Kayak Calamity

June-July 1999

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

by Marjorie Simms

My nephew, Mike and I had made all the right plans, and had all the right gear for a once-in-a-lifetime 5-day stay in the wilderness.

Our agenda was to fly to Prince Rupert from Vancouver, rent a couple of kayaks, then charter a small plane to fly us about 50 miles south to a new Marine Park off Grenville Channel called Lowe Inlet (named after an ancestor who travelled there in the service of the HBC, circa 1844).

We planned to make camp on Lowe Lake above the inlet, explore the lake by kayak, then portage the trail past Verney Falls to kayak the inlet below, return to camp then fly home.

Our plans were scuppered as soon as we reached Prince Rupert as the airline left behind a piece of gear (24-hr wait). The next day (Sea Fest Day) we missed our rescheduled charter flight because the kayak rental agent was late. Of course, all the pilots wanted to take part in the big fly-past trailing green smoke, so it was 3:30 p.m. before we finally took off-pilot's wife along for the ride!

I had studied maps and charts of our destination area carefully. From my obstructed back seat view, I recognized the shape of the inlet when we banked left 45 minutes later to fly over it. The plane then banked right and flew around the lake to land at a beautiful little golden sandy beach. I was nearly in tears as I tapped Mike on the shoulder saying, "I think this is the wrong lake!" As the pilot had no charts, Mike pulled out his. The pilot said, "You are here!" marking the spot on Lowe Lake. Shortly, we waved good-bye to pilot # 1 and his wife, carefully prepared camp, and after supper went for a little paddle before bed.

Our camp stood on the only accessible spot. A big waterfall tumbled down the mountain into the lake on one side, Verney Falls flowed out of the lake into the inlet on the other side. Surrounded by mountains, scraggy trees and bog, the wildflowers were lovely-a huge patch of chocolate rice root, some purple butterwort, and copper bush to name a few. In the morning, we paddled over to the head of Verney Falls to find the trail. After a couple of hours of futile soggy bushwhacking I suggested to Mike: "Let's kayak the lake as it's only about four miles long then go to the other side of the falls tomorrow to finish the search". This turned out to be a Illlooong paddle! By the time we returned to camp I was feeling hot, headachy and nauseated, so I turned in early. I woke in the pitch-black night. My tent was leaking! The wind threatened to blow away the tent with me in it, then drown me in the sheeting rain! I called Mike to put up the tarp. His description of this later was: "Setting up a huge tarp during a squalling deluge in the middle of the night with only a few hours sleep wasn't pretty and I'm sure I said several bad words - all in a row!" At daylight we noticed the big waterfall was much louder and had doubled in size. Also, there was precious little beach left, with nowhere else to go! We went back to bed, but I lay there, still nauseated, scared I might have food poisoning, staring at the depressing walls of my blue tent wishing it were a cheery yellow. Sometime later, Mike peeked in, quietly asked " What say we get out of here? The water is at the door." "Alright!" I replied, "But how?" As the VHF radio didn't work at camp, Mike wanted to paddle down to the head of Verney Falls, look for a trail to the inlet or find a promontory to hopefully contact a passing fishing boat in the channel. The captain could then call the airport to send a plane for us. I agreed, received a quick lesson on loading and firing a rifle (cougars, bears?) and a crash course on operating the VHF in case I found Mike disabled. He was back in the allotted half-hour, though. Success! The plane would be here about 2:45 p.m.! "But it's 3:30 now, perhaps they meant tomorrow!" I wailed. We decided to pack up everything but the necessities and try to clear a dry spot somewhere on higher ground for the night.

Just as we finished packing, a little plane zoomed out of the mist, swooped around the lake, chugged up to the beach. Pilot #2 hopped out. "Well, come on," he growled. "Why aren't you ready? Are you going to leave that stuff here or what? I've been looking for you for 45 minutes! What are you doing here, you're supposed to be on Lowe Lake!" "We are!" we shouted. "No you're not. Come on, let's get out of here before I get socked in!"

"Have you any barf bags?" I asked, as, still feeling deathly ill, I mashed my unpacked tent onto the back floor. "Don't think about that and it won't happen," was the reply. "If you get sick, you can use my hat!" "Great!" I thought, as, holding my stomach, I collapsed on the back seat. Sure enough, when we took off - but there was a bag. No ear muffs were there for me though, so I pulled my jacket over my head to muffle the awful engine noise.

Back in Prince Rupert I wobbled into the terminal, was offered the office couch while Mike arranged transportation and accommodations. Mike left his card with the receptionist saying he would be back in the morning to talk to the boss. He and pilot #2 had had a long talk on the way back. Sure enough pilot # 1 had dropped us off on the wrong lake! We were very lucky that #2 decided "on a whim", as he said, to search Weare Lake for us. After a bath, dry crackers and ginger ale, I slept well in a lovely B&B with a bucket by the bed.

Mike returned to the terminal the next day. Our money was refunded by the boss with a promise for a return trip, anytime, gratis, personally!

Marjorie Simms lives in Lake Cowichan, BC