Anything But Desolate Desolation Sound

February-March 2002

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

Winter in Desolation Sound, at the top of the Georgia Strait. Photo: courtesy of T'ai Li Lodge

Crivens! I'd better check the kayak!" exclaimed Barry, resorting in shock to his native Glaswegian as he zippered his way out of sleeping bag, tent and vestibule to face the howling gale. My paddling buddy had no need to excuse his blasphemy. A heavenly hand was clearly at work this day in Desolation Sound.

All night, we-and the pesky mosquitoes that sought refuge with us in our tent on the Curme Islands-had been kept awake by the continual noise of waves crashing on the rocks and gale force winds screaming through the trees. Now in daylight, as we dared to look out at a dismal black sky, bushes had been flattened, grasses were tugging at their roots, guy ropes were pulling from their pegs, and the ubiquitous wind still caused heaving white-capped seas. I remembered that Captain George Vancouver, who named Desolation Sound, called it "a dark and gloomy" place. The local Sliammon people tell a story of how Raven killed the tiresome Wind-Maker and his wife and took away their gusty son. The Wind family was back in control right now.

Despite the gale, our camp was intact. We had made the most of a double-entranced, split-level campsite. Our front door of smooth shelving rock faced southeast to the open sea, a perfect landing site in calm weather, with convenient access to a protected camping area. Our back door led down a short path to a cove which at low tide was totally plastered with oysters, mussels and barnacled rocks, and at high tide provided privacy from potential neighbours on the adjacent island. Luckily, Barry allowed for an expected 16-foot difference between high and low tides and wedged our kayak into the thick salal above the bouldered bank, a lot higher than I deemed necessary, but time would prove him right. As an extra precaution, he even roped the kayak to several surrounding trees.

There seemed few flat places for tents in Desolation Sound but we reduced our footprint by backing our tent against a large boulder and doing without one of our two vestibules. We placed our kitchen one level below the tent in a narrow protected gully between two rocky knolls. A flat log served as our table, stove and prep area, and ledges in the surrounding rocks acted as seats, pantry and liquor cabinet. We tied our tarp and tent lines to the limbs of handy trees and used their exposed roots for extra pegs and ropes.

The wind was still fierce, the waves still foaming, but the rain had not yet arrived, and it was amazingly warm. While Barry checked our kayak, I pranced out of the tent in nothing but a t-shirt and picked salal berries for our breakfast pancakes. There were at least a dozen other kayakers camped on this island but because of the hilly terrain, convoluted shoreline and large intertidal areas that separated us, we felt we were on our own. "

Although Desolation Sound Marine Park provides idyllic anchorages for motor boats and is probably the most popular boating destination in British Columbia, it is not as hospitable for kayakers, especially ones who wish to camp. Tall, steep-sided, denselyforested mountains grow straight from the sea; shorelines are steep, rocky and tide-dependent; winds often roar down hillsides; and in the notoriously busy summer season there are too many boats and too few places for convenient camping. On the other hand, it's stunningly beautiful!

My goal for this summer's kayaking exploration of Desolation Sound was to seek out the best and most secluded camping spots. Barry and I marked our chart with suggestions from fellow kayakers: Adam Vallance of Powell River Sea Kayaking on Okeover Arm who takes his clients to uncrowded places off the beaten track, Heather Harbord of Powell River who wrote the book Nootka Sound and knows the Desolation Sound area well, and Ursula Vaira who, on her first trip to the area the month before our trip, had ferreted out places of her own. "But," warned Ursula, "you must be prepared to carry your stuff up a considerable way from your landing site."

We hadn't meant to camp on the Curme Islands. Despite their rugged beauty, warm swimming water, central location for exploration of the sound, and classic views of Mt. Denman and the Coast Mountains, our advisors warned that they would be too crowded. Instead, we intended to make our base on the mainland coast beside Otter Island, a suggestion made by both Adam and Heather. We were headed there when the wind changed our course to the Curmes.

Two days earlier, Barry and I had begun our trip at Adam's Powell River Sea Kayaking base in Penrose Bay at the head of Okeover Inlet, a safer and more convenient place to leave our vehicle than the government wharf, and intriguingly for me, once the homestead of the famous lady cougar hunter, Nancy Crowther. Although Adam was busy launching his next tour group, he generously shared some of his secrets about where to camp, what to see and where and when to view the best wildlife. But he wouldn't give away any of his favourite fishing holes!

Stunning beauty and warm waters. Photo: Art Mah

In summer, Adam avoids such crowded places as Prideaux Haven, Grace Harbour and Curmes Islands ("Go there in September and June."). Instead he takes his guests to Lancelot Inlet ("Kayakers seldom travel this inlet because they aren't allowed to use it to take a short cut into Desolation Sound through the private land of Portage Cove at its head.") He is more likely to lollygag in Malaspina Inlet, looking at seals and studying the abundant intertidal life in its nutrient-rich waters. Adam also loves Toba Inlet much further north for its solitude and spectacular waterfalls and having explored it in a sailboat and anchored in beautiful Forbes Bay, I agree, though Toba's steep sides allow few landing spots for kayaks.

"Most kayakers travel through Desolation Sound on the west side or paddle along Minke Island, a private island in the middle. I'd keep close to the shore of Gifford Peninsula on the east side and follow the coast all the way as far north as you want. Don't cross Desolation Sound because it's a very busy traffic route."

Several groups left Okeover Inlet for Desolation Sound the same day we did. One group of about a dozen kayakers headed for camp spots on the north end of Kinghorn Island (where Captain Vancouver made his famous remark about the desolate nature of Desolation Sound) and the west side of the Martin Islands. We hoped to avoid all groups and find a spot recommended by both Adam and Heather along the Gifford Peninsula just north of Galley Bay.

In the days to come, we were to feel the fury of Desolation Sound, but that first day was idyllic.We meandered along the east side of Coode Peninsula, peeked at the oyster leases down Trevenen Bay, crossed Malaspina Inlet to collect clams in the first little cove at the entrance to Grace Harbour, then paddled along the east side of the inlet into the Sound. Barry steered me through vast tangles of kelp to get photographs of the marine creatures exposed during some of the lowest tides of the season. "Keep your eyes peeled and look down," Adam had advised. But I was fascinated by the murals made by colonies of sea squirts painting themselves on the vertical rock walls of the shoreline at eye level. They looked like splotches of fresh red and orange paint, not animals at all.

We waited by the precipitous walls and swirling currents off Zephine Head to see if the salmon were biting. It was obviously a hot fishing spot and one angler played his fish for a long time but not long enough for us to see if he landed his catch. Times like those I wish my kayak had a rear vision mirror.

North of Galley Bay we found a wellused camp spot with a panoramic 180 degree view overlooking Desolation Sound and its classic dramatic backdrop.

There was only enough level space for a couple of single tents to fit comfortably so in our two-person, two vestibule tent scrunched back into the bush that night, we didn't get much sleep. However, everything else was perfect-a grill and fire pit (which we didn't use after a forestry worker called from his aluminum boat to ask us not to start a fire even though it was legal), a plank for seats or table, a steamed seafood dinner cooked superbly by Barry, a stage to watch the setting sun and the lights of Cortes Island, and an orchestra of wavelets washing against the rocks below camp.

Next morning, we were awakened by hooves clanking past the tent. I peeked through the flap and saw three deer trotting over the tent pegs on their way to Galley Bay. Animals enjoyed our spot as well. It would have been easier to leave while the tide was high but we enjoyed ourselves instead by skinny dipping in the cove and watching the wildlife. A squirrel nonchalantly rustled through the salal collecting pine cones as I drank my coffee. A chipmunk saucily ate his breakfast on a log while Barry shaved. A whole family of black, yellow-lined snakes slithered all over a boulder beside me on a foraging foray as I took photos.Loons and ravens sang a duet.

"The fog's gone but the wind may come up," warned Barry at noon. "We'd better pack up now if you want to get to another campsite."

Loath to leave, but anxious to explore as much of Desolation Sound as possible in the few days we had to spend, I scurried around for driftwood logs to use like railway ties to slide the kayak in stages over 50 yards of oysters, till we caught up with the fast receding tide and resumed our journey.

Mere midgets at the base of giant mountain walls, we skimmed the shoreline of Gifford Peninsula, passing a troupe of sunbathing and clam-digging kayakers at what looked like a suitable campsite in Call Bight, and eventually reached Tenedos Bay.

Summer in Desolation Sound- a private spot in one of the back channels of busy Prideaux Haven. Photo: Alan Wilson

Despite its almost enclosed bay, its many advertised camp spots, fresh water, outdoor toilets, and short trail to the reputedly warm swimming waters of Unwin Lake, this popular spot was not for us. A slough of boats kayaks, canoes, dinghies, tenders, speed boats, yachts and rafted cruisers-were jammed together on the heavily-treed on the east side of the bay.

We started heading for Otter Island but with winds rising, we headed west instead to the Curme Islands. Their terrain was more varied, much gentler, and seemed a more appropriate base to wait out bad weather.

It was only a mile or so to the Curmes but I doubted at times we would reach it without being sideswiped by the waves and swamped. Barry kept urging me on. "Don't stop paddling. Keep your eyes left. Dig!" Believe me, I dug my paddle furiously into each wave as if my life depended on it-and it did. It's said that Desolation Sound has some of the warmest waters in British Columbia but I didn't want to test them right then.

Somehow we made it safely across the sound to the islands and paddled into a flat, surprisingly quiet, landlocked meadow of oyster covered rocks that was to be our back door and pantry for the next two days. A yellow double kayak sat alone in the middle of this meadow, an inviting place to set our tent, if not for the high tide that we knew would soon turn the meadow into an arm of the sea. The kayak's owners, Nevan and his son, Drew, descended the trail from their tent on the other side of the cove to help us lift our stuff well above what we hoped would be the high tide line. This is one of many examples of the fine camaraderie among kayakers.

Barry and I sat that night on the knoll looking down on the boats in the bay, and down the Sound to the setting sun. Rain would surprise us during the night and a new storm would test our paddling skills as next day we fought our way back up Malaspina and Okeover Inlets. But on that evening in Tenedos Bay, there was nowhere else I would rather be. Desolation Sound need not be desolate. It depends on attitude as much as weather.

© Lyn Hancock is an author and freelance writer living in Lantzville BC.

For further info and advice, call toll free to Powell River Sea Kayak Ltd.
Ph.: 1-866-617-4444 or visit Web: www.BCSeaKayak.com.