[Paddlewise] Wild at Heart - Part One

Warning - Long. From my log, not edited for brevity.

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Nootka Sound 07/15/ 2004 to 07/25/2004

Myself, Bill Porter, Mike DuPas, Steve Dirgo, Dale Tangeman, Rob Robinson
(trip organizer).



I met everyone in Nanaimo during mid-afternoon Friday as scheduled. It was
first time I'd met Dale. Gear and kayak was transferred to Steve's Ford
Explorer. Steve lashed the kayak well down, then I said goodbye's to Yvonne
and the two girls. Yvonne told me to "behave." Arrived in Gold River in time
for dinner; had curry pasta which antagonized the arrhythmia. I had a good
nights rest after checking my gear list, though my shoulder was very sore
after a partial week of rushed overhead painting/crown molding renovations.
The only outstanding item was liquid soap. Steve leant me some, saying
something about self-defense for the group.



We headed to Tuta marina in the morning. Road was a bit rough in places. All
three drivers drove carefully, using two-way portable radios in lead two
vehicles for safety. I was impressed with their prudence. We realized at the
marina that Dale had forgotten his fresh food in the fridge at the Riverview
Inn, and I'd forgotten my dilapidated old map of Nootka Sound and my
detailed reef map of Hesquite Peninsula, despite a our claim of performing a
"beach check" back at the inn.



We took the northwest route around Bligh Island, crossing Hanna Channel
where there were a few logs to jump near San Carlos Point. I practiced some
literal nose-to-deck paddling as we passed the Villaverde Islands to the
right, working the muscles hard in anticipation of heading out into
afternoon gale-force westerlies, solo, later in the week. We pulled into
Charlie's Beach - a very nice, fairly sheltered mini-peninsula camping site
with lots of space with both a west and east exposure and an outhouse.
Nootka Sound wasn't exactly my idea of a multi-day trip destination, but I
held out hope for a relaxing trip, if not an interesting one. I'd only ever
really just passed through these islands - on the way out or on the way back
from - the outside of Vancouver Island on previous outings here. We didn't
paddle at a clip I was used to, but what was the rush? Perhaps that was a
question with deeper significance for me.



I held back to take in a bit of the scenery and let the guys pick their tent
spots first. With mostly one-person tents, they were able to camp on the
edge of the beach/forest interface. I finally set up off to the side on a
rocky out crop, promptly drawing first blood on the trip after sliding down
a rock wall while setting up a drying-line. Perhaps it was time to start
considering better footwear than the usual Teva's. Bill set about
immediately to collecting firewood, scouring the nearby shoreline and islets
for driftwood and branches. His kayak returned looking like some kind of
weird alien creature with firewood sprung under all his bungee lines,
sticking out antenna-like. What a site. He then continued with his other
modus operandi for every day to come, cleaning the beach and burning all
man-made debris or other unwanted detritus. I got the feeling as the day
progressed that relaxing and burning off stressful detritus was what this
trip was going to be all about.



I'd suffered a nasty baro-trauma in both ears simultaneously in a
lake-diving mishap earlier in the week, so was on antibiotic/steroid ear
drops for the next few days. The pain ramped-up during the night. Saturday
turned out to be a mild-swell, calm-water day. I'd never seen the Sound this
calm, at least not later in the day like it turned out. We had an uneventful
crossing to Friendly Cove. I pulled ahead of the group in order to seal land
ahead on the rocks and get a picture of the guys pulling into the cove. The
seal launch turned out to be more fun. Ah, a little excitement finally.



We forked out $20.00 each to the Mowachat-descendant caretakers, $10.00 for
the landing fee, and another $10.00 each for entrance to the church building
which contained a few replica totem poles. The visit was even more
disappointing than my last stop-over at Friendly Cove, but I didn't miss the
bit of irony with "Whiteman" being held hostage in this place shackled with
rich historical underpinnings. The afternoon air was molten hot, especially
attired in Farmer Johns atop the helicopter pad on San Rafael Island
adjoined to Nootka Island. The last time I was at this spot, here in Yuquot
("a place of many winds"), my paddling jacket was flapping like a Tibetan
prayer flag. I could feel my right shoulder starting to throb in the hot
sun.



On Sunday morning I slept in a bit, awakening to the guys talking about
bioluminescence in the night. Another leisurely day was developing with
overcast conditions and a few rain drops. Perhaps a nice sou'easter would
start cooking and provide a few worthwhile challenges. I tried remaining
content with my destination choice, feeling truly grateful that the group
had invited me along, covering gas, hotel, and parking charges. That was
pretty big-hearted, given the difficult financial year with sickness. I
tried not to bug Rob too much about what his plans were for moving out to
the more open coast of Burdwood Point.



We proceeded for a short days paddle to Resolution Cove, forgoing the rocky
landing and customary climb to view the historic plaque. Been there, done
that. Backtracking, we skirted around the end of Clerke Peninsula and headed
down Ewin Channel. There was just enough swell running to allow some
playtime in the delightful surge channels and odd cave, though there weren't
any other takers. Ah, a bunch of boat preservationists, I assumed.



There was enough water to explore the small lagoon down near the end, and
then head over to the west beach at the extreme end for lunch. It looked
like excellent Oyster harvesting opportunity, but the closure took care of
that idea. I thought there would be a fight out against the wind, but
nothing significant materialized. I was left high and dry surging over a
reef, as the group paddled on toward the float-lodge of Sun Kissed Charters
for free water fill-up. When I caught up, I quickly identified myself as
Canadian, which soon became a tradition every time we met up with anyone.
An annoying one at that, perhaps.



As we headed back to camp, I practiced some backward paddling with support
strokes and then fast-forward paddling with forced point-of-capsize drills
on my left and right side, just so as to really challenge my shoulder
impingement syndrome. Once at camp, I headed back around Bligh to the west,
and investigated Utopia, a floating lodge said to attract kayakers wanting a
hot shower (for a fee, I assumed). No one was present. A strong wind was now
funneling northeast, causing a headwind all the way back, but creating a
good run of whitecaps to bounce over.



I sang my soul out in the waves, eventually pulling back into Charlie's
Beach. Unfortunately, the guys had heard me singing over the isthmus
(unfortunate for them!). More paddlers had arrived, a man and his wife,
while the group of guys had been bathing, so I attempted to wash up on the
opposite side, whereupon an aluminum skiff veered over from Verdia Island
just as I lathered-up and the female aboard let out a huge "Woo, hoooo!"
How could she see anything from out there? The rest of the gang had heard
her too, and were wondering what all the fuss was about. Exactly!



Sunday night was interesting with an earthquake at just after 1:00 am.
Heather Harbord's book talks about fleeing tsunami-prone Cattela Island if
there is an earthquake, which I had mocked upon reading. Suddenly, I was
wondering what to do there on Bligh. I went back to bed, my own baked-bean
induced rumblings shaking up the tent. The rain grew in intensity until it
started dripping from the center crosshair seam where a Velcro tab was sewn
through the seam-sealed joins. Additionally, some water trickled through the
tie-down tabs on the bathtub floor of the fairly new North Face tent. I wasn
't impressed, though the later was probably my fault for a slack rain fly.



On Monday Mike loaned me a packed bivy bag as a back-up, and Steve leant me
a small loading tarp to cover the Velcro tab. My mildew-rotted tarp hadn't
been replaced this year, and I should have brought a cheap replacement along
but, I'd never needed the tarp in prior copious rainfall. The rain continued
in waves, and a move Monday to Burdwood was doubtful. Some of the heptawing
tarps were giving the guys grief in the wind. With Steve's stakes popping
out of the ground and flying through the forest, I pitied any small animals
hanging around for the show. Rob moved his tent into the forest, seemingly
mildly flappable himself. Dale turned out to be totally unflappable for the
entire trip, and a fine deadpan comic, who lifted everyone's occasionally
dampened spirits.



The sea-state picked up as forecasted, with two-meter swells and gusty
winds. Cloud direction and speed eventually gave me a clue that it was time
to go paddling. I headed out to the Spanish Pilot Group for some action. The
channel between Clotchman and Narvaez Island was picking up, with a nice
bold line of breakers and peaking swell defining the distal end of the
confine. The entrance shallows quickly, leaving a sharp charge of swell to
rush across in places. I shot off a picture, and headed out into the
boisterous seas. The Nootka lightstation could be seen in the distance over
the splashes of white waves and swell. A large patch of foam bubbles
extended to the right of the small island of the end of Clotchman Island,
with sudden breaking waves throwing bubbles into the air to be caught by
gusts now turned into a stiff headwind. I had a riot vigorously jumping the
breakers, trying to pierce the airborne bubbles with my Nordkapp's bow.



Although the moderate swell lacked the sheer rambunctiousness I'd accustomed
myself to when paddling tight in these lee-shore situations, the jobbly
water was a relief to my soul, a salve to the sedate cadence of paddling
within the inner confines Nootka Sound thus far. Some of the 30-knot gusts
were catching the right paddle blade on the southeast side of the island.
Combined with breaking waves broaching the boat seaward, it made for an
interesting dynamic. Once around, I poked out into the small channel off the
end of Narvaez Island, where all hell was breaking loose between it and the
small islet out in front. With the wind funneling through the tight gap, I
was happily able to keep pointed into the wave action, yet drift backward
quickly out of harms way when I needed a break. With a bad run of ectopic
beats developing and a heavy squall line moving in, I returned to the camp,
which interestingly was experiencing winds whistling over the top in the
opposite direction to those further out in the Sound.



Later in the afternoon, just as the heavy rains finally subsided, Rhonda and
Earl from the WKC pulled into the cove with 7 other paddlers from The Tacoma
Mountaineers, leaving 19 paddlers now at Charlie's Beach. 18 Americans and
one Canadian. I snapped a picture of all the boats aligned along the
shoreline. Rhonda was a scream, pulling out and endless supply of
group-leader essentials from her Romany, including a huge oblong cooking
pot. There was a double Coleman burner on the rear deck, securely lashed
down in a perfectly sized drybag.



Introductions were made, and then Rhonda (who does kayak repair work) and
Earl had a look over my customized Nordkapp. Heavy, huh? Rhonda said she
hear I was a dangerous guy. I thought I was only dangerous when I consumed
baked beans. The nine paddlers had been wet-launched by the Uchuck, once
Luna had cleared the vessel. Rhonda's digital camera had some good views.
The new group proceeded to set up camp in the forested sites, with the
camaraderie lasting well into the night. Mike got a cute photo of their
bear-lines/gear bags hanging in the forest; cute, because Rob was standing
overlooking the bags (!), even after they were pulled as high as they would
go. Well, no baby bears would be habituating on people-food that night. I
hoped it would be a "go" for Burdwood in the morning.
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