[Paddlewise] Cool Running

Been hot in Victoria. 400 plus fires in BC right now. It was time for some
cool running. My first paddle a couple weeks ago (after heart procedures)
was a sweltering one, and not so solo. Not my style. Long post from log,
skip if not interested.

Log Book - Cool Running

Monday, June 27th was forecasted to 30 knots, simmering by the evening.
Westerly regime building. It was a busy day and a bad day for ongoing
postural hypotension. However, Tuesday's forecast looked more "promising".
Heavy fog in the morning, clearing by afternoon to 30 knots, with gale-force
westerlies to 35 knots building in the early evening. I took the day off,
rested my heart, and launched from Whiffin Spit at 17:30 (5:30) into
surrounding whitecaps. Seas were building to a crescendo of wind against a
maximum ebb tide at around 19:00  - estimated. Perfect aggressive paddling
conditions. A stinging wind with a bite on the tale, pushing up roiling seas
off East Sooke park with maximum "fun" potential developing between Beechy
Head and Race Rocks. Heart rate settled at 70 bpm. Good to go. Waved goodbye
to kids and Yvonne. Helmet worn with mounted quad-AA's headlamp, over Gortex
baseball cap; 3/4 gloves, short-sleeve light-weight paddling jacket,
poly-pro tank-top and neoprene Farmer-John. Water temp. 11 Celsius
estimated. Air temp. 25. Under-dressed for immersion. Float plan: bail-out
at Beecher Bay 19:30 (or Cabin Point trail if necessary), second bail-out
Pedder Bay 20:30 to 21:00, destination Taylor's Beach 22:00 to 22:30,
cell-phone arranged pickup. Instructions to spouse to call Coast Guard 23:00
if no contact.

Seas off Company Point were rather jobbly (if it ain't lumpy, it ain't sea
kayaking). Things were comfortably cool. Next headland, Possession Point,
was very gusty, with a nice bump. Winds had starting to lift off the water.
Seas between Donadlson Island and Possession Pt. were showing strong
evidence of wind against tide. I'd normally play in there, but had a tight
time-schedual and wasn't wearing a dry suit. A lost boat in the channel
would mean a tidal sweep into open seas - a very bad scenario, and one I
entertain and commit to only infrequently, and even less frequently of the
western edge of Donaldson.

The run from Iron Mine Bay to Beechy Head was marked by significantly
increasing winds, steep one meter following waves, and a number of near
broaches closer to Beechy Head where the tidal stream runs headlong into the
wind waves at ebb-westerly conjunctions. Seas were perfectly perpendicular
despite the slightly Southwest wind direction. I stayed well-offshore to
maximize the wave-steepness and fine-tune my ruddering technique while
assessing more objectively the kayak's rudder performance values based on
some recent Paddlewise discussions. All in all, I was fairly happy to have
the rudder, but did notice broaches harder to control in the steeper
tide-built waves as there was a lag-time between depressing rudder-right or
rudder-left cables until enough distance had elapsed in forward momentum to
cause a corrective turn and/or sufficient sea-purchase by the rudder blade.
I could see why a well-behaved Swede-form hull would be advantageous, though
probably more work over a long-haul. However, covering 3 nautical miles from
Possession to Beechy in 35 minutes, speed didn't seem to be a problem.

Beechy Head impinges tidal streams directly, and a little nervousness set in
about rounding the sometimes calm, sometimes dangerous point. The sun was
setting low as I rounded the point, slipping between the main shore of
Vancouver Island and some small islets nearshore. Gusts were extreme. I took
the easy option and utilized my Nordkapp's deep-draft rudder by holding my
feathered paddle with the right blade to seaward, power face vertical to the
wind so it acted like a sail. The left blade was left trailing in the water,
in a stern rudder support, which caused the kayak to turn shoreward, but by
pressing slightly on the left rudder cable to correct course, I "sailed"
through the passages at 4 knots, no paddling effort required, allowing time
for my heart to settle down. Waves were breaking over the evening
light-suffused rocks, surging forward to be vaporized by the wind after
breaking. For a small stretch, the sun was at the exact right angle to form
sequencing miniature rainbows. I was taken aback by the beauty of these
miniature, startling reminders of nature's more subtle displays, so often
hidden from those not inclined toward these types of paddling conditions. I
pulled into a small bay, out of the wind for rest, a stretch, and some
energy food. And, to contemplate my next move.

The mouth of Beecher Bay is just over two miles wide, fully exposed, with
current driven flows impacting westerly wind as it discharges through West
and South Bedford Islands. In the lee of the forest hills at Alldridge
Point, I could not clearly assess conditions at the other side of the two
mile crossing. Experience told me the last 1000 meters where fetch would be
maximized and coinciding with the maximum ebb, would make paddling
conditions a little daunting. A bail-out from cockpit with boat separation
would be a real bummer, as one would be swept out of the bay into the maw of
heaving wind/tide races, with great difficulty re-entering the kayak in the
roiling seas - provided one still even had their kayak. I had my drytop and
heavier fleece in the hatch, but decided I'd prefer the tactile sensation of
enveloping, cool seas on the other side. Not prudent, but a decision based
on perceived quick crossing duration (meaning a minimal exposure given the
potential for a fitful but fast ride across).

By 3/4 of the way, I was regretting the decision not to change apparel (or
even pull out at Beecher Bay marina rather than continuing). On the plus
side, the sensations of sun and sea, cool and boisterous waves, were truly
memorable. Often, waves would wash the blade deeply at the end of a stroke,
rushing up to shoulder level. It required a careful blade extraction.
Broaching became increasing difficult to control. Fast surf-forwards were an
imprudent embellishment, so I resisted the temptation and finally resorted
to some back paddling, made more difficult by the blade-snatching gusts that
also ratcheted through the ear-holes of my helmet with sudden fury.

Closing in on Large Bedford Island, my legs started to shake. It had been a
while since I'd suffered that kind of provocation. Immediately, my heart
arrhythmias pounded mercilessly away. "Be cool fool", I shouted at myself.
"Stay loose, stay controlled, you can't go back now." I'd be in a
wind-shadow shortly, with the added benefit of a forward-moving back-eddy. I
wondered for a minute if this type of paddling was socially acceptable. I'd
been in far worse, but I'm older now with more responsibilities and the
burden of a young family. And my health still in question. "Naw," I
convinced myself, "20 plus years of this kind of crap; just keep enjoying
it, head down, onward young lad while relative youth and fortitude
facilitate. And make good use of your stinking rudder."

Between South Bedford and Large Bedford, a shallow reef  produced "baby
boomers" easily skirted around by paddlers of any generation. I got a little
too close as I'm apt to do, and induced a sudden and severe broach on one
suddenly large breaker. I managed to wrestle the paddle through the gust and
support into the face of the breaker. As the wave broke across the length of
my boat, it broke clean across and vaporized widely, dispersing into misty
droplets high above. A beautiful half rainbow formed momentarily in the
fading sunlight over the kayak, still tart enough on the horizon to send its
amber lightwaves into refractive glory. You could paddle 50 years and never
see something like that. Emblazoned with my own lightness of being, I felt
an unstoppable surge of energy and optimism flow through my body. I hate it
when that happens, for it is then that I truly don't know when to quit.

I paddled hard passed Swordfish Island, crossing Whirl Bay with a wind on my
tail and a back-eddy pull all the way to Christopher Point and the almost 45
degree turn past Bentick Island through a gusty Eemdyk Pass to Edye Point. I
was on a second wind, mine, and moving fast. Edye Point is a second 45
degree turn, rendering a total 90 degree turn toward Victoria at this point
of the coast abreast of the Race Rocks lighthouse. That meant at Cape
Calver, winds are rendered offshore, rather than along shore. Paddling into
outflow winds from Pedder Bay are a draining slog at the end of a fun,
freeride paddle. I couldn't bear the thought, so crossed Pedder Bay, keeping
well out from the jail at William Head. Around 21:00, the sun had seconds
until it disappeared. There was 15 seconds left, so I wrenched the boat into
the wind toward the dying embers; 10 seconds, paddle across deck; two
seconds sun glass clip-ons ready; 1 second, off; bye bye sun behind the
forested hills.

A muted, mercury-hued surface enveloped the seascape quickly, the dark
silvery wave slopes broken by rows of fast moving, but short-fetch-reduced
whitecaps racing away from the land. I aimed for Taylor's Beach, but
quartering seas made course trajectory difficult to maintain. My hands and
arms were cooling down fast. The wind still had a nice bite to it, almost
malevolent. My forearms numbed-out totally. A way-cool antidote to sultry
day-time summer paddling. The waves were breaking, at times, along the full
shoreward perimeter of the kayak, sending sheets of water skyward.  I was
pushing into a counter-productive situation. Perhaps I should bail out at
Weirs Beach deep in the pocket near William Head. Naw, no fun in that. The
moon phase was waxing gibbous, at around 96%, what was the rush? Civil
twilight was 22:00 or there abouts.  I aimed for Albert Head off in the
distance, cocked my rudder way hard over, perhaps slowing me down even more
but providing the trajectory I wanted. It was a long, cool slog to Albert
Head, any nervousness abated by comparison to the fact I'd paddled here late
at night previously in a winter storm. I did induce a foot crap from the
constant rudder peddle pressure. There was a gnawing hunger in my gut.

Finally, I pulled into a slipway between the headland and a small islet. I
pulled out my cell phone to arrange spousal-hosted extraction, but the
battery was dead in my new cell phone. Well, I was warned about the analogue
drain. I dropped a flashlight into the ocean in a small gust. A sacrifice to
the gods of inconsequential nature for me.  As I slithered up the beach in
the darkness at 22:15, I alighted, dripping wet, and proceeded to the park's
gatekeeper, who phoned my wife and unlocked the gate for her to enter. My
kids arrived with mom in their PJ's, tired and wanting to go to bed. So did
I. Two shoulder icepacks later, a big Advil pill, and a small sleeping pill
to deaden the foot-itch cramp, and I was gone.

Added notes:
As we pulled into our street, teenage boys blocked the entrance. School was
finally out. Party time. I drove through them slowly. One shouted, "Fu*#ing
canoe!" I stopped the vehicle, opened the door, and said, "Excuse me, it s a
kayak Einstein!" Yes, a very fine kayak, even with a rudder.

I awoke early the next morning to a resting heart rate of 46 bmp. I was
buoyant. I ate at work on and off the whole day. My underarms were raw and
sore from paddle-jacket rash for the next few days. My radiant, gale-paddle
grin lasted two full days before I let the inane pettiness of daily life
once again zap my joy.

Doug Lloyd
Victoria BC
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