Paddling The Pacific Coast and Beyond
july–september 2008
WaveLength MAGAZINE
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Contents 36
29 8
Solitude on Santa Rosa
California's Channel Islands
by Chuck Graham
12 Paddling the Cascade High Lakes Oregon
24 14
22
by Suzanne Johnson
18 14 Slipping Past Solander 12
The Brooks Peninsula
by Dan Lewis
32
18 Discovery Islands
Quadra, Sonora, Maurelle and Read Islands
by Lyn Hancock
8
28 Alaskan Whistle Stop
The Spencer Glacier
by Dan Armitage
32 Paddling Picks on the East Coast Atlantic Provinces
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by Keith Nicol
6 Editorial
16
Regular Contributors
16 The Art of the Portage
by Adam Stewart
22
Bute Inlet Grizzlies
24
Kayaking the Broughton Archipelago
36
Greenland–Paddling Through a Sea of Ice
40
Maximize Your Tent Time
42
Kayak Navigation: The Basics
46
by Matthew Bowes
by Jean-Luc Grossmann and Rafic Mecattaf
22
by Adam Bolonsky
Dan Lewis operates Rainforest Kayak Adventures in Tofino with Bonny Glambeck. 250-984-2307 www.rainforestkayak.com
Finding Fish
Fishing Angles by Dan Armitage
24
Gear Locker by Alex Matthews
50
The Low Brace Lean Turn
51
Yogurt: Keeping the Culture Alive
52
Book Reviews
54
WaveLength Bookstore
You can read Adam’s lively blog at paddlingtravelers.blogspot.com
by Neil Schulman
48 Lendal Kinetic S Paddle
Adam Bolonsky is a kayak fishing guide and fitness expert, based near Gloucester, Massachusetts.
© Mark Hobson photo
by Alex Matthews
Hilary Masson, our Paddle Meals contributor, is a guide and part owner of Baja Kayak Adventure Tours Ltd. www.bajakayakadventures.com www.silvabaykayaking.com
Skillset by Alex Matthews
Alex Matthews is WaveLength’s gear reviewer and writes our paddling skills columns. He has authored and co-authored several kayaking skills books and has been involved in the design and development of kayaks.
[email protected]
Paddle Meals by Hilary Masson
36
Neil Schulman’s writing and photography have appeared in numerous magazines and publications. He also does environmental work in Portland, Oregon.
56 Coastal News
© Wade Norton photo
Dan Armitage is a boating, fishing and travel writer based in the Midwest. He is a licensed (USCG Master) captain, hosts a syndicated radio show, and presents kayak fishing and photography seminars at boat shows.
57 Events 58
The Marketplace
62
Kayaking to Save the Albatross
by Hayley Shephard
july–september 2008
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editorial
WaveLength
magazine
July–September 2008
Volume 18, Number 3 PM No. 40010049
Editor – Diana Mumford
[email protected] Publisher – Ron Mumford
[email protected] Copy Editing – Jenni Gehlbach Marketing – Frank Croft
[email protected] Ben Mumford
[email protected] Webmaster – Paul Rudyk Writing not otherwise credited is by WL staff. Cover Photo: Hole in the Wall, Discovery Islands area, by John Kimantas. (Cover Photo for the April-June issue was taken by Rob Newell of Rob Newell Photography.) Safe paddling is an individual responsibility. We recommend that inexperienced paddlers seek expert instruction and advice about local conditions, have all the required gear and know how to use it. The publishers of this magazine and its contributors are not responsible for how the information in these pages is used by others. WaveLength is an independent magazine available free at hundreds of print distribution sites (paddling shops, outdoor stores, fitness clubs, marinas, events, etc.), and globally on the web. Also available by subscription. Articles, photos, events, news are all welcome.
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lthough it seems like we've only just begun, it's time to say good-bye as Ron and I deliver WaveLength into the capable hands of its new owner, John Kimantas. Finding our life out of balance after the acquisition of WaveLength, we were delighted to find that John, expedition paddler, former newspaper editor and author of several BC kayaking guides and atlases, was keen on taking up the challenge of publishing an outdoor recreation magazine and of adopting WaveLength as his own. As a result of our timely connection, this is the last issue that we will publish— look for changes at www.WaveLengthMagazine.com and the stamp of a new editor in the October – December 2008 issue. We are more than happy with this unexpected turn of events and confident that John's skills, experience and interests will ensure that WaveLength continues to entertain and inform you about the pleasures of paddling the Pacific Coast and beyond. Ron and I look forward to having more time to be on the water. Maybe we'll see you in some secluded cove, enjoying the peace and beauty that is ours to honor and share.
SPOT Messenger and Personal Locator Beacons - Thanks to John Harper for his research and report. In a previous article, we reviewed the SPOT Messenger as a potential safety tool for kayakers and boaters. A few questions came back on the difference between SPOT and Personal Locator Beacons (PLB). PLBs are a recognized emergency locator beacon that, when activated, sends a signal to the COPAS-SARSAT satellite system where it is relayed to Mission Control in Trenton, Ontario. Most PLBs include a GPS so the Mission Control can determine the location of the alert and direct the call to the most appropriate response centre. In the case of west coast kayak incident, it is most likely the call would be directed to the Joint Rescue Coordination Centre (JRCC) in Victoria. Mission Control and the JRCC have access to registration information associated with the PLB and will attempt to contact the emergency numbers listed in this registration data as part of their response. Where the SPOT differs from the PLB is that SPOT can provide outside contacts with location data when there is not an emergency, allowing family or friends to track the location of the user via email, text messaging or web. If the SPOT emergency button is activated, the signal is relayed to a private company (located in Houston, TX) through the GlobalStar satellite system. This company determines the position of the alert and contacts the appropriate response agency. In the case of the Canadian west coast, the JRCC is the agency they would call. Their response time has been good (average of 11 minutes from receipt of alert to call-out) and like the JRCC, they also immediately contact the emergency numbers associated with the SPOT registration data. The main differences between the SPOT and PLB are: the PLB alerts pass through the COPAS-SARSAT, which is a government supported system, and SPOT alerts pass through a private company on their way to the appropriate response centre; SPOT does have the advantage of providing location info when there is not emergency. More on PLBs and COPAS-SARSAT: http://www.nss.gc.ca/site/cospas-sarsat/locaterBeacon_e.asp More on SPOT Messenger: http://www.findmespot.ca/ An interesting article where a hiker in the Highlands of Scotland was incapacitated, activated his SPOT 911 Alert and was medivaced to hospital within 2 hours. http://www.sunderlandecho.com/news/Scotland-SOS-heard-in-Texas.4076827.jp Rescue coordinator, Flight Sergeant Tim Dickinson, said, "This was a perfect example of excellent cooperation between the police at Fort William and the military search and rescue services. "We have rescued a Danish tourist in the Scottish mountains following an emergency call from the USA, using a Royal Navy helicopter and coordinated by the Royal Air Force." Sunderland Echo Newspaper, 13 May 2008
july–september 2008
Cobra
Half moon
Bow
Wetsuit exit yoga for paddlers
drysuits | wetsuits | neoprene cement | mec.ca
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Solitude on Santa Rosa by Chuck Graham
T
he bugle call bellowed from above the ridgeline, disturbing my deep slumber where I was tucked away in a gritty alcove. Startled, I sat straight up in my sleeping bag, fumbling for my headlamp. My eyes soon adjusted with the benefit of a full moon, and I watched the rangy silhouette of a Roosevelt elk loping across rugged Santa Rosa Island. There’s one campground on each of the five islands in the Channel Islands National Park off the coast of California, and on Santa Rosa, the second largest island in the archipelago, beach camping is allowed. The only way to get to its nameless coves and deserted beaches and to explore its nooks and crannies is by hugging the coast in a kayak, camping on beaches where the only footprints you are likely to see will be yours and the seabirds’. On the Channel Islands, restrictions apply, self-sufficiency is a must, but the rewards abound for a kayaker dodging rogue waves, paddling against powerful northwest winds and communing with curious pinnipeds peering above the canopy of a kelp forest.
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Nose to Nose with Spilogale gracilis amphiala I left my tent at home. I wanted to travel light, move quickly and break camp with minimal fuss. Sleeping under the stars was the way to go. Water Canyon campground is one place, though, where you don’t want to lay your sleeping bag out in the open. Endemic deer mice will use your downed mound as a potential playground, scurrying across your body, playing tag with their siblings and cousins. I solved this conundrum by throwing my sleeping pad on top of a picnic table. The campground was deserted and I slept soundly until around 3 a.m. Then a steady thump on the bench of the table woke me up. Quietly I grabbed my headlamp, switched it to the on position and looked down. I was literally nose to nose with an inquisitive spotted skunk. Skunks are native on Santa Cruz and Santa Rosa Islands. This one didn’t flinch and stood its ground, its snout twitching with each sniff to determine what I was. After deciding that I july–september 2008
wasn’t a threat, it stomped its padded paws and continued foraging for food. It wasn’t alone. Two little ones waited nearby, creating quite a ruckus thrashing through the parched grass.
Elephants of Santa Rosa When I rounded Sandy Point, the exposed northwest tip of the island, blubbery northern elephant seals swam and bobbed near my boat. The big bulls breached the cobalt blue ocean with bloodshot eyes, revealing their pink necks, raw from countless battles for females and territory. Then, without warning, two young adult males rose up, breaking the surface of the water on either side of my kayak. Their girth caused huge waves, and their sudden appearance surprised me, nearly causing me to capsize. I steadied my boat, dug in and quickly paddled away from the craggy point fingering its way toward San Miguel Island three miles west. Another elephant once roamed these parts. About 20,000 years ago, the archipelago was
ing spray from the exploding waves. Some young California sea lions frolicked in the tubular conditions, the best bodysurfers on the windswept isle. Far beyond the cresting swells and the swaying kelp beds, a lone sea urchin boat lay anchored motionless on the horizon. I scrambled up a short, steep bluff with my binoculars and scanned 360 degrees. The plume from a whale’s spout floated offshore, a pair of black oystercatchers pried at barnacle encrusted mussels, and a herd of Kaibab deer frozen by my presence stared back teary-eyed into my binoculars. Then I came across a once popular but now ancient beach hangout on one of the many marine terraces on Santa Rosa—a dense pile of broken abalone shells, sun-bleached fish bones and spineless, gutted sea urchins. Known as a midden, or trash heap, it is evidence of ancient everyday living on the windswept island. Various sites similar to this one, numbering in the hundreds throughout the chain, are the remains of Chumash villages, burial grounds and tool making quarries.
The First Islander Paddling along the coast of Santa Rosa Island, one of the Channel Islands.
one immense island named Santarosae. Then, the channel crossing from the mainland was a mere five miles, and Columbian mammoths made the swim across to the island. Seven thousand years later, those wooly behemoths had evolved into a pygmy species only four feet tall at the shoulder. Eventually, the polar ice caps melted, sea levels rose and the archipelago formed. This left the mammoths stranded where they eventually became extinct. About 2,000 years ago the islands reached their present size. Today you can find fossilized remains of the woolies protruding from the walls of remote canyons. Over fifty archaeological sites containing pygmy mammoths exist on Santa Rosa Island, and a complete pygmy mammoth skeleton, the only one of its kind, was discovered in 1994.
ly stretch of sand dunes. Weathered bluffs hovered above crashing surf. California brown pelicans, double-crested cormorants and western gulls roosted on knobby pinnacles, enjoying the warm sun and the occasional light, sooth-
As well as the bones of pygmy mammoth, Santa Rosa Island contains the oldest positively dated human remains in North America, at 13,200 years old. Known as “Arlington Springs Man,” his remains were discovered in 1959 by anthropologist Phil Orr at Arlington Canyon, where a freshwater spring gently flows to the beach on the west end of Santa Rosa Island. Two femurs were found protruding out of a crumbling canyon wall along with fossilized remains of pygmy mammoths and giant mice.
The Maritime Culture of Wima Wima is what the Chumash Indians called Santa Rosa Island. After landing my kayak on another deserted beach, I explored a long, lone-
Arlington Canyon, where the remains of Arlington Springs Man were found. july–september 2008
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The canyon is generally difficult to approach in a kayak because it is exposed to swells pushed by strong northwesterly winds. Fortunately, when I arrived, conditions were placid. I glided in on a feathering wave at high tide. The cobbled beach was fortified by a flotsam of tangled bull kelp, shards of driftwood, tattered fishing lines and punctured buoys. I ran through a gauntlet of kelp flies, escaping into a freshwater estuary. The water was clear and sweet and soothing on my salt-encrusted skin. Arlington Canyon is narrow and tranquil. Where the remains of Arlington Man were found, the first islanders had a terrific vantage point to watch the sea, retrieve fresh water, fish and hunt. What is amazing is that Arlington Man must have paddled some form of watercraft, migrating down the coast and out to the island.
Rounding Carrington The front side of Santa Rosa along the wavebattered coast was awe-inspiring. For eighteen miles I dodged consistent surf as howling northwest winds aided my progress. When I needed a rest, I paddled into thick kelp beds that forced the waves to lie down. On a couple of occasions I ducked inside tiny, secluded coves with just enough beach to rest and hide from the weather. As I was closing in on Carrington Point, a colossal wall of fog engulfed my point of reference, bearing down on me like a giant wave. When it swallowed me up I couldn’t see a quarter mile ahead, but the misty haze cooled my skin and offered respite from the glaring sun. As quickly as it arrived, the overcast skies opened up, and the sheer, broad cliff face of Carrington again dominated the horizon. When I rounded its eroding mass, half moon Bechers Bay shimmered in the afternoon light. The end of my journey had arrived. I was thrilled to reach my final destination and grateful for my discoveries, but equally dispirited that my thirty-seven mile circumnavigation of Wima was finished. Island Info National Geographic Maps Trails Illustrated of the Channel Islands National Park shows permitted camping areas on Santa Rosa. The topographic map explains those restrictions. Call 800-365-CAMP for a beach camping permit. For boat transportation, call Island Packers 805-642-1393. For more information, contact the Channel Islands National Park 805-658-5730. http://www.nps.gov/chis/ 10
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Paddling the Cascade High Lakes
by Suzanne Johnson
A
t the southern end of the Cascade mountain range in Oregon, nestled into a curve in the Deschutes River, the thriving little city of Bend draws in flocks of tourists to fly-fish the river, mountain bike the trails of the Deschutes National Forest, or wine and dine in the growing restaurant scene. Those who come to canoe or kayak often assume that the Deschutes River offers the best paddling opportunity, and thereby miss out on the breathtaking beauty of the Cascade High Lakes. The Cascade Lakes Highway winds southwest out of Bend, through the Deschutes National Forest and up to the High Lakes, a string of liquid pearls tucked beneath the peaks of South Sister, Mt. Bachelor and Broken Top. The highway climbs eighteen miles before reaching Mount Bachelor Ski Resort, which is the end of the road for six months of the year. From midNovember well into May, the snow plows go no farther than the ski resort’s parking lot, and only those on Nordic skis or snowmobiles can venture beyond. By late May, the ten-plus feet of annual snowfall has melted, and the Cascade Lakes Highway shoots through the valley between Mount Bachelor and Broken Top Mountain, opening a veritable summer playground of lakes, rivers and trails. The Cascade Lakes Highway is listed by the US Forest Service as an official scenic byway, and is worth the drive just to take in the scenery. The area’s volcanic history is evident in the looming fields of rough black volcanic boulders and red cinder rock. Towering ponderosa pines and junipers dominate the landscape, with 12
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patches of charred tree trunks serving as a reminder of the power of wildfire. Located near the 44th parallel, equidistant from the North Pole and the equator, the High Lakes have over fifteen hours of daylight at the height of summer. Yet at 5000 feet above sea level, evening temperatures drop enough to keep glacial fields hanging on the peaks year round. As in many northern latitudes, the summer days stretch into long golden evenings, but the summer months are short-lived, and every minute is precious. And there’s nowhere better to spend them than in a canoe or kayak in the middle of a cold, clear alpine lake. The High Lakes encompass over a dozen bodies of water ranging in scale from the 110 acre Little Lava Lake, headwaters of the Deschutes River, to Wickiup Reservoir, which covers 10,000 acres at full pool. Sailboat enthusiasts are drawn to the consistent winds of Elk Lake, while waterskiers and wakeboarders head to Crescent Lake or Cultus, where long stretches of calm water can usually be found. For paddlers seeking clear, calm water with excellent wildlife viewing, Sparks Lake and Hosmer Lake are the destinations of choice.
SPARKS LAKE About seven miles west of Mt. Bachelor on the Cascade Lakes Highway, Sparks Lake is the first of the High Lakes visible from the road. The lake covers almost 400 acres, with a channel linking the northern and southern parts of the lake. Sparks is quite shallow, less than ten feet at its deepest point, making it the warmest of the july–september 2008
High Lakes and most inviting for an invigorating swim. Cutthroat and brook trout populate the lake and fishing is popular early in the season, dropping off as lake levels diminish. Another 350 acres of wetlands and wet meadows extend beyond the lake, attracting Rocky Mountain elk, beavers and raptors. The volcanic activity that formed these lakes is evident today, especially around the shores of Sparks Lake. Remnants of the lava flows that originally diverted and dammed sections of the Deschutes River now exist as black pumice and basalt formations edging the lake and jutting up as small islands. They are both interesting and hazardous, as the sharp, rough surface can make shore access difficult and walking the lake bottom painful. Rafting sandals or water shoes with sturdy soles are highly recommended!
HOSMER LAKE Continue west on Century Drive past Sparks Lake for about eight miles to find Hosmer Lake. Turn east onto Forest Road 4625 and drive about a mile to the lake. Before unloading the boat or fussing with gear, walk to the water’s edge and activate your senses. Early arrivals can catch the mist burning off the water, while the songbirds belt out their own personal anthems, and the occasional trout startles the surface in search of breakfast. Like Sparks, Hosmer Lake is divided into two main open areas that are connected by a channel. With over 150 acres of lake to explore, you'll want to bring along some food and water
to avoid trips back to the car. The lake water is clear enough to watch the torpedo shapes of Atlantic Salmon, rainbow and brook trout swimming below—polarized sunglasses define the view even more. The Atlantic Salmon are hatchery raised and managed by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. Their presence improves the fishing capacity for the lake. Hosmer is a flyfish-only lake. Small electric motors are allowed, but more fishing is done by float tube than motorboat, keeping the scene quiet and serene. Binoculars help to get up close and personal with the herons and bitterns stalking frogs in the reeds. One last suggestion: mountain runoff water stays cold and weather changes quickly, so pack a shell or fleece jacket. Note: Like most sites maintained by the Forest Service, a parking pass is required at all High Lakes boat launch parking lots. Cars must display an Annual Northwest Forest Pass or Interagency Pass, or visitors can purchase a day pass onsite for five dollars per day.
DESCHUTES PADDLE TRAIL GUIDE This summer is the perfect time to paddle the Cascade High Lakes, as the Bend Paddle
Trail Alliance launches the first phase of the Deschutes Paddle Trail. Following two years of study, mapping and planning, the BPTA has produced a Deschutes Paddle Trail Guide, covering both the Deschutes River and the High Lakes. The lakes guide consists of a foldout map with driving directions, GPS information, boat launch and campground sites and safety information. It will be available for no cost by July 2008, at the Bend Visitor Center and local paddling shops. More information on the Deschutes Paddle Trail, the lakes guide and the river guide are available on the Bend Paddle Trail Alliance website (bendpaddletrailalliance.com).
LODGING AND DINING For a weekend or extended stay, Bend lodging options range from campgrounds to cozy B&Bs to full service hotels. The Bend Visitor Center offers an online guide to lodging and dining at visitbend.com. For those who’d prefer to avoid the bustle of town, cabin rentals are available along the shores of Elk Lake at the Elk Lake Resort. The cabins are equipped with full kitchens, but no
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cooking is required: the resort restaurant serves up hearty fare at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Dinner reservations are recommended. Each of the High Lakes has one or more rustic campgrounds along its shores, maintained by the US Forest Service. The sites are available on a first come, first serve basis for RVs or tent camping, and during the height of summer, sites fill by Thursday afternoon for the weekend. Pit toilets are provided but bring your own drinking water. Some campgrounds charge a $6/night fee. RESOURCES High lakes campground information: High Lakes Contractors. Phone: 541-382-9443. Web: www.fs.fed.us/r6/centraloregon/ recreation/campgrounds/ Canoe and kayak rentals: Alder Creek Kayak & Canoe, 805 Industrial Way, Suite 6, Bend, OR 97701. Phone: 541-317-9407. Web: aldercreek.com Bend Visitor Center, 917 NW Harriman Street, Bend, OR 97701. Phone: 800-949-6080. Web: visitbend.com Elk Lake Resort. Phone: 541-480-7378. Web: Elklakeresort.net Deschutes Paddle Trail Guide information: BendPaddleTrailAlliance.org
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SLIPPING PAST SOLANDER by Dan Lewis photo by Bonny Glambeck
A
friend once asked Bonny and me where we would go and what we would do if we knew we had only a week to live. She found it remarkable that we responded separately with the same answer: back to the Brooks Peninsula. The Brooks Peninsula is the Mount Everest of Vancouver Island’s coast. Take a look at any map—the Brooks is on the west side, right near the north end. It juts ten miles out to sea, and the rugged rocky shoreline is constantly pounded by swell. The tip of the peninsula has been named Cape Cook by Europeans, and consists of sheer cliffs rising above a minefield of underwater rocks and reefs. It is just north of the Nuu-ChahNulth village of Kyuquot, a name meaning “place of many winds.” The Brooks was a glacial refugium, never covered by glaciers during the last ice age, and thus home to rare endemic plants. The hills were not shaped by ice like the rest of the BC coast, and they are covered with gnarly little trees. You see it immediately and feel it instinctively in your soul—this place is different. I have only paddled around it three times, and each time has been dramatically different. The first time it was flat calm, unbelievably so. As we set off to round the cape, I pondered the meaning of extreme kayaking. “Is this it?” I wondered. “This place is supposed to be so scary, yet it’s like paddling a mill pond.” We rounded Cape Cook and began to head south. The wind began to rise so subtly that we didn’t notice at first. It quickly rose to a breeze, then a stiff breeze. Within fifteen minutes the winds were howling an estimated twenty to thirty knots, from the northwest. I love paddling in wind, but this wind was blowing offshore, and if we were swept away from the peninsula, we would end up drifting down the coast, about ten miles out.
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I wanted to get off the water, pronto. We decided to head for shore. I saw a tiny patch of sand, and we snuck in through a maze of boulders in the surf zone. The patch of sand turned out to be about the size of a tiny living room, and was covered in bear tracks. Still, it was much better than paddling in that spooky wind. I passed the evening in existential angst, wondering what the heck I was doing out there at the edge of the world, trying to understand why the wind had picked up so suddenly, and wondering if and when it would ever die down. The winds did finally ease that night. We got up early the next day and made good our escape. A couple of years later I rounded the Brooks a second time, while circumnavigating Vancouver Island with my pal Pierre. We were young and hungry for challenges. The westerly wind was already blowing in the twenties when we set off. We pounded into headwinds along the north shore of the Brooks, rounded Cape Cook, and put up our kites to sail the rest of the way. My kite crashed into the sea, and I floated there amongst the boomers, untangling the lines as Pierre disappeared up ahead. I finally gave up on the kite and began to surf wind waves, trying to catch up to Pierre. The sun was sinking over the horizon when I finally realized I wasn’t going to catch up. I wasn't particularly worried—I felt a level of comfort from having been there before, a sense that I knew the place and would be okay. Just then Pierre paddled up from the sketchylooking beach on shore. “Did you see the huge bonfire I built to guide you in?” he asked. Only then did I notice his blaze, completely dwarfed by the immensity of the landscape. The third time I rounded the Brooks was with Bonny, as we kayaked home from Winter Harbour in September—a dicey time of year. The weather can be brilliant—clear, sunny, calm—but everyone knows that
winter is coming and there is a sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The first big storm often hits around the equinox, but it can easily arrive early. We approached the Brooks from the north, mid-month. A storm was forecast, so we decided to hole up in the East Creek Valley (see "Night of the Rising River," WaveLength June 2001). After weathering the storm, there was a bit of a window, and then another storm was predicted. The last thing I wanted was to get trapped on the north side of the Brooks Peninsula as the autumn storms began, so we decided to make a run for it, even though conditions were less than ideal. By less than ideal I mean: winds forecast from the southwest at up to 20 knots, with combined wind wave and swell height reported at 3.9 metres. We figured we could manage it. With the sea state so huge, we knew we would not be able to land on any of the beaches. This meant about twenty nautical miles in the cockpits, so we had better be prepared. We spent the day before our departure resting, spreading all our gear out in the sun to dry, and repairing everything that needed repairs—your basic pagan ritual to appease Neptune. We finally pushed off at dawn, under overcast skies and light winds. We quickly paddled the north shore. As we rounded Cape Cook we saw a vast area of boomers, whitewater cascading down over all those rocks and reefs between the cape and Solander Island—a wee island about a mile off Cape Cook. It is forbidden to land there as it is an Ecological Reserve, meant to protect the nesting habitat of seabirds. We swung wide of all the boomers, trying to go out and around. It became apparent that we were not going in the direction our bows were pointed; rather we were ferry gliding on a line that would take us right
past Solander—next stop Tokyo. We realized there must be a current off the tip of the Brooks pushing us backwards. The headwind had also picked up dramatically as we rounded the cape, and was combining with the current to push us off course. It was time to think fast—no screwing up. We decided to ferry out to Solander, which would take us out around the boomers, then use the back eddies along Solander to creep upstream against the wind and current. It was that or turn back, which would not have been easy. Sure enough, the plan worked like a charm. We were easily able to make progress in the eddies off Solander, and once we had cleared its southern tip, the current and the wind both died down. They must have been funneled between the steep cliffy shores of Solander Island and Cape Cook. The rest of the day turned into a slog, then a blur. We finally pulled out on a sandy beach just after sunset, exhausted and barely able to stand, let alone haul our kayaks up the beach and set up camp. We were famished and had to feed ourselves, then we fell into bed and slept for more than twelve hours. As these tales demonstrate, it is scary out there and you need more than just paddling skills to survive the Brooks Peninsula. Most people approach from Kyuquot, and explore the south side, rather than trying to kayak around. Our friend was astonished to learn not only that Bonny and I would want to do the same thing if time was short, but that we had already done it. Whatever your dream is, I urge you to go for it. If recreation is not a priority, it won’t get done!
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The Art Of The Portage Sayward Canoe Route
by Adam Stewart
I
n the late 17th century, in the remote forests of New France, troops of frontiersmen risked their lives transporting fur pelts down the narrow and rocky rivers of Quebec. The voyageurs, or coureurs des bois, battled churning rapids and potent winter storms to trade goods and supplies for the prized furs that were sent to Europe. Life was harsh and dangerous. Day after day, these men endured the gruelling task of portaging with a canoe full of goods. Voyageur canoes were usually about 24 feet long and 250 pounds, with eight men sometimes bearing a payload of up to 2½ tons. It’s no surprise that the most common injury was a strangulated hernia. The art of the portage is as variable as each portage itself. No one technique is enough; rather, the paddler becomes a climber, laborer, engineer, dancer, comedian, and most of all, frustrated madman. A taste of the voyageur spirit is available on the Sayward Canoe Route, a twelve-lake circuit on North Vancouver Island. In the presence of the island’s natural oceanic beauty, the fresh water pursuit is often forgotten. No need to either put the kayak away for the season or brave the havoc of the winter Pacific. The sheltered lakes of the island make for a splendid winter paddle. The Sayward Canoe Route, despite its name, offers a wonderful option for a moderate kayak excursion through the scenic Sayward Forest. Devastated by the Great Campbell Lake Fire of 1938, the Sayward Forest was nearly wiped out by the month-long blaze. Over 30,000 hectares of old growth was destroyed. Fortunately, the devastation stirred a massive replantation effort the following year, and 800,000 Douglas firs were planted in only one month. The firs dominate the view from the lakes, although the odd hemlock, cedar and pine dot the shoreline. One of the most popular routes for canoes, this circuit covers 48 kilometres of both paddling and portaging over three to four days. While the paddles are often short and easy on calm, glassy lakes, several of the portages pose a hurdle with a fully-loaded kayak. Thus, wheels are advisable. Most of the twelve lakes are accessible via logging roads, making for easy put-ins at almost any section of the circuit. Menzies Main logging road runs west off Highway 19 north of Campbell River, just past the Catalyst Sawmill. Access to the lakes is on arteries from Menzies Main. Many of the lakes have forestry-serviced Recreation Sites, making them excellent put-in spots, the main ones being Gosling, Campbell and Mohun Lakes.
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After launching at Gosling, our group enjoyed a leisurely 1.8 kilometre paddle across this calm, isolated lake. As easy as the paddle was, we quickly found out the adventurous nature to this lake circuit—the portage. BC Forest Service maintains trails between the twelve lakes, which range in length from 100 metres to 2.2 kilometres. Most trails are smooth and wheel-ready, but the odd portage is undeniably challenging. The portage between Lawier and Mohun Lakes, although only 300 metres, snakes over slippery rock and dodgy root sections. The rough terrain makes wheeling impossible, so prepare for some team laboring early on. Mohun Lake sports a beautiful wooded island, ideal for a lunching or camping site, at the start of a 9.2 kilometre paddle. Terminating at the end of a long arm at the north end of the lake, the paddling section then leads to a long uphill portage. This 1.6 kilometre section is fairly steep in some sections and sporting some washed out areas riddled with gnarly root systems and slick rocks. Prepare for a bit of effort and group cooperation to get fully loaded kayaks through.
However, this particularly challenging portage is not without its reward. The trail leads to a low-lying marsh area, with shallow canals twisting through reeds and other wetland foliage. The canals can be disorienting, so be prepared to navigate. The swamp channels lead to Amor Lake, where there are several small islands that are ideal for camping, being just big enough for two or three tents and accompanying gear. Following two more short portages and
july–september 2008
“We know our stuff”
more wetland channels, the route exits onto Brewster Lake, a 5.2 km paddle on possibly the most scenic lake of the route. Past Brewster Lake is a logjam that requires a short logging-road portage to short paddles on Gray, Whymper and Fry Lakes, terminating back at Campbell Lake. A moderate 8.3 km paddle on more exposed waters returns to the popular put-in at Gosling Bay. Although we’ve traded pelts for Gore-Tex and polar fleece, a taste of the frontier spirit is still accessible today. Provided one is ready to put out some effort navigating a kayak through the forest, the Sayward Canoe Route offers an exciting and practical excursion through one of the island’s overlooked paddling gems. Just be glad there are no pelts to carry.
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Adam Stewart is an outdoorsman, writer and native Vancouver Islander.
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WaveLength Magazine
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Discovery Islands Kayaking Off The Radar by Lyn Hancock
I
first battled the rips and rapids of the various Discovery Islands between Vancouver Island and the Mainland—Seymour Narrows, Yuculta Rapids, Arran Rapids, Dent Rapids, Hole in the Wall and Surge Narrows—over 40 years ago in a 15 foot rubber boat powered by a 45 hp outboard motor. Unlike kayakers, my husband chose to do this at peak flood for more exciting film footage. I recall enormous logs being gobbled down like matchsticks through gaping holes in the swirling water and killer whales spouting beside us, cleaving the same whirlpools. It was nerve wracking to think our motor could stop and we would be sucked down into the vortex of those treacherous waters. So it was with some trepidation that I joined a group of Nanaimo Paddlers— Glenn Lewis, Jean Graham, Ron and Claire Surgenor—to do these waters in a double kayak with my paddling mate Reale Emond. John Kimantas, author of The Wild Coast trilogy of paddling guides, described our route around Quadra, Sonora, Maurelle and Read Islands as “well off the kayakers’ radar” and with good cause. Glenn Lewis, our experienced leader, assuaged our fears somewhat by assuring us that we would be paddling the rapids during the neap tides of June, just after the first and third quarters of the moon when there is the least difference between high and low water. He planned our itinerary to transit the rapids around slack tide. Once on the water, he pointed out further safety options. Wherever feasible, we avoided the main current, we chose calmer waters close to the shore and we utilized back eddies. He emphasized staying together as a group. The big event of the first day after we launched from the Walcan Road Cannery on the west coast of Quadra Island was Seymour Narrows in Discovery Passage. In the late 1700s, Captain George Vancouver called this “one of the vilest stretches of water in the world.” The two peaks of Ripple Rock that reached within a few metres of the surface had sunk or damaged 119 vessels and killed almost as many people. The rocks were removed in 1958, but the waves and whirlpools remain. To my amazement, I actually missed this famous area of turbulence. I must have been day dreaming, gawking at the line of yachts and power boats making their run through the narrows on the Vancouver Island side while we in kayaks, also one behind the other, sneaked along the edge of Quadra Island on the other side of the passage. We were slapped around when the wake of the big boats reached us but I was expecting some of the dangers I remembered from my first trip. I did warn Reale who was steering our double to stay closer to shore. “I am compromising,” she countered. “I don’t want to go too close to the rocks, neither do I want to edge too much into the main current.” Current? Thanks to our leader’s plan of avoidance, I had scarcely noticed there was one. Glenn was waiting ahead. “Well, you just did Seymour Narrows,” he said with a smile when we caught up with him. I scarcely believed him. Two days later, we had rounded Sonora Island, camped without incident in prime bear country, managed to keep our tents above high tide line with bunkers of rocks and logs, and were planning our strategy for Dent and Yuculta Rapids. This waterway included a dangerous tidal whirlpool appropriately named Devil’s Hole. 18
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Timing is crucial for safe transit of rapids, and with only 45 minutes to travel between Dent and Yuculta, we could not be in both places at the same opportune time. Instead, we would have to compromise and try the second set of rapids at the beginning of the flood tide. With jocularity masking our apprehension, we took the precautions of rising well before dawn, donning wet suits, doing without a hot breakfast, and clearing the decks of our kayaks for safer rescues if necessary. We left our camp under the dour shadow of Estero Peak and paddled through the tranquility of dawn towards waters described as “perilous” by John Kimantas. When we got to Dent we found it more picturesque than perilous. Seals were everywhere bobbing about in the current. Seabirds were riding the waves. Eagles were making passes over the water. All were attracted to the abundant fish, which were in turn attracted by the upwelling currents of the changing tides. We decided to play safe and bypass Dent Rapids by using Tugboat Passage between Dent and Little Dent Island. It was still thrilling, especially for our lighter singles, to paddle through the playful waters and feel their power—manageable power at the time we arrived. But Yuculta Rapids opposite Stuart Island were still ahead and it would be the beginning of the flood tide by the time we got there. “Coming up, your next chance to die,” said Glenn flippantly as he passed me with a smile. “I don’t mind losing one paddler per trip, no more.” A few moments later while I was ogling the mountains behind Big Bay on Stuart Island for photo-ops, he quipped,” Well, how did you like those whirlpools back there?” “Whirlpools? Where?” I asked innocently. Not again! “You just came through them,” he laughed. Again, Glenn’s good planning had avoided the dangers of the more infamous rapids. Later that day, having decided to leave the Rendezvous Islands in Calm Channel to another trip, we avoided the strong currents at the west entrance of the Hole in the Wall between Sonora and Maurelle Islands by waiting till slack tide. Some of us spent several hours dozing on the comfortably smooth rocks of Florence Cove. Finally, we left the cove and paddled past the lighthouse under Elephant Mountain towards the exit of the passage. We hugged the southern shoreline as closely as possible, constantly checking the strength of the current. The waters were still too turbulent. We stopped and waited again, after finding temporary harbors for our craft among the slippery rocks. Finally Glenn motioned that it was safe enough to make the turn into Okisollo Channel. I was thankful for his leadership and Reale’s competent steering. Ironically, we ran into trouble on the day that four of us left the group while we were camping on exquisite Francisco Island close to Maurelle Island in Okisollo Channel. Glenn and Jean decided to relax at our campsite handily situated on a narrow neck of land so that our kitchen area faced Maurelle on one side and our haulout beach and a couple of our tents faced Quadra and the Octopus Islands Marine Park on the other side. It was the only hot, sunny day of the trip and Ron and Claire, Reale and I were keen to explore every nook and cranny of the beautiful Octopus archipelago. Several huge mud flats made it inconvenient at low tide to land kayaks but there was one usable beach, lots of clams, sand dollars and moon snails to lend interest, and even a river in which to wash. If I get back I will camp there in the grass by the big white stone that july–september 2008
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from a distance looked like a house, but close-up was a plaque acknowledging the private gift to the park of a dozen hectares in 2005. If the ease of riding the rapids of the past days had made us nonchalant, the comparative difficulty of returning to our camp on Francisco Island kept us humble. Unlike Glenn, we hadn’t done enough homework. We hadn’t foreseen the power of the flooding tide that hurtled past our island
home once we left the protection of the Octopus Islands to begin the paddle across the channel. It had been calm on the way over. Currents and counter currents made it turbulent on the way back. “Let’s head for a point further north than our island,” advised Ron, “otherwise the current will push us right past the bay where we want to go.” Easier said than done. We didn’t get as far north as we needed. It looked as if we’d miss the island entirely and never make it back to camp till the tide changed again. We thought of heading for the back side of Francisco Island where it cuddled into Maurelle, perhaps the water would be calmer there. A good thing we didn’t, as Glenn and Jean told us later that the water was even faster on the other side. They had watched branches whizzing around the same whirlpool for hours. That could have been us. “Let’s see if we can reach the little bay at the northern end of the island where we can regroup, hug the shore and creep through the kelp to our camp site,” I suggested when we got close enough to communicate.
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Suddenly we were in the middle of the tidal stream and it was every kayak for itself. “What huge whirlpools!” I heard Claire yell. I turned my head to catch a glimpse of her little kayak bouncing around in the white-crested waves. “She’s having problems. Let’s go help,” said Reale instantly as she began the turnabout. We were caught between helping our companion who seemed to be having problems, the risk of turning over in the tumultuous waters in order to reach her, and the improbability of doing a rescue if anybody fell out. I didn’t know what to say. “What should we do?” asked Reale anxiously. “We have to make up our minds.” “Ron’s closer to her. All I know to stay safe is to paddle as hard as we can across the current and get to shore. No help if four kayaks bump into each other in the current and all capsize.” Still, I felt guilty. Our double Seaward with its four-arm power definitely had the advantage in these waters. Reale and I reached the northernmost beach of Francisco Island with little difficulty, followed almost immediately by Ron and the irrepressible Claire who insisted that she really wasn’t in trouble and that she enjoyed the challenge of the whirlpools. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not. One thing for sure, all of us learned not to take anything for granted. Our last rapids before the end of our trip at Rebecca Spit was Surge Narrows in Okisollo Channel at the southern end of Maurelle Island. The sea had not yet finished its teaching. There are several routes through Surge Narrows. Powerboats use the wider Beazley Passage between Sturt Island and Peck Island. We had been advised against this for kayaks because Beazley is the centre of the strongest rapids and also has competing traffic. Kayakers prefer the less turbulent southern channel between Peck and Quadra or the northern channel between Sturt and Maurelle. Planning from secondary sources is not always a substitute for first hand experience and even a structured trip should remain flexible. We took one look at fast foaming water being hurled above a big rock island in the middle of the southern channel and knew we could not run that passage. We looked left but the water was still running too fast for us on the other side of the rocky divide as well. Perhaps the northern channel be-
july–september 2008
tween Sturt and Maurelle was calmer but it took more time to get there. Keeping the northern option open, we heeded Ron’s observation that Beazley in the middle didn’t look as bad as our southern option so we lined up behind Glenn and paddled briskly to its entrance. Midstream, Glenn took a look and agreed with Ron. “Let’s give it a try.” It was half an hour after the low slack and the current was running about 6 knots. The entrance into Beazley was surprisingly calm but as soon as we exited the narrow channel between the islands, we slammed into the turbulence. The sea became a stage for whirling dervishes as streams of water from all the channels joined in the dance. “Keep going,” screamed Jean to Glenn, “or I’ll bash into you.” There was little that Glenn could do to avoid her. At the mercy of the eddies, his kayak swung around and faced hers head on. Jean slipped past in time to avert collision. Meanwhile, Claire’s kayak was turning circles. I didn’t see Ron. “Go right,” I shouted to Reale, “let’s get out of here.” In calmer waters we regrouped for the five hour run in the fog and rain down Hoskyn Channel to Rebecca Spit on Quadra Island and so completed our circuit of the Discovery Islands. “We haven’t lost anyone!” Glenn announced facetiously at roll call. Yes, due to his detailed planning and our ability to change plans in the light of personal experience. Lyn Hancock is an adventurous Aussie Canuck, an author of 19 books and multitudinous articles, a photographer, teacher and presenter based in Nanoose Bay. She calls her kayak Lyn's Ark and readers of her books such as There's a Seal in my Sleeping Bag and Tabasco the Saucy Raccoon will know why. Visit her at www.lynhancock.com and
[email protected].
“We know our stuff”
getting you out there since 1981
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The only real difference is Da Vinci never intended the Mona Lisa to get wet. Designed by artist, assembled by sculptors, paddled by YOU. Visit our website to see our 7 new models, inlcuding the Cypress, and to locate your nearest dealer.
july–september 2008
WaveLength Magazine
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Bute Inlet Grizzlies A trip to British Columbia’s Coast Mountain Watershed
by Alex Matthews
Photo by Alex Matthews
O
ur small group of paddlers stands on a gravel bar where the Algaard Creek joins the Orford River. We’re here to see grizzlies. Our Xwemalhkwu (Homalco) First Nation guide points far downstream to a big male making its way back up along the riverbank. He’s sure that the grizzly will take a path through the bush and emerge back out onto the beach across the river from us. We hurry into position and I rush to get my biggest lens fitted to my camera. Just as I swing the Nikon up to my eye, the bear bursts out of the forest. Seeing us, the big grizzly takes several rapid steps in our direction. His image fills my viewfinder and emergency bells explode in my head: this bear is way too close!
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I snap a few wildly desperate shots and then drop the camera from my eye, ready to flee. Of course, the bear is a good distance away: it’s only the extreme magnification of the zoom that has fooled me. Our guide lightly touches my shoulder and gives me an amused grin. I feel foolish, but my heartbeat starts to slow down to a reasonable rate. I take more pictures as this awesome animal inspects us and then moves on. Finally, I draw what feels like my first breath in minutes—the encounter has literally left me breathless. Last September my wife Rochelle and I went along on a guided kayak trip led by my pal Ralph Keller of Coast Mountain Expeditions. Ralph and his wife Lannie also own and operate Discovery Lodge on Quadra Island. Quadra is located between mainland BC and Vancouver Island with ferry service from the town of Campbell River on Vancouver Island. We met up with six other guests at the beautiful Discovery Lodge, which was to be our point of departure. After a great night’s sleep and breakfast, we loaded our kayaks and headed out toward the mainland. Our paddling route took us through Whiterock Passage, to a lunch-spot on one of the Rendezvous Islands. From there it was a straight shot across Calm Channel to the BC mainland and our first campsite. The following day we began to kayak up Bute Inlet, enjoying the amazing skyline of the magnificent Coast Mountain watershed, which includes some of British Columbia’s highest mountains. A warm sun beat down on us, even as the water beneath our hulls took on the distinctive icy teal color of glacial runoff.
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Having camped out a second night, we paddled the last leg of our journey up Bute Inlet to the mouth of the Orford River and the Xwemalhkwu First Nation’s grizzly bear sanctuary. This is the ancient Papknach village site in the traditional territory of the Xwemalhkwu—a people who have shared their home with the grizzlies for millennia and consequently have a profound connection to the bears and their environment. Every fall, grizzlies congregate at the Orford River for the salmon run, feeding on the fish that head up the river to spawn. The salmon run is incredibly important to the grizzlies because before they head back inland to hibernate for the winter, the bears need the big protein hit that only gorging on salmon can provide. Normally, grizzlies would never tolerate so many other bears in such close proximity, but the rich resource of the salmon-filled river is enough to force a truce, at least for a little while. The Xwemalhkwu First Nation maintains a small hatchery on the Orford and offers guided bear watching tours. We stayed at their camp, which consists of basic logging-camp style accommodation. While it’s not luxurious, its simple utilitarian approach is reasonably comfortable,
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PADDLER’S PICK
and more importantly provides the needed distance and security to protect both visitors and bears. For both days that we stayed at the camp we had incredible views of grizzlies, and it was tremendous seeing the bears work the river. On shore, our Xwemalhkwu guide took us to several viewing locations, but we also used our kayaks to great effect, paddling up the mouth of the river for some spectacular views of bears. Leaving the camp the following day we set out paddling back toward Quadra. Some hours later, as prearranged, Lannie met us in the Photo by Rochelle Relyea lodge’s boat. Displaying the perfect timing of the true professional, she appeared just as the first drops of rain began to fall. In no time, our kayaks were loaded aboard and we were soon back at the lodge. Tucking into another beautiful meal, we swapped stories, relived events and marveled at the magnificent grizzlies that we felt so privileged to have seen. For more information contact: Coast Mountain Expeditions www.coastmountainexpeditions.com
“IT’S HERE”
D K L.
“The Ultimate 17 Foot Kayak” july–september 2008
Maple Ridge, BC, Canada www.deltakayaks.com 604-460-6544
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Kayaking the Broughton Archipelago “Enjoy Our Beautiful Country” by Matthew Bowes
S
prawled out on Bill Proctor’s dock amidst a mess of charts in the afternoon sun, I am absorbed in a scene framed by the image of the freshly painted “Ocean Dawn,” a beautiful classic troller built for open waters by second generation Vancouver shipwright Morris Gronlund. The boat is set against a backdrop of glassy water and homes perched along the densely treed, steep, rocky shoreline of Proctor’s Bay. I have known Bill casually for about eight years since I began bringing my kayaking groups into Echo Bay as a guide on commercial sea kayaking trips in the Broughton Archipelago and Johnstone Strait. A visit to Billy’s Museum situated on the Proctor homestead is always a highlight of these trips. Lining the floor and shelves are artifacts, or what he calls “junk,” collected during a lifetime of logging, fishing and beachcombing. The scene always reminds me of Martin Alderdale Grainger’s Woodsmen of the West description of the shops on Cordova Street in Vancouver in the early 20th century: You come to shops that show faller’s axes, swamper’s axes—single bitted, double bitted; screw jacks and pump jacks, wedges, sledge hammers, and great seven foot saws with enormous shark teeth… Antique bottles are lined up on the shelves in translucent rows, and glass topped wooden boxes house large displays of ancient projectile
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points, awls and hammer stones. The trolling spoons on the wall hang in testament to the commercial fishing history on the coast. An adjacent building sells local art, crafts and literature. I like dropping by the Proctors’ because it offers a glimpse into rural coastal life and its history, and Bill is always happy to talk or “bulls...t” with my groups about his home—“the area from Drury Inlet to Johnstone Strait … called the Broughton Archipelago by government agencies, but the residents of the area simply call it the Mainland” as described by Bill and Echo Bay writer Alex Morton in Bill’s life story, Heart of the Raincoast. Moreover, they contend “[t]here are very few family homesteads left on this coast and here is unique, with three generations living on it until 1997…”
A visit to Echo Bay is always complemented by a stopover on Village Island further south in the Archipelago at the beginning of our kayaking trips: the site of a large abandoned native village which is documented vividly in J.P Spradely’s Guests Never Leave Hungry: The Autobiography of James Sewid, a Kwakiutl Indian. These places bookend our journeys through the islands, inlets and open sea between. These visits also provide experiences from which a cultural landscape is formed in people’s imaginations to enrich and frame their paddling experience july–september 2008
with a heightened sense of place to carry away with them. On a typical trip during the summer , after a week spent camping on secluded shell midden beaches and weaving through a dizzying maze
of islands, we paddle slowly into Echo Bay’s small, protected harbor. A faded pictograph on the steep south-facing cliff at the entrance beckons, and the Windsong Sea Village with its funky disarray of brightly painted float houses comes into view on the north side of the bay. These houses display a decidedly Caribbeanlike disposition in contrast to the characteristic diffused light of the west coast, which Echo Bay artist and writer Yvonne Maximchuk of Sea Rose Studios (www.zoombuy.net/searose. html) described to me once as “mother of pearl white.” On the south side of the Bay sits the Echo Bay Store and Resort. (Editor's Note: Echo Bay Resort has been purchased by Pierre and Tove Landry and is now operating as Pierre's at Echo Bay.) We land on the white midden beach at the head of Echo Bay, and set up camp high on the meadow above the rim of black soil and shell bank built up during thousands of years of human settlement. Other times we paddle one bay further to Bruce and Josee McMorran’s Paddler’s Inn (www.paddlersinn.ca), a rus-
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Celebrating 36 Years www.easyriderkayaks.com kayaks – canoes rowing shells catamarans outriggers sail rigs catalog package & video: $20 ppd. (see website)
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tic and cozy wilderness kayaking lodge with worldclass views and paddling at its doorstep. Its heart is the main float house with warm, lantern lit rooms, hot showers and inviting atmosphere. In a past life this building was a church, and stained glass windows still glow reverently as if in religious testament to the surrounding glory and splendor of islands, ocean, trees and mountains. Its pulpit is a large, hostel style kitchen where hungry paddlers preach the gospel of kayaking over self-prepared meals. If you choose the catered option, Josee’s cooking can be described as no less than fresh, heavenly and organic. Inevitably, wherever I end up staying, I eventually wander off to the Proctor homestead by walking past the community hall in Echo Bay, nestled in the meadow beside Echo Bay Marine Park, past the Echo Bay School and across the tidal flats. Much of Bill’s personal history, environmental values, and political views are well known, as he has published them in Heart of the Raincoast and in an award winning history of the Broughton Archipelago Full Moon Flood Tide, co-written with Yvonne Maximchuk. Both books describe a passion, intimacy, depth of knowledge and deep connection to the land gained by exploration of its islands and deep inlets as a commercial fisherman, a logger and a trapper. I once asked Bill to describe or define his sense of this place by inquiring, “do you have one sentence to describe the area or what the area means to you?” This question elicited a thoughtful pause and a good natured, hearty laugh. Bill shook his head and exclaimed a jovial, “I don’t know. I have no idea,” that expressed the obvious difficulty in trying to describe something so complex. He declared, “Anybody comes and leaves here, I always tell them to enjoy our beautiful country.” Matthew Bowes is a Gabriola Island based writer and photographer. Matt and partner Jen Smith own and operate Gabriola Sea Kayaking. www.kayaktoursbc.com
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Alaskan Whistle Stop
SPENCER GLACIER BY RAIL AND PADDLE by Dan Armitage
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he sky-blue ice matched the color of the bottle of premium gin I had stashed back at my room, and as each paddle stroke brought me closer to the glacier, I considered chipping off a cube to chill a shot or three of the liquid Sapphire as a fitting way to end an eventful day. Before I could act, Mother Nature performed the honor for me, causing the glacier to calve a Camry-sized chunk of blue ice that set the canoe bobbing in its wash. No small effort that, as the craft carrying me was an anatomically—if not materially—correct reproduction of a freight canoe that might have plied these same Alaskan waters two centuries ago. Measuring 31 feet bow to stern and 54 inches across the gunwale, the canoe carried eight of us, each with a blade in hand and stroking in unison toward the towering wall of ancient ice. The voyage toward Spencer Glacier was just part of one of those rare paddling adventures that began long before we wet a hull. The fun commenced back in Anchorage, fifty rail miles up the line, when I boarded a train to take me to the remote site where I would see my first glacier up close and personal. The Alaska Railroad recently began offering a creative mix of rail and paddle packages to its more adventurous passengers who want to reach out and touch some of the state’s natural wonders. One of the newest offerings is the opportunity to paddle a canoe to Spencer Glacier, tucked deep in the Chugach National Forest. To get to the site, the Glacier Discovery train leaves Anchorage at ten in the morning and follows the shore of the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet, so named because it was the spot that Captain James Cook decided was as far as his quest for the Northwest Passage would lead him, and he ordered his ship to turn around to seek another Photo-Left: The Alaska Railroad makes a whistle stop at Spencer to offload paddlers who plan to canoe to its namesake glacier. The 50 mile train ride alone is spectacular, following the rugged and road-less Placer River valley from Anchorage. Photo-Top Right: Naturalists explain and help identify the flora and fauna that paddlers will see during the canoe trip to Spencer Glacier.
waterway that might mark the elusive route. The stretch of shoreline is rich in wildlife from bald eagles to wild salmon and the beluga whales that follow the fish, and my nose was tight to the window glass the entire hour-long ride. Just past the first stop at Girdwood, Alaska’s famous ski resort at the base of Mount Alyeska some forty miles down the line, the train leaves the mainline for a twelve-mile spur to the port of Whittier. Known as the gateway to Prince William Sound, the trip includes an eerie passage through the longest combined railhighway tunnel in North America, at 2.5 miles. After the stop at Whittier to offload anglers and sightseers boarding boats at the scenic port, the train returns to the main line to continue its trip toward Spencer. To do so, the route follows the rugged Placer Valley through a remote, roadless region filled with wildlife and overseen by numerous glaciers. The Glacier Discovery train next stops at Portage, where personnel from Chugach Adventure Guides board the car and meet the passengers taking the canoe tour. Our guides introduced themselves, explained what we would be likely to see along the paddle route, answered questions and outfitted us with rubber kneeboots and raingear for the damp, overcast day. Within minutes the train slowed. Peering through the window I could see the brilliant blue of the glacier, less than a mile from the tracks. The train stopped and the dozen of us who had signed on for the canoe paddle to the glacier got off and boarded a bus for the twominute ride to the beach at Spencer Lake. july–september 2008
There, two giant canoes were pulled up onto the sand, each more than 30 feet long displaying the lines of traditional watercraft used in the region, with extended prow and exaggerated stern, and painted with traditional Haida designs.* After a shore lunch prepared by the guides, we donned PFDs, were issued laminated ash paddles, and boarded the canoes, two abreast with a guide at the stern. Primarily a solo kayak paddler, it was strange for me to be in so large a manual-powered craft propelled by so many arms—sort of like riding in a full-sized SUV after hopping off my motorcycle. On the other hand, paddling the multi-person craft was like playing a team sport again after a season of singles tennis; I enjoyed the effort at coordination required to bring all the blades into a rhythm and stroking in unison. Once we mastered the commands and practiced the turns, stops and other maneuvers taught by our guide, the canoe cruised as if powered by a single force, and the effect—and the power— was thrilling. So was the destination: the sheer face of the glacier that towered higher overhead with each centipede-like stroke of my fellow paddlers. We actually had to dodge several icebergs that had calved off the ancient river of ice, cruising close enough to verify that the ice that appears above the waterline represents but a fraction of what the berg holds submerged below. The water wasn’t close to being as clear as the gin I hoped to chill with its source—the minWaveLength Magazine
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ute particles of rock and debris that the glaciers push around and suspend eventually shed off into the water as the bergs melt. Still, you can often see several feet below the surface, depending on the state of the lake’s turbidity. But it is the sights above the waterline that have awed and inspired visitors to Spencer Lake for centuries, and shouldering up to a hunk of ice that may be several thousand years old is not something to shrug off—or turn your back upon, as warned by our guide. You may get anything from a faint groan to a sound as sharp as the crack of a rifle to warn you as a chunk is shed from the ice wall where it meets the water, and you better be ready to paddle clear of the phenomenon known as “calving.” You also need to hold on, for the waves generated by the future icebergs when they hit the water can easily swamp an ill-balanced boat far larger than the Big Canoes we were aboard. After we checked out the glacier from water level, we beached the canoes on the gravel next to the ice’s edge and hiked atop the frozen mass, past ice caves and giant crevasses. Standing atop Spencer looking down at the water below as cloud-shrouded mountains towered over an icy landscape broken by countless kettles and moulans, I realized it was the best place I’d visited yet to soak up the scenery that makes Alaska such an appealing place to visit. Knowing that the only way to get to the spot was by rail and paddle made it all the more special. If You Go For more information about the Glacier Discovery Spencer Glacier Canoe Paddle, which sells for $181 per person roundtrip from Anchorage, contact the Alaska Railroad at 800-544-0552 / AlaskaRailroad.com or Chugach Adventure Guides at 877-783-2004 /
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The Canoes Clipper Canoes’ Northern Dancer model was developed at the urgings of noted Canadian artist Roy Henry Vickers. It is a canoe true to native design, but has been built with modern materials. According to Clipper Canoes, the bow and stern of the Northern Dancer are true to time-honored First Nations lines and designed by Vickers. The hull was produced by Canadian canoe designer James van Nostrand. The Northern Dancer weighs a fraction of a traditional dugout canoe, and has all the aesthetic beauty of the boats that are considered national treasures. The Northern Dancer is manufactured in fiberglass with Kevlar® and “S” glass reinforcing. The unique hull design makes it responsive for as few as 5 or 6 paddlers while it will handle up to 9 or 10. This canoe has been used extensively on the West Coast, from the Columbia River to Alaska. It is equally at home on large rivers and lakes. Large canoes, those exceeding 22 feet, are often referred to as “war” canoes, particularly in articles written in the early 1900s. Today the craft are referred to as “Big Canoes,” encompassing the many styles and shapes paddled in North America today. For more information: Clipper Canoes, 1717 Salton Rd., Abbotsford, BC V2S 4N8 866-644-8111
[email protected] Photo-Top: A juvenile iceberg recently calved by Spencer Glacier retains the eerie blue that marks it as glacier ice. Photo-Sidebar: The historically correct, reproduction “Big Canoes” accommodate up to ten paddlers who team up to power the voyage to the glacier—a new experience for kayakers who primarily go solo.
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Paddling Picks on the East Coast
by Keith Nicol Bottle Cove to Lark Harbour
W
ith close to 30,000 kilometres of shoreline, the best way to explore the four Atlantic Provinces is in the seat of an ocean kayak. The following suggestions will point you to just a small portion of what the Atlantic region offers to the sea kayaker. In the Summer 2007 issue of WaveLength Magazine I provided one great paddle pick from each province; this article continues with that approach. Let’s start with the province with the longest coastline, Newfoundland and Labrador.
Other paddles in the Bay of Islands include trips to Woods Island, Seal Island or Governor’s Island. Get a weather forecast in advance, since winds can come up quickly in this area and kayakers have been stranded on the islands while they waited for winds to die down. For more information, contact the City of Corner Brook at www.cornerbrook.com.
Bay of Islands, Newfoundland and Labrador You could paddle along a different shoreline of Newfoundland’s 17,000 kilometres of beaches, sea stacks and bold rocky cliffs every summer for many years and still never see it all. But one area that provides a huge variety of paddling opportunities in a relatively small area is the Bay of Islands, near Corner Brook on the province’s rugged west coast. Depending on the weather, you can choose to paddle along monstrous 300 – 400 metre cliffs or to numerous offshore islands complete with sandy beaches and great camping spots. Since some of the shoreline in the Bay of Islands is lined with communities, and put-ins are numerous, you can easily spend several days here exploring different areas. For light wind days, a classic paddle is to circumnavigate South Head Lighthouse. We usually put in at the sandy beach in Bottle Cove (at the end of Highway 450) and then head out into the open Gulf of St. Lawrence. Off shore you can see glacially sculpted Guernsey Island, one of the islands that stands guard at the entrance to the Bay of Islands. There are not many pullouts along the first 6 kilometre stretch, so only attempt this trip when the swell and winds are light. Once you round South Head Light, the wind and waves usually drop off and there are several accessible beaches for lunch breaks. Be sure to stop for photos where a waterfall empties into the ocean, and at high tide you can paddle through an elegant arch closer to the take-out at Lark Harbour. The total trip is about 13 kilometres and can easily be done in three to four hours. 32
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Malpeque Bay, Prince Edward Island Last summer we paddled in PEI, and one of our favorite trips was to Malpeque Bay, famous around the world for its oysters. We sampled the oysters one evening in a restaurant and although some people like them raw, we preferred them fried or broiled. Malpeque Bay Kayak Tours is a fine place to start if you want to explore this area. Anne Murray runs a kayak operation here, with numerous tours and programs including a kayak-art class which runs on Thursday evenings through the summer. Local artist Anne Gallant accompanies the group and they paddle to nearby Ram Island and set up with sketchpads on the beach. On our trip we joined a large group of eleven other paddlers for the regular half-day 6 – 7 kilometre circumnavigation of Ram Island. Since Malpeque Bay
is fairly shallow, it warms up very nicely through the summer and even though the day was overcast, the chop spraying across our decks and arms was refreshing. The island has a huge population of cormorants and their guano has started to denude the trees in the area, producing eerie skeleton-like structures. Anne Murray told us that this area has the highest population of cormorants on PEI and that Malpeque Bay is an internationally recognized site for its rich bird populations. As we paddled around the island, the cormorants were everywhere, swooping and searching for food. When we stopped on the north end of the island for a snack, our guides provided an overview of the region’s human and natural history. The Mi’kmaq Indians were early users of this bay and knew of its richness long before Europeans settled here in the 1700s. Malpeque Bay Kayak Tours offers other half-day and longer trips to other destinations in the area. They can be reached at www.peikayaks.ca.
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Deer Island, New Brunswick getting you out there since 1981
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Last summer we also were fortunate to get to Deer Island and had an epic day there paddling with Seascape Tours. Deer Island is in the southwest corner of New Brunswick very close to the US border. We knew things were off to a good start when we had barely begun paddling before our guide, Bruce Smith, pointed out the flashing backs of a school of porpoises just to our right. “They are probably chasing the herring which are running right now,” he said as we paddled our double kayaks out toward Helena Island. We had joined Seascape Tours for a full day paddle in the island-studded Bay of Fundy near the Maine and New Brunswick border. This part of the Bay of Fundy doesn’t have the huge tides of its upper reaches, but at 6 – 7 metres they are still a force to be reckoned with, especially in the maze of islands just off Deer Island and Passamaquoddy Bay. “We plan our daily paddles for the wind and weather of the day as well as what the tides are doing,” says Bruce, “but with all of the islands we can usually find an interesting place to go.” On this day, the wind was gusting at 30 plus km/hour from the northwest, so we paddled in the lee of several islands and got as far as Barnes Island where we had lunch. Most of the islands here are uninhabited and have small beaches in between the otherwise rocky shoreline. The islands are generally composed of shale, conglomerate and other sedimentary rocks and are capped with a mix of shrubs, spruce and fir. This area has a rich marine life and we paddled past the unusual wooden fishing weirs for which this area is well known. These permanent fishing traps catch fish
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like herring that swim along the shore. Eagles were also abundant and two were swooping over us while we ate lunch. In the afternoon we paddled past Mowat and Simpson Island and caught sight of two fin whales that were being followed by a local whale watching boat. As we returned to Northwest Harbour, we were accompanied by the bobbing heads of harbour seals. This area certainly has much to recommend it for sea kayaking (see www.seascapekayaktours.com for more information).
Your Mothership Repair Specialists
Lower Prospect, Nova Scotia Two summers ago we spent two weeks paddling in Nova Scotia. One of our favorite areas was Lower Prospect (near popular Peggy’s Cove), which is just a thirty minute drive south of Halifax. There we joined Dave Alder, who runs East Coast Outfitters (ECO) for a half-day paddle amongst the bold granite islands of Lower Prospect Bay. We were impressed with the variety of paddling choices accessible from this spot—from tricky rock hopping amongst the breaking swells for expert paddlers, to protected channels for novices. We paddled through the “Window” into the moderate swell along the shore of Ryan and Shannon Islands. We were now in pond smooth water as we headed to a sandy beach on Hearn Island. The turquoise water almost looked like the Caribbean, but touching our toes in the water reminded us that we were still in Nova Scotia. Then it was back through a neat little channel on the other side of Shannon Island, past a small island full of cormorants to our dock and put-in point. Here we enjoyed a full lobster feast complete with wine and all the fixings. ECO offers a full range of programs from guide training to multi-day trips and has a fleet of over fifty kayaks available. Dave Adler explained that for those interested in multi-day trips, there were many options. “One great trip is to paddle from our operation near Mahone Bay/ Lunenburg to this location in Lower Prospect. This takes six days and can be done either as an all camping option or all bed and breakfast or a combination of the two. For those people interested in shorter one or two-day overnight camping trips, we have that option here at Lower Prospect or in the LaHave Islands, near Mahone Bay.” For more information on these trips contact East Coast Outfitters at www.eastcoastoutfitters.net Contributors Keith and Heather Nicol are avid sea kayakers. Keith Nicol has a popular Atlantic Canada Paddling web site at www.swgc.mun.ca/~knicol
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Greenland – Paddling through a Sea of Ice Story by Jean-Luc Grossmann and Rafic Mecattaf Photos by Jean-Luc Grossmann 45 days paddling off Greenland’s northwest coast, in the endless summer days of the midnight sun—this is the adventure lived by four outdoor enthusiasts who were overwhelmed by the light on the icebergs and the blow of the whales. The sun is low on the horizon and the sea is calm. Soon the village of Uummannaq, with its heart shaped mountain, disappears behind us. Our sea kayaks point toward the massive island of Storøen, 8 kilometres away. Its fiery-red lighted cliff drops 1000 metres vertically into the sea and attracts us like a magnet. We are at a latitude of 70° 40’—well north of the Arctic Circle. Here, far away from the rush of civilization, we have all the time in the world to observe the magical spectacle of nature. Under the midnight sun, the sea is first crimson / blue and its surface becomes so glassy that everything is reflected as in a mirror. Mountainsides light up in powerful reds, shadows lengthen, and the icebergs seem to be under a giant spotlight.
DAILY LIFE Little by little we get used to the icebergs and are better able to judge how close we can safely approach them. From these f loating mountains that appear so calm, large blocks of ice make a thunderous racket as they crash into the sea all around us, creating breaking waves, full of giant lumps of ice. At one point, we watch as a huge ice break creates a wave over three metres high.
The fact that the summer days last for 24 hours does not disturb our sleep. We find a rhythm and make steady progress of 10 – 40 kilometres each day. We can keep up a pace of 6 or 7 kilometres an hour when the wind or the current are not against us, which, unfortunately, they often are. The wind generally blows from the north, but when the sun warms the land for several days, the thermal wind coming off the inland ice can reach Beaufort 8! Numerous towering cliffs dropping abruptly into the sea often prevent us from going ashore to make camp. Many days we have to paddle further than we had planned, before finding a campsite. Every evening (or morning, depending on the time of day paddled) we set up camp in some little terrestrial paradise that is only marred by the presence of satanic mosquitoes! We fish, collect mussels and make 36
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our own bread. If necessary, we melt ice for drinking water. While sleeping, we recharge the batteries for our satellite phone, VHF, GPS and radios with the help of our solar panel. When a site seduces us, we stay for several days and explore the region by foot. Our long walks are rewarded with amazing views of collapsing glaciers and fjords full of icebergs. On the horizon the white surface of the inland ice stretches endlessly. We wash in seawater and where possible, rinse ourselves in the clear freezing water of small freshwater streams, following a ritual we named for fun “the full body wash.” The climatic conditions allow such a ceremony only every week. We keep a journal and take notes of the GPS points of each campsite and the distances paddled. We sometimes observe the spurts of whales, backlit by the midnight sun and glowing from afar. Other times we locate the whales from the sound of their blows, which can propel the water spurt more than 10 metres in the air. This characteristic sound echoes over the sea, and we hear it from a distance of more than 5 kilometres! Curiously there are many fewer fin whales compared to our first expedition in this region in 2005. We think this is due to the large amount of ice this year.
On our left, the cliffs drop abruptly into the sea and give us no possibility of getting ashore. We have 30 kilometres behind us and large plates of pack ice block our way at the exit of the channel. In this labyrinth of ice we paddle as a group and stay as close as possible to the shore as we don’t want to be smashed between moving ice plates. On several occasions the coastal ice is too thick to pass through and we have to pull our kayaks for several metres to reach the next open water channel. The rain is now changing to snow and the wind drops. After 40 kilometres we finally find a place to camp. We don’t have the strength to cook and instead improvise a meal. This evening we fall asleep within seconds. Yes, it was a hard day. One of those days that make you feel alive!
THE WHIMS OF NATURE
UP HILL AND PLAINS
On Day 14, we enter the narrow fjord of Inukavsait. The sky is filled with heavy clouds, exhibiting a full range of greys. The rain carried by the wind is whipping my face. I pull energetically on the shaft of my paddle while staring at the dark horizon filled with small tufts of white foam. A gull passes in front of my kayak before rising with break-neck speed, its cry choked by the wind. The clouds are lifting and shortly we have a view of steep cliffs, a mountainous chain with bizarre shapes, some glacier tongues f lowing to the sea and an arch perfectly sculpted in the middle of a huge iceberg. A multi-faceted landscape appears before us! The atmosphere is surreal and we wish to stay a moment, observing the whims of nature, but we listen to our instincts, small inner voices that warn of danger and dictate caution.
The entrance of the Uvkusigassat fjord is now only 15 kilometres away, a distance that we have to paddle in open water. After a good dinner we walk to the top of the island to check the crossing for the next day. We are surprised to discover once more that large plates of ice are blocking our way. This makes us think that the end of the fjord may still be frozen. Next morning we decide to go for it and paddle around the plates of ice where seals are resting. After almost three hours we reach the entrance of the fjord without too much difficulty, but get stuck 500 metres later because of very dense pack-ice. The wind starts to blow and a little rain starts. We go to sleep and are not sure if it will be possible to go on tomorrow. Early in the morning we are pleased to see that while we were sleeping the wind blew all the ice out and a cloudless blue sky took
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Oct 2008 Nov Dec Jan 2009 Feb Mar April May June July August
Halong Bay Outer Limits exploration and staff training Ranong multi-experience exploration Tarutao Kayak Camp - Xmas/New Year Phang Nga Bay clean-up - one week Jan 14 - Ling Yai is 64 Coron Island Kayaking & Love Affair With Nature Andaman Island Hopping - Tarutao to Phuket (or vice versa) New Caledonia Fiji Outer Islands Festival of the Forest, Puerto Princesa Tahiti, possibly Marquesas Footsteps of Hi’i’aka - Big Island, Hana Coast, Moloka’i, Na Pali - one week each
Sea Kayaking the Great Bear Rainforest on the Northern Coast of British Columbia. Contact: Norm Hann 604.785.2999
[email protected] tantalusadventures.com
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the place of the rain. The dream of paddling to the end of the 100 kilometre fjord and crossing the land of J.P. Koch on foot lives on. We are entering the inner fjord. We are the first this year to enter this almost unknown territory and we enjoy its pristine nature. Clear water streams coming from the snowy mountains fall into the sea where countless seals seem to want to follow us on our adventure. We need three days to reach the end of the fjord where a marshy zone awaits us which we must cross before reaching the mainland 5 kilometres away. We wait for high tide and start to go up the river but we are forced to give up the battle because the current is too strong. We then pull our kayaks through the windings of the river in 3°C water that often comes up to our hips. And we have to react fast because of quick sand. We reach the mainland around midnight, exhausted, but also happy to have reached the end of the fjord, where some ducks and geese are staying for the summer. Next day we decide to take a day off and explore the region before starting the long 40 kilometre crossing pulling the kayaks to get to Upernavik further north. We climb onto a f lat mountain above our campsite and find two musk oxen grazing on the grass in front of us. They don’t see us and we observe these animals, impressive because of their size, power and calm. We hide behind a large stone, a bit intimidated and not sure how to react. Twenty minutes later they notice us and run away down the hill. After a good night we start the 4-day crossing that will always stay in our minds. We form two teams, each pulling one of the kayaks
along the ground with a harness. Then we go back to take the next kayak. Each kayak weighs 100 kilograms. We pull like crazy for ten hours a day and try to stay on grassy, less rocky ground. The effort is intense and the food is rationed because we do not know exactly how long it will take to reach the next village. Each of us has to push himself to his physical and mental limits. We cross three almost-frozen lakes. From far away the second lake seems impassable, but when we get closer we notice a narrow openwater channel. We get into it without losing time as we don’t want it to close in front of us. The points of our kayaks split some small ice plates, making a noise like a million crystal bells ringing. On the third day we reach 400 metres above sea level and start to go down the other side. We are now fine-tuned and move forward fast. We feel that the sea is close. On day 4 we reach the river we hoped to kayak down, but we find a wild stream with a huge amount of water. To get in this would be pure suicide! Even though we are exhausted, we decide to keep going. The banks of the river are hilly. We have been pulling for twelve hours straight. The plain and the hills are passing by. Suddenly, at the top of a small hill, I see Sylvain raising his arms in the air and shouting. I join him. An intense joy pervades me and within seconds all my pains have disappeared. There, finally, is the sea! An imposing landscape is presented to us. The glittering curves of Laksefjord contrast with the surrounding islands like a monochrome photograph. Soon, Rafic and Thomas join us. For a long moment, we stay here, side by side, our eyes fixed on the sea and we realise what we have lived through.
UPERNAVIK It’s 8 o'clock when we pass the north point of the small Island of Nunarssuaq. Only 30 kilometres now separate us from the village of Upernavik. The weather is perfect. A light breeze pushes us to the south. A group of guillemots are soaring above us. We paddle slowly, savouring each and every second. After 10 kilometres, we find big slabs of stone on which we decide to camp. On the following day, the fog that had been blocked by the surrounding islands has put its white shroud around our campsite. Visibility is reduced to 100 metres. While we paddle along the coast of the Karrat Island, the sky clears up and gives place to a cloudless blue sky. There is just time to take a short break and eat before the mist comes back. This time we navigate with the GPS. The 5 kilometre crossing to the island of Upernavik is a slalom run. We pass icebergs, sometimes on the left, sometimes on the right, so that we can keep approximately on the right course. Suddenly the horizon gets darker and the coast appears through the fog. In a couple of days our adventure will come to an end and a feeling of melancholy overcomes us. We have travelled a total of 600 kilometres and taken over 350,000 paddle strokes. More importantly, we lived for 45 days, away from the rush of human civilization, and we witnessed the incredible power and beauty of our natural world, as we lived an intense and unforgettable adventure, navigating a sea of ice.
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Maximize Your Tent Time Twelve Ways to Get Out More
by Neil Schulman
I
f you're like me, you've probably had weekends that you let slip by. The weather was great, but you were out having a beer on Friday night and didn’t make a plan. You could have gone paddling somewhere, but you figured that by the time you made a plan, checked the tides and currents, called your friends, and sorted through the piles of gear, it would have been nearly noon, and then there’s food shopping, boat loading, and an hour and a half to the put-in. It was just too much trouble, and so you ended up mowing the lawn and wishing you’d gotten it together. But there’s hope! You can fit kayak camping into regular two-day weekends—no need to wait for your too few vacation days. And it’s not just about getting out paddling more—it’s about sleeping out under the stars more. Remember why you started kayaking to begin with? I bet it wasn’t only the paddling; it was love of the outdoors, camping out, slowing down, watching sunsets, listening to the birds in the morning, and poking around in tidepools with the kids. As time goes by, we’re camping out less. Statistically, the average North American spends less time each year camping out. Author Richard Louv has noted the effects of less time in nature for children in his landmark book Last Child in The Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder. I’m a firm advocate for spending as many nights as possible camping out. And it can be close to home—in fact, very few of my nights out are a two-week paddling vacation to faraway locales. Camping out is still camping out, even if you’re only 45 minutes from your bed. So here are some tricks to spending more nights out under the stars.
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WaveLength Magazine
Have A List You probably have a list that says things like mow the lawn, clean the garage, and buy more light bulbs. Have one for paddling trips too, and not the “spend three weeks paddling the west coast of Vancouver Island” kind of trips. This list is for trips close to home—the island you’ve paddled by but haven’t camped on, the cove that promises a sweet sunset view but is usually a day trip, nearby coastal bays. The list should fit regular two-day weekends. Post it on the fridge next to that other list so you see it often. Last summer, I did an overnight on a place called Sand Island in the Columbia River, where I’d paddled dozens of times. I could have paddled another ten minutes and been home in another thirty. But instead, I sat in a hammock and read, watched two woodpeckers chase each other around the trees and the sunset light up the Columbia and Mount St. Helens. Much better than being home in time to catch a movie. Plan Wednesday
Wednesday may seem early to start thinking about the weekend, but this is the key to getting out more in the summer. By Wednesday, I’m usually laying plans, recruiting my paddling buddies, and hatching the plan and a route. I’m looking at charts, tides and currents, which means that I can… Pack Thursday, Leave Friday
You probably know this one, but how often do you do it? If you plan your trip on Wednesday, after work on Thursday all you need to do is get your gear together. (This needn’t take a whole evening, as you’ll find out in a moment.) Now you can leave directly from work at 5:01 pm on Friday—no waiting while someone tries to find his sprayskirt. Paddle Friday Evening
Make use of the long evening hours of daylight—it’s one of the best times to be on the water anyway. You might end up setting up camp in the dark, but being on the water at sunset can make up for it. Then you’ll wake up on Saturday with all the getting-there hassles behind you. And if your night navigation skills are solid, it will open up your options even more. Take Less Stuff
I’m an expedition paddler at heart, so I have lots of stuff— three tents, a cooking shelter, tarps, two stoves, two camp chairs, tons of camera gear, you name it. Forget most of that and pack like a backpacker. The less stuff you have, the less time you’ll spend carrying loads between the beach and the tent, fitting gear in your boat, and setting up and breaking camp. Which means you’ll spend more time communing with nature, going for a hike, taking photos, and doing the things you came to that place to do. How likely are you to need a folding hatchet in a weekend, or even a tent if the forecast is good? Keep it simple, and enjoy being out there more. Note: this rule does not apply to good single malt. Have a System
We paddlers have already spent far too much of our lives trying to figure out how to pack everything into our boats. If you don’t have a system down already, come up with one. The simplest way is to pack your boat once, using the smallest dry bags possible, and then write numbers on the bags, starting with #1 at the bow and moving toward the stern. Now, once you pack everything into dry bags, you know they’ll fit
july–september 2008
in that order, regardless of what’s in them. You can use a different system, but be sure you use a system. Chances are that if you don’t, the impatient glares of your paddling partners will inspire you to find one quick. Organize the Basement
Keep your paddling and camping gear organized in the basement or the garage. This makes a simple process of grabbing stuff off shelves and chucking it into the back of the car—no trying to remember if the stakes are packed with the tent, or where to find the tow belt in a mountain of gear, or if the VHF is still upstairs on the charger. A particularly organized friend of mine has gone as far as to stick a laminated list to the big tub she throws everything in. The trick is to keep stuff organized so you can find it automatically—and to remember to put everything where it should be when you get back. Now all you need to deal with is the chow. Keep the Pantry Full
Ah, yes, the “quick stops” at the grocery store where “I just need an onion and two peppers” turns into a 45-minute menu re-planning process. Start with a sealed tub in your basement with pre-packed, non-perishable camping food that you can augment with fresh produce. The perishable stuff you can grab on Thursday, now that the rest of the gear sorting only takes half an hour or so. Go Solo
Flakey friends? Bob wants to go, but he has tuba practice or a meeting or something on Saturday. Heck, Bob can meet you out on the island later. Weekends are great for solo trips— you can get out there with minimal hassles, can often cover more distance, and the solitude is great after a week at the salt mines. Your paddling and safety skills and judgment will need to be up to par, but solo weekends are a wonderful way to experience the watery world, and to prep for longer solo trips. The rewards of solo paddling can often outweigh the risks, especially if you’re in familiar waters. Enjoy the Wild Edge
In my quick, local camping trips, I’ve come to appreciate the edges between civilization and what we call “the wilds.” I camped once across a narrow channel from a county fair, with the lights from the Ferris wheel like a fireworks display, and where I met a local city councilor walking his dog. Too often we think of “nature” as being in the remote unpeopled wilderness, and everything else is “civilization." In reality, the two are merging more every day, and you don’t have to go to remote national parks and designated wilderness areas to have a wilderness experience. Camping close to home will show you that the human and the wild often exist in the same place. Weekends as Shakedown
Camping a lot over the weekends will make your big trips easier, more instinctive, and more fun. You’ll have on-the-water and in-camp routines down, you’ll be used to paddling a loaded boat, you’ll be unfazed by a day of rain, and you’ll have established a group of paddling and camping buddies. Have a Good Boss
Heck, you work hard all year long. Who’ll mind if you’re not there at 3 pm on Friday? Don’t you have a meeting somewhere out of the office?
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