Over the Side and Away We Go

April-May 1998

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

Destination Nootka Sound via the M.V. Uchuck III

by Doug Alderson

Just one of the thrills in kayaking Nootka Sound

On weekdays I exist indoors under fluorescent light with a view of the unchanging patterns in the hallway. Encounters here are routine and predictable. To transcend this synthetic existence I must get out into the natural rhythms of the sun and the moon. In the winter months, day long trips keep me going, but summer provides more time and better weather, opening the door to longer excursions and greater exploration. This is the report of one such trip with my friend Doug Lloyd a couple of summers ago to the west coast of Vancouver Island.

Our point of departure is Union Island at the entrance to Kyuquot Sound. To arrive here Doug and I have taken passage on the coastal freighter Uchuck III. All day aboard the Uchuck we have been anticipating the "wet launch." From the deck of the ship kayak and paddler are placed on a freight pallet and lifted by a crane up over the bulwarks and down to the ocean's surface.

As Doug is being lowered over the side the Pacific swell, the rolling hip and the ever-present force of gravity conspire to turn him into a pendulum and swing him up against the side of the ship like a gigantic bell clapper. On one side of his arc he avoids crushing injury then on the other side he avoids being flung into the chilly salt water before his kayak safely touches down. It is with a heightened sense of anticipation that I am loaded into my kayak and launched up and over. This time the forces of good and evil do not conspire to create new and interesting patterns and I am lowered uneventfully to the surface. We turn and wave good-bye to our new friends aboard ship and then paddle away.

Once on the water, our presence quickly comes to the attention the local inhabitants. Sea Otters poke their heads up, cautiously surveying our progress. Beginning in 1740's the harvest of Sea Otter began the rapid near extermination of a creature vital to the health of the north Pacific coastal ecology. In 1969 a program of re-introduction of otters from Kamchatka, Alaska to Vancouver Island had a tenuous start but today sea otters are populating an ever-increasing area. The near extinction of the sea otter is example of what can happen if we get out of touch with the planet, trading fancy hats for coastal ecology. Throughout each day's paddling on this trip we will watch and learn from these custodians of the kelp forest.

To our left is the entrance to Kyuquot Sound, to our right 3,000 miles of open water, and 3 miles ahead of us Rugged Point offers good tenting on the beach in a sheltered cove. Gliding ashore, the kayaks meet the soft white sand of a shallow beach. A check shows no signs of large wildlife other than the imprints of our own bare feet in the sand. The business of unpacking kayaks, making camp and cooking an evening meal brings the day to a close. Lingering over the evening meal, the beat of the nearby surf drifts through our campsite. The sun sets slowly and in gray light we enter our tents. At 3 am I wake to see a billion stars painted on a moonless sky outside. The spectacle is so overwhelming that I get up and go for a walk on the beach with the sky revolving overhead.

Vancouver Island warms during the day, causing air to rise, creating strong westerly winds in the afternoon. The first half of the day is the best time to paddle, so breakfast is consumed while we collapse an entire campsite into our two narrow single kayaks. Leaving the beach I look back to confirm that we have left no more sign than did the bears who used this beach before us. Paddling out beyond the shadow of the trees the low morning sun is a welcome companion. Fifteen miles southward lies Catala Island, past a succession of long surf-swept beaches interrupted by low rocky headlands notorious for rough, unpredictable sea conditions. Breaking seas flank our route. Skirting the headlands we take a few breakers on the chest.

Rich kelp forests mirror the terrestrial growth

A sheltered beach south of Jurassic Point lures us ashore for a snack, so-named because the Point has well preserved Jurassic ammonite fossils. It is interesting to remember that in the early Jurassic period-200 million years ago-Vancouver Island was located on the equator 5,000 miles to the south.

Our landing at the beach is made easy by calm seas but the berm is steep and it takes considerable effort to haul the kayaks up the slope. Ashore on the cobbles, the late morning sun is appropriately hot during our search for tropical fossils. Having stretched our legs we spend time eating a snack and checking the chart for the next landmarks. Then we are back underway, easily sliding down the pebble berm into the water.

Heading south we pass more sea otters, Dahl porpoise, California and Stellar sea lions. It is not until the sun is well overhead that the bald eagles are soaring on the growing westerly breeze. Landing on the north end of Catala Island we again haul our fully loaded kayaks up a steep gravel berm. We secure tents on the lee side, away from the forceful wind. The late afternoon is spent lounging in the gravel watching the gulls, ravens and eagles carve patterns in the sky.

Next day, we once again have several miles of open water to paddle and so we get an early start. The breeze and opposing tidal current have created sloppy sea conditions and the occasional low-brace is required to keep us on an even keel. Ferrier Point produces twice the wind, twice the wave and it seems to take twice as long as planned to get past. Incoming swells reflect on the steep rocky shore adding a measure of chaos to wave patterns that cause me to become just a little sea sick. The chart shows a south facing beach ahead but first we must navigate 2 more miles of this confused surface.

The promised beach turns out to be a good spot to land for an early lunch. We pass through low surf and come ashore on flat white sand to spend a couple of hours lazing about in ideal conditions, sharing the beach with only a local fellow and his girl friend. He tells us his parents own a cabin on the east shore of the Island. He has been coming to this spot for 20 years and has never seen kayaks here before. He apologizes in advance for he hopes that we are not offended if they happen to strip off their minimal clothing and go for a swim at any time.

In the center of the beach berm there are no trees. Predominantly southwesterly gales produce heavy surf and the winter storms have blasted a sand flume deep into the forest. Today however the beach is a paradise. We could easily stay for the day... or more. On the other hand, if we wait too long we could get pinned down by the chnaging weather so we decide to push on.

Surf on off-shore reefs creates exciting hazards

Afternoon westerly winds hold off as we paddle past the next 10 miles of shelving rocky shoreline swept with energetic dumping breakers, on our way to Calvin Creek, wondering what the surf will be like when we arrive.

The beach at Calvin Creek is known to a few intrepid surfers. As we approach we can understand why. A wide sweeping arc of sand with a waterfall in the center identifies our destination. We wait cautiously outside of the break, judging the height and shape of the surf. Then waiting for a lull in the pattern of waves we sprint shoreward. Our kayaks surf and then broach onto the beach with cargo and paddlers intact.

There is the colossal expanse of sand to cross so we leave the kayaks safely near the water's edge we walk up to survey a suitable campsite.

The head of the beach is full of wolf and cougar tracks. Bear, cougar and wolf tracks litter the area. We choose an open area campsite facing west with a view of the surf and the sunset. From our chosen spot on the beach berm we consider our situation. The beach is magnificent, the surf is ideal and the weather is perfect. All of this must be appreciated at this moment because we know that on the open coast conditions can change very quickly. The fog bank lying offshore is threatening to move in. It could be cold and damp very soon. There is work to be done.

As we walk down to fetch our boats we have to stop and let a plane land! A family of four climbs out of the single engine plane. We go over to say hello and find that they spend their summer weekends flying from beach to beach camping for the day. We share amazement at finding each other here in the middle of nowhere, then part company for each of us go about the solitary business of making camp. An hour later Doug and I have our tents up. As we sit down for a snack and gaze west over the Pacific a two-engine plane does a touch-and-go on the sand, circles around and lands. Five surfers climb out. The outfitter/guide with the group is amazed. She says that she has never seen kayaks on this beach before, let alone another plane. Our solitude has been invaded but three campsites on a beach twice as long as required to land a plane is not really a crowd.

Calvin Creek falls onto the beach over a 20' tall 30' wide rock wall. At the bottom of the falls there is a good size swimming hole which serves to clean several layers of sun screen and bug-dope off our grimy bodies. The surf rolling in under the evening sunset is a sight to behold. Off in the distance to the south I can see larger surf breaking on Bajo Reef, one of those kayak-eating spots, stories of which are amplified by memory and retelling.

The evening is spent around a campfire visiting with new friends and contemplating tomorrow's portion of our exploration. The offer of a beer serves as an effective lubricant. Stories are told, adventures enumerated, a few lies are further exaggerated. As the fire extinguishes itself in the moonlight we make our way back along the beach to our tents.

We listen to the marine weather forecast one last time. A low pressure system is forecast to move onto the coast bringing moderate to strong southwest winds. Extensive fog banks lie offshore and may reduce visibility to near zero in some locations. Tomorrow the reef may not be such a pleasant place to be.

There are two routes past Bajo Reef-inside and outside. To paddle inside the reef we must stay in very close to shore. To have sufficient water to pass inside, we must leave on the rising tide near midday. It will be a balancing act between enough tide water to navigate inside the reef and yet early enough in the day to avoid wind and weather. The alternative is a 3-mile paddle out around the western extremity. I am too tired to consider all the variables. The soothing warmth of the sand migrates through my sleeping bag. The sound of the surf filters through the tent. Thoughts disperse into the oblivion of a deep dreamless sleep.

Our west-facing beach is shady in the morning and an early morning walk helps wake me up, especially when I see bear droppings 30 meters from our camp. A little farther off fresh wolf tracks dot the wet sand. The few tents boldly exposed on the beach seem to house the sole inhabitants of the beach at Calvin Creek, but the adjacent silent forest obscures its many residents.

(Note: In the following year two friends and I returned for a more leisurely trip along Nootka's west shore and camped again at Calvin Creek. Early one morning one friend went off for a walk and spotted seven wolves near the water's edge. When the wolves spotted him, they turned and began to quickly trot in his direction. Needless to say, totally exposed on the beach with seven wolves coming his way, my friend made tracks back to the campsite.)

After a leisurely breakfast we spread our tents out in the sun to dry off and slowly begin to break camp. The tide is low and the boats need to be hauled 200 meters across the sand where we slowly load them to the pace of the rising tide. When the waves meet the kayaks it will be time to leave. With the sun rising quickly and the work load increasing, we strip out of our sweaters. Near noon, incoming waves are beginning to threaten our kayaks, so it is time to break out of the surf. With bon-voyages said we are quickly through a line of low spilling surf and on our way to Bajo Reef.

Heading out toward Bajo, we have a distant view of the low but dominant rocks which form the inner reef. On the horizon we can just perceive the breakers booming on the outer reef. Close in along the shoreline and inside the inner reef, a few tame breakers find their way into the shallows and we stop to surf a few waves and watch the sea otters once again. It is such a privilege to be here on a sunny calm day. It could have been shrouded in fog, pounded by large swell, swept with wind or drenched in rain, but fortunately we won't have any horror stories to tell of Bajo Reef this day. The best made plans could not have guaranteed these conditions. We linger for a couple hours and tempt the afternoon breeze to build. This chance may not come again.

Finally, moving off down-wind, we make good time and have fun catching rides on a few waves. Crossing the sand bar at Beano Creek the waves begin to play with us. Doug boldy approaches shore and takes a dumping wave broadside, rolling him over. While sitting smugly watching Doug and his folly, a wave behind me suddenly splits and refracts around a large rock. Meeting on my side of the rock the two opposing waves collide, unleashing their energy onto the spot that my kayak and I occupy. Next thing I know I'm being flung backwards, surfing into the beach. With my stern plunged into the steep gravel berm, I watch Doug right himself and make his way into calmer waters. Meanwhile I have no alternative but to take a few dumping waves over my head and ungracefully clamber out of the cockpit to drag my foundered vessel up the berm. But it's worth it. Another creek, another pool, and another swim. What a morning!

After lunch, with the wind at our back once again and running before a building sea, we measure our time and distance carefully until our progress is interrupted by four Orca whales. One male with his bold triangular dorsal fin is easy to spot. The others have smaller slightly curved dorsal fins identifying them as a mother and youngsters. Tails are flicking out of the water and big paddle-shaped pectoral fins slap the surface while the smaller whales swim playfully by. Occasionally the big male races ahead with his upper body clearing the water. There is no rhythm to the commotion. It is a melee of activity but they are moving generally northward towards us. I think what we are watching is Mom and Dad showing the kids how to catch herring. As the whales head north and we drift south, passing each other, one of them rises up, extending his head out of the water and clearly calls out with a squeal. I wonder who is having more fun. Then, with the whales behind us, we paddle on for Friendly Cove where our preoccupation with natural history will change for an interest in human history.

In July 1778 Captain James Cook traveled these shores in search of the legendary North West Passage. His landing at Friendly Cove marked the first landing by a European in what is now known as British Columbia. He was greeted by Maquinna, the heredity Chief of the local Indian band. Cook's two ships, Resolution and Discovery remained anchored for a month nearby where he replaced two of his masts. Today Resolution Cove takes its name from Cook's ship and the island takes its name from his navigator Mr. Bligh (later Captain Bligh of the Bounty). In subsequent years relations between Europeans and the local natives were not always friendly. The crew of the trading ship Boston was massacred by Maquinna's people over trading disputes, while a war between England and Spain almost broke out over rights to plunder the rich timber and fur trade of the area.

At Friendly Cove, we pay our small landing fee and a donation to the church for which we are offered a personal guided tour by a direct descendent of Chief Maquinna. The church is an eclectic mix of Native and European influences. The church includes totem poles flanking the altar which faces a sculpture of a killer. An articulated thunderbird dominates overhead, and traditional Spanish stained glass windows adorn the front doors. While the church building remains as a remnant of early European influences there are no obvious structures left from millenia of native culture. A unique whale shrine and other significant cultural structures once here were removed by early explorers and missionaries. These cultural artifacts now reside in various museums throughout the world. On Nootka Island archeological investigations show that the native people occupied this area for at least 4,000 years before Cook's arrival. The local Indian band is trying to reclaim some more recent artifacts and establish a Native Heritage Center on this traditional site.

By the time our tour of the church is complete it is late in the afternoon and the need to make camp for the night takes precedent. We begin to paddle inland among the sheltered islands of Nootka Sound with the ever present rise and fall of swell and the constant crashing of surf now noticeably absent. We find a secluded cove several quiet miles into the islands west of Bligh Island. The Cove is framed by a dense cedar grove. Under the giant multi-trunked cedars it is dark and humid. The forest floor is barren, deprived of sunlight by the evergreen canopy. We are mere transients in comparison to trees perhaps 1,500 years old. It is certain that when Cook landed near here 200 years ago that these very trees were already ancients.

Setting up camp throughout the late afternoon and evening I have the uncomfortable feeling like we are intruding. Unlike the deep sleep at Calvin Creek my sleep this night is filled with a recurring dream as Indian ceremonies, religion, whales, surf and kayaks blend into a long and elaborate story. Within the dream I struggle repeatedly to decipher its meaning, and when I awake the vivid dream haunts me.

The morning arrives foggy and my deck compass dominates my view as we head further inland toward Gold River. As the predicted low arrives onshore, the fog rises but the morning clouds continue to obscure the sun. A freshening breeze pushes us with the flood tide through the narrow, steep sided passages. Muchalat Inlet cuts deeply into Vancouver and strong winds develop along its length. As the wind builds and the sea rises, we surf on short steep wind waves quite unlike the long swell of days gone by. It is a lot of work controlling a loaded sea kayak downwind but we are having a great time taking water over the deck, careening along at top speed.

At the head of the inlet the wind rises off the water to climb the mountains and calmer conditions prevail. Our short trip exploring Vancouver Island's central west coast comes to an end at a concrete boat ramp. The kayaks grind onto the hard gray concrete and the kaleidoscope stops. Each time this happens it is with increasing reluctance that I step ashore and put on my shoes