Paddling Solo

April-May 2003

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

Into the heart of Desolation Sound. Neil Schulman photo

I nose my kayak northward around a small point. Sheets of spray blow southward to meet me. A wave breaks over the bow, bounces off the front hatch, and smacks squarely into my face. When I can see again, the hunched outline of Channel Island looms ahead. I'm just south of Brettel Point, the point at which Homfray Channel, Toba Inlet, and Pryce Channel all meet in Desolation Sound.

It's 6 PM, which means my self-imposed turnaround time has arrived. Time for me to either be confident I can cross the mouth of Toba Inlet in search of a campsite, or return to the rocky, marginal, and bear-inhabited 'campsite' three miles back at Atwood Bay.

A wave picks me up, and I sit up as tall as I can to see ahead. Wind waves are coming from the Northwest. At Brettel Point, it looks like they're meeting outflow winds from Toba Inlet - a recipe for an even rougher evening. And I might have to cross all the way to Double Island, if there isn't level ground on Channel Island. That clinches it. I dig in the first sweep stroke to turn southward.

I lean and brace in growing beam seas on my return to Atwood Bay. Waves wash over my spray skirt and hit me in the side - two or three land solidly in my right ear. I breathe easier back inside the Bay.

I had originally planned to camp here in a clearing in the center of the Bay, but since this was now the site of a log salvage operation, I'd pushed on, hoping the waves wouldn't rise as they had. Now, on my return, I locate the only other flat ground that looks to be above high tide - a pile of small round rocks on the south side, crisscrossed by two obvious bear trails. This is a risk I don't want, but staying on the water in these winds and after seventeen tiring miles isn't an option. I eat a quick dinner in the intertidal and hang my food. Then I walk into the woods banging pots together to announce my presence, and stumble back into my tent. I'm up in a few hours, though, moving gear as the water rises. I finally get to sleep when the tide turns at 1 AM, about four feet short of my tent. The bears stay quiet, and the wind blows.

Morning is decision time: either onward around Brettel Point, or back south down Homfray Channel, the way I'd come. The wind has eased a bit, but the sky is red ('red sky in the morning, sailor take warning'). My VHF radio calls for moderate winds in the morning, rising to 30 knots in early afternoon. I inventory my own state(tired) and make the hardest decision I've ever made in the backcountry. Toba Inlet was the main destination of my 8-day trip to Desolation Sound, and it was heartbreaking to stop so short. But pushing into bad water on a solo trip is different than paddling with others. I push off the beach and stretch my spray skirt over the cockpit. Then I take a last look north towards Toba Inlet, and turn south.

Paddling with others increases the margin of safety and reduces the stress. Two or more of us probably would have ventured across Toba Inlet that morning. But solo travel is my preferred way to see wild places.

WHY GO SOLO?

I started solo trips about twelve years ago, by necessity. I was living in Alaska and working an odd schedule. Hiking solo was the only way to see the landscape. Hikes grew into solo backpacking trips, and then extended into kayak trips. A necessity became a pleasure, and every year since, I've done at least one solo backcountry trip, either on land or water.

If you've been paddling for a while, heading out alone - even for just a weekend - will stretch your paddling horizons, your appreciation of the natural world, and your understanding of yourself. Here are some of the riches I've found.

Solitude

First and foremost, solitude. When I'm traveling by myself, I slow down and focus on where I am (instead of where I'm going, or where I just was). There's something very renewing about a few days on the water with just me, a kayak, a camera, and a notebook.

Confidence

My first 40 mile solo backpack trip boosted my confidence enormously. So did my first extended kayak trip. Solo trips build confidence in planning, navigation, and decision- making as well as physical skills. As much as it hurt to turn back at Brettel Point, I'm now confident that I'll make a good decision the next time I'm in a stressful situation in a remote place.

Got a hobby?

I'm a photographer, and traveling solo allows me to focus. (Pun intended.) A friend of mine does the same for her writing. I can focus better on solo trips. And nobody gives me a hard time about shooting four rolls of one sunrise.

Wildlife You'll see more wildlife traveling solo, because you're much quieter and less obtrusive. I've had weasels come bounding through my campsite, and gone eyeball-to eyeball with otters in the door of my tent.

THE FLIP SIDE

Hopefully you won't flip, but what if you do? There's no doubt about it - solo expeditions are riskier and more stressful than paddling with others. There's nobody to rescue you if you capsize. Get weathered in for two days, and you may feel the walls of your tent closing in. Here are some tips to coming back, and coming back happy.

Resting ashore in the midst of splendour. Neil Schulman photo

Start easy

For your first solo trip, pick an area where there are likely to be other people around. This reduces the risk, and can provide some social contact and stress release if you want it. Also, do your first trip or two in an area that has relatively little objective risk. I started my trip in Desolation Sound because of the lack of strong tidal currents and the presence of other paddlers, before heading to more remote areas.

Hone your safety skills

The consequences of a swim are much more serious when you're traveling alone. Throw in the possibility of the wind blowing your kayak away from you or a holed boat, and you can be in a pickle quickly. Good bracing and self-rescue skills are musts, and the ability to roll your loaded boat is ideal. If you need them, it will probably be when you're already tired so practice until the skills become second nature.

Learn about yourself

Know how you react to stress. The mental challenge can be as big or bigger than the physical one. I've learned that in stressful situations I'm fine as long as I'm busy, but the urge to charge ahead foolishly comes when I'm unoccupied. Self-knowledge of how you'll react to the stresses you're likely to encounter is the difference between enjoying your trip or worrying your way through it.

Confront your fears

Don't sit in your tent the first night - grab your flashlight and go for a night walk. Not sure who those folks are at the next campsite? Walk over and say hi. My pot-banging walk down the bear trails wasn't just to let them know I was around. I was also showing myself that those woods weren't that different from all the forests I've been in, and loved, over the years.

Use good equipment

Use equipment you know and trust. A solid spare paddle, first aid and boat repair kits, and flares are gear you hopefully won't need - but you do need to have them with you. A VHF is essential for solo travel. If your flares have been sitting on the bottom of a dry bag for years, check their date.

But back to Desolation Sound. That evening I'm drinking wine in the Curme Islands with a family that took a water taxi from Lund because it was too windy to paddle. I realize I'd made the right call by turning around. I'm tired and sore to the bone, but haven't been happier in my life.

Two days later, I wake up on a cliff above Georgia Strait to incessant screaming. In the pink predawn light, two adult gulls are trying to protect an injured fledgling from two bald eagles who sense an easy meal. The drama continues through my coffee and breakfast, then they move behind a small island. I can hear the aerial duel during my boat-packing routine. It's a reminder of how closely beauty and danger are intertwined. Maybe it's a good metaphor for my trip.

The morning paddle back to Lund is Georgia Strait at its best. Gentle swells, warm sunshine, and the mountains of Vancouver Island gleaming in the sun. Lund is still waking up, but I know a pot of fresh coffee and a warm muffin are waiting. As I glide up to the dock, I'm already planning my trip back.

© When he isn't at work, Neil Schulman is probably hiking, paddling, or photographing somewhere around his home in Portland, Oregon.

Ed. Note: We would just like to underscore Neil's point that solo paddling is inappropriate for inexperienced paddlers. Paddling with a partner dramatically increases safety margins and is the only choice beginners should consider.