[Paddlewise] Bamfield or Bust

Trip report from last weekend.

Picture fom internet of fog rolling in to Trevour channel:

<http://oceanlink.island.net/BMS/tour/I_tour/shoreline.gif>

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Bamfield or Bust

With only a few days left of a month long vacation, I really wanted to
get away sea kayaking, even if only for a short-duration trip. After a
quick morning pack and grocery run, I made good time to Bamfield from
Victoria – 3 hours plus. The road was as dusty as it gets, with no
evidence of rain. Within 5 kilometers of the coast, fog was evident and
would prove to be the status quo.

I met Liz from the Bamfield kayak Center (and part-time Aux. Coastie)
and she graciously let me launch from her dock space allotment. It was
at least clear enough to see over to the Deer Group. I usually head out
to Cape Beale to give the lighthouse keeper a heart attack -- what with
the headland’s unmatched reflected swell, surge channels, standing
waves, sea caves, and surf pounded bays.

Instead, I set my sights across Trevor Channel and took the diagonal
route to Diana Is. Well provisioned, the Nordkapp rode low and wet in
the chop. Off the west side in Dodger Channel, I met Mr. Orcherton
senior, father of the well know C-1 paddler, Brian Orcherton. He was
hanging loose in his sailboat. Time was ticking with the late arrival to
town and the fog intensifying, so I quickly headed up the western side
of Edward King Is. around 6:00 pm, mentally noting possible return
camping spots.

I’d always missed out on a good exploration of Folger Is., due to the
deference given to Cape Beale, so I looked forward to the outer flanks
of Folger and its almost guaranteed sighting of sea lions. The outer
islands are as exposed as things get in Barkley Sound, with little
egress if things go sour. Boat confinement became a bit of an issue,
especially as little paddling preparation had been done over the past
season.

Initially I was downcast with the reduced visibility and with the
increasing intensity of fog rolling in down Imperial Eagle Channel. It
was certainly cause for alarm -- if not further melancholy. I snapped a
picture near the back end of Leech, in the channel between Folger where
the former and only “Calorie Engine” Ericsson ran aground in the winter
of 1892. As I approached the exposed west side, I knew I’d be in for a
rough ride. The chart shows a blunt abutment to the sea. What I didn’t
expect was visibility going to near zero within minutes, halfway around.
And, I didn’t expect the unmitigated, surreal beauty that the fog was to
impose.

Nervous to continue, I nevertheless pulled in close, eventually pulling
out every stop to keep upright. The marine report had indicated 2- two
3-meter seas earlier upon checking, which was enough for this rusty
paddler to ply so up-close and personal. I was quite intoxicated by the
sheer sacredness of the scene. The monochromatic conditions had diffused
all colour, but had also left the aquamarine, 20-meter oxygenated zone
of swell-cliff convergence with such a rich hue when contrasted to the
grayness of granite and fog and unbroken water.

Out of film, with no real possibility of good exposure anyway, I had to
settle on etching the picture into my memory banks. And by the time I
reached the SW tip of Folger where the sea lion cave echoes the
never-ending bark of beast and smashing of breakers, visibility was all
but gone. Yet, elated at the unexpected redefinement of what constitutes
good paddling conditions and weather for sightseeing, I tried landing on
the back of the island. Unfortunately, large gatherings of sea lions on
both the prominent haul-outs bastions and even the rocky beaches,
prevented a “seal-landing” due to the 100-meter rule, one I obey without
question these days. I had wanted to camp overnight, bivouac style, or
at least hug a few trees, as the island is due to be logged soon. A true
travesty; too bad.

I slogged my way back to the south end of Edward King, where a fantastic
sandy beach made for kayak landings and tent placement, awaited. It was
not noted in my guidebook, or my recreational map. The next few days
were spent navigating mostly by compass and shoreline adherence, while
enjoying a few breakouts from the fog bank incarceration -- where I met
the odd paddler. I took a stab at some beach cleanup on Diana, burying
mounds of trash and restoring firepit burnouts to natural beauty. It was
my penance for infractions against nature’s sanctity in the exuberance
of yesteryear’s youth.

I was able to make a thorough inspection of Diana and Sanford Islands as
well, returning to Bamfield in zero visibility by compass and dead
reckoning using the consistency of swell direction and prevailing winds
to good effect. I reached the other side of Trevor Channel within 50
meters of the cave I was aiming for in the blind. Not bad. Crossing to
the Broken Group in the fog would have been a little more challenging.
Maybe next time. A night of tachycardia and some other health concerns
on the trip, were reason enough to make avoiding Cape Beale a mature
decision, in retrospect. Driving away from misty Bamfield, 5-kilometers
out, the weather was awful -- clear and sunny.


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