[Paddlewise] Wild at heart (Part 3)

Wild at Heart

- from the log book of Doug Lloyd
- 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).




Part 3 of 3

The outflow winds that kicked in every night seemed particularly strong in
the wee hours against our little lee-shore haven as I hit a second round of
sleeping pills. Nevertheless, the winds diminished, dying-off on queue at
9:00am. A lone paddler, who pulled ashore, wearing shorts and T-shirt,
interrupted my groggy sleep-in Thursday morning. Gary was a college
professor from Colorado, originally Canadian. At one point mid-morn', he had
to swim chest-deep to retrieve his kayak when the incoming tide had floated
his boat out. I offered to help him carry the boat to his tent site a bit
later, but he was busy with other tasks after pulling it up a few meters.



Rob and I gave him the gears about his paddling apparel. He asked us if we
knew anything about the kayakers that died off Nootka last spring. I said I
was investigating the incident for a possible article. I told Gary that by
all accounts, they died of exposure, and yes, the two men were wearing.ta
da, shorts and T-shirts. We went on to speak privately for hours about
various subjects, including men's issues within the faith community, and
about group decision-making strategies and aspects like emotional
intelligence. I was glad to meet someone who actually understood and taught
such theory. In the meantime, Bill, Steve, Dale, and Rob headed out,
paddling up the Sound to Burdwood Bay where they found a waterfall back in
the woods.



As the day progressed, I engrossed myself in another Clive Cussler novel,
this one actually written by Steve's brother, Craig Dirgo. The day (and the
week) was working toward record high temperatures with little wind to cool
down the coast's summer fever.

Upon launching to return, Rob had jammed his skeg box with sand whereupon
attempts by his companions to free it pulled the cable right out of the skeg
blade cable housing, meaning more  frustration upon his return to camp,
until he had finally swapped the original cable end-for-end and re-installed
it. Rob and Bill were staying another week, desiring to camp further toward
Estavan Point with its higher wind exposure. Rob was a little concerned as
he felt he was out of options for skeg repairs if needed again.



Another shout later in the day, this time from Mike, required Gary to take
another cold swim -- this time using full breaststrokes to retrieve his
rental kayak. I ran down and we carried his boat to high ground, no
arguments. I told him we were getting a little concerned. He didn't get my
drift, taking me literally. Despite this drifting-boat intransigence, he was
a great guy, having paddled BC's waters for many years, though no full
open-coast experience. I advised him to think twice about moving camp
further out toward Escalante Point, as the relatively calm conditions
presently enjoyed were deceiving.





Feeling somewhat better by late afternoon, I headed out to cross the 2 miles
to Friendly Cove. I spotted a vapour spout offshore, but failed to see any
whales. Whale sighting are more common along the Escalante headland. There
was a nice 1- to 2-foot chop on a 1-meter swell, allowing exploration around
Maquinna Point and the caves. 400 meters from San Rafael Island, either a
large seine boat or a trawler (I couldn't tell) was headed for open sea. I
raced to cross his bow for a good five minutes flat out, giving him enough
room to not have to adjust his course as I passed in front of the vessel. I
did an immediate stern sweep, and fell over into the sculling position, head
in the water, on purpose. The first bow wave charged over me, the second one
broke/bent my sunglass clip-ons. I moved into a full roll-recovery position
rather than perpetuating a deep water scull, in an effort to right myself
and retain what I thought were my expensive glasses coming off. I waved them
off, but had to land on the outside beach of Friendly Cove to calm my
extreme arrhythmia.



I decided to leave exploring Maquinna Point for another year and crossed
back, truly enjoying the combination of swell, wind, and the sweetness of
the open Sound; and vowing to mellow-out for the rest of the trip. Time
slowed down mid-crossing, even if my heart didn't. If these serene moments
can live in one's memory forever, the crossing was an eternity. Back at
camp, I was treated to some left over carrots and potatoes -- a much needed
change from the previous two days of hot chili. I used up the last of my
chemical-pack ice and Advil. A fun evening of frivolity around the fire,
fending off mosquitoes,  more $20.00 jokes (still upset over the landing
fees) and American-bashing ensued. I was lucky the guys were good natured,
big-hearted Americans.

Early Friday morning before light the wind was blowing strongly again,
snapping the fly sharply. It died off at 9:00 am on queue. Though never
shrill, the life-affirming songs of small birds could be heard every
morning. Garry wanted to paddle with us, as he might not have done so on his
own. Mike and Dale took the day off as we headed the 5 miles out to the
Escalante River. Gary seemed to take forever, later commenting he was
futzing around with his tent (while we paced back and forth waiting). I'm
sure our sub vocalizations could have qualified as another early morning
chorus, perhaps not so joyous.



Steve, Rob and Bill landed on the south end of a rather long crescent beach,
so I sent Gary off to land there too, suggesting he not leave anything out
as there were wolves and other vermin in the area. I landed in the bigger
(but still relatively mild) surging-surf at the north end of the beach,
close to the deep-water pools of the river. What a glorious soak, so cool,
so refreshing and invigorating against the bright-green setting of
algae-covered rock at low tide. Seas were really calm on the way back. I
lamented the fact that we could have been out on the west coast of Nootka
Island in completely favourable, benign conditions not often afforded to the
exposed coast paddler. Steve "Big Dude" Dirgo still looked stoked in his
gear-hauling Nimbus, despite the repeat route.



Winds continued light on the way back, growing very slowly, with a 1-foot
chop and maybe a meter and a half swell. Earl intersected us on the way
back, along with two other paddlers from Ronda's group. They returned with
us for a time. I was a bit despondent with the lack of gale-force wind
moving closer to shore that week, but I was sure Rob and Bill would get some
of the good stuff later in the week when they moved camp and the rest of us
headed home.



Once back at camp, I took Mike's Romany out to play in the rebounding surge,
wearing his Chilleaters/skirt combo, and trying a hand at using his skegged
boat. I didn't like the pounding bow's underbelly when cresting steep breaks
and also found the chined hull very different from a round-bilged one with
respect to predictability. Overall though, a fine boat design with superb
tracking. Mike had neatly outfitted his boat with foam to reduce cockpit
volume, and had a super-sano foot pump installation.



Landing again, I passed on the opportunity to test Dale's Mariner II. Only a
fool couldn't see Dale's easy time with the kayak in a variety of sea
conditions. I'd wait for another time to try a Mariner II, perhaps in some
really serious seas. One of the men from Ronda's group was wearing a
drysuit. It was one of the hottest days of the year, perhaps 95 degrees. Ya
man, you better take a dip. I got dehydrated just looking at him. Earl
reported Barry was in trouble back at Charlie's Beach for taking off from
the group unannounced, pulling along other paddlers with him. I made some
dumb comment about leaving him to the sea's naturalistic determinism.



By late afternoon, the tide was high enough to allow some cave exploration
south of Burdwood Bay, where the swell impacts directly. There was a good
wind with swell off the south point, with power boaters everywhere, all
after the evening bite. I spent an intense few hours bashing about in caves
and running very technical surge channels and tight passageways, some long
enough to force confrontation no matter which end I entered first. I'd
purposely not brought my surf helmet in order to force a more cognitive
reconciliation of risk homeostasis; Still, I was at the edge of my game and
lucky to come out with only my boat badly beaten up. The fishermen got a
good show, this time with me in full regalia, awash in a lather of foam and
surging seas. So much for my vow.



Once outflow winds had died down Saturday morning, Dale, Mike, Steve and I
packed up and said goodbye to Bill and Rob, wishing Gary the best of luck.
Bill and Rob packed up too, headed for Escalante Island. The paddle back to
Tuta Marina was hot and humid. I pushed the pace. People had ferries to
catch back at Nanaimo. A cold shower at the marina "facilities" was a
perfect panacea.  Gold River was hot, dang hot. We arrived at Duke Point
just in time for the last afternoon ferry, after Steve quickly unloaded me
at the small waiting lot. It took a while to locate Yvonne and the kids on
the hot tarmac, my heart still wild, but perhaps a little more subdued.



Addendum:



Bill and Rob spent a windy few days at Escalante Island before heading home.
They saw wolves up close, had a time of it in the big seas and the
paddle-wrenching winds. Rob found his hat.



Ronda emailed us: Barry died in a plane crash the night of Aug. 3. Minutes
after lift-off from the William R. Fairchild airport in Port Angeles, the
Cessna 182 he was piloting crashed into Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National
Park. It was a sheer miracle that his two passengers, both kayaking guides,
survived to walk out the next morning with minor injuries. No one knows how
the women managed to survive the crash. The plane disintegrated after
hitting dense Douglas fir along the ridge at a fast speed.
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