *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
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