Mothership Meanderings: The Paddle Was the Way

February-March 2004

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

We slip away from our berth in Silva Bay and head southeast down the side channel between Sear Island and Gabriola. The breeze is from the northwest, scrubbing the clouds away, leaving a brilliant blue. We’ve lucked into great weather on a rare, offseason boating weekend.

Our boat’s old but reliable diesel engine pushes us along smartly as we enter deeper water and head south past Drumbeg Provincial Park, to Gabriola Pass. We’re keeping an eye on our watches—we want to make slack current at the Pass, which runs at other times treacherously fast.

How did the First Nations people manage without current and tide table s, charts, without watches, without the marine weather broadcasts?

All these things we consider essential today were non-existent. Well... all right, the sun is a clock of sorts. And perceiving the patterns of tide and current, living by them every day, with the cultural transmission of thousands of years of experience to build on, you’d have a darn good idea of current cycles.

Nevertheless, I’m glad to know the precise turn of the tide from our tide book, and I see by my watch that we’ve timed it just right. We slide through easily, before the flood builds against us.

To starboard, lies the south end of Gabriola, our old moorage at Degnen Bay, and Burial Island with boats at anchor behind. To port is Valdes Island and the new Wakes Cove Provincial Marine Park.

Exiting the east end of Gabriola Pass, past the former native village site of Indian Point, we turn southeast again and chug pass vast acres of logbooms awaiting transit to mills, and powerful tugs readying them to enter the Pass with the start of the flood. I’m dismayed, as always, passing thousands of great trees lying imprisoned by great steel cables, awaiting the mill. One can only wonder at the distant valleys leveled by heavy machinery and what’s left for the former forest’s inhabitants.

We’re now in ‘inside’ waters, in Pylades Channel, and can head south in relative calm, protected from the whitecap rollers building up ‘outside’ on Georgia Strait, sheltered by the long chain ofislands running south from Gabriola all the way to Saturna. The small waves here, coming from behind, part smoothly around our double-ender’s tapered stern, giving us a gentle push.

Shell midden beach at Montague Harbour.

Shell beach close-up. Alan Wilson photos.

To port are the sculpted cliffs of Valdes, scoured into smooth, sensuous shapes by the forces of wind, sea, rain, and sun. A gallery of exotic forms and faces emerge as we pass. Here and there are honeycombed sections, perfect places for seabirds to roost as we can see by white guano stains.

We pass Blackberry Point, the premier paddlers’ campsite in the Gulf Islands—a vast sand and shell midden, gleaming white from millennia of use. We see a few kayaks pulled up among the logs and a couple of tents are peeping out from beneath the fir and arbutus trees.

Just south of Blackberry is Shingle Spit—another beautiful midden beach—territory of the Lyackson Indian band (do not land here). The Lyackson actually reside on nearby Vancouver Island, though a significant portion of Valdes is their reserve.

As we pass, Laurie and I ponder the possibilities of the band providing camping or showers, perhaps other accommodations, and cultural interpretation, maybe even a salmon barbeque. Why wouldn’t every paddler want to visit?

We pass Cayetano Point at the south end of Valdes and cross the eastern face of Porlier Pass, another current passage into the Strait, remembering last spring’s visit to stunning Dionisio Point Park at the north end of Galiano. I recently had a conversation with a Penelakut band member (Kuper Island) who is working to design atourism project for the area, part of their traditional territory.

Dionisio Point is gorgeous but unfortunately not on today’s itinerary. We continue southeast along the face of long, narrow Galiano Island. The shoreline is mostly steep on side like the others in the Gulf Island chain—the product of glacial forces and tectonic pressures like the others in the chain, exposing the past in layers to weathering forces which act on each island a little differently, giving each its distinct character.

Galiano, with numerous homes and cabins on the cliffs, is serviced by a direct ferry from the Mainland of BC and has a population of just over 1,000 permanent residents.

Soon we’re closing in on Montague Harbour, near the south end of Galiano. The white beach flashes at us, deep in shells accumulated from millennia of habitation.

Here, at a land-based dig in the 1960s, archaeologists found evidence of ongoing habitation dating back nearly 4,000 years. Knowing that sea levels are not what they once were, scientists undertook a shallow underwater dig here in the 1990s and discovered remains dating back nearly 10,000 years.

A portion of the Gulf Islands National Park Reserve: www.pc.gc.ca/gulf.

Just how long have people been on the coast? Water levels rose by 300-400 feet around the coast when the glaciers melted, so archaeological research faces a major challenge to locate evidence of the past.

Wandering Montague’s beaches evokes images of times long past and there’s also a superbly protected boating anchorage with many mooring buoys. But today we just slip on by, heading towards Active Pass.

Active Pass is the main ferry route to and from the Mainland, the link between Vancouver and Victoria, the provincial capital. As we approach this busy and often turbulent waterway, Laurie consultsour stock of ferry schedules and determines we won’t encounter the big ferries which ply the route.

As we cross the mouth of the Pass, we come upon Mayne Island to port and the Pender to starboard. Laurie and I paddled the narrow channel between North and South Pender a couple of years ago. Here too, archaeological work has turned up evidence of millennia of habitation. The construction of the new Poet’s Cove Resort in Bedwell Harbour was held up while developers and First Nations sorted out the contentious issue of disturbing the ancient remains. Bedwell is a Custom’s clearing for boaters arriving from the US, and has fuel and other services including a good pub, so it’s busy in summer.

John Elliott of the Tsawout people on the Saanich Peninsula: “Our people have been connected by our history to the Gulf and San Juan Islands for as long as our own beginnings. Our creation stories about this land, where we still live, tell us that the islands were once human beings like ourselves. The Great Spirit—or as we called him, XALS [‘halls’]—tossed some of our relatives out into the Straits between here and the mainland. At that time, he told those that were tossed out there that they were to look after and shelter their relatives from then on. Since that time, we have had a long lasting relationship with our relatives. “When some of our relatives landed in the salt water, they landed with their chest in the water, or chest up, or with their nose outstretched, like what is called Saturna Island today. We call it TEKTEKSEN (long nose), East Point. All of the islands have some story or history. In the Saanich language, TETACES means island, or relative of the deep. “When the first white people came, we were taking care of those island places like we were told to, as a relative. Our spiritual leader, the SNA’EM would paddle to SMOCKEC (Point Roberts on the US side) each year, to address our relatives by their ancient names, on behalf of his people, the Saanich. There and then, he would tell them that their relatives would soon be coming out to spend time with them for the summer fishing and food and medicine gathering season. He would tell them that they would be respected just as they had always been instructed to when they were placed there by XALS. “The Saanich people have always seen the care of these places as their sacred duty. It is our view that we belong to the land. When the new laws came into existence, our people couldn’t understand how we could be blocked from our ancient connection. No one asked of our belief and connection to the ancient places where we educated our children in our belief. “Our elders have passed this history to our generation. Many of them left this world not knowing or understanding how our people could be blocked from the places that XALS put there for them to take care of. The Saanich homeland is a very basic part of our belief system that gives us our identity as a people. We are the WSANEC—the Emerging people. The Saanich people today are the remainder of a great nation of those that emerged out of the great flood waters thousands of years ago. We have a sacred duty to take care of this, our homeland. “STOLCEL—my Saanich name was given to me by late father, Dave Elliott. He said take care of this name so that it won’t be forgotten. It is the name of Friday Harbour, San Juan Island. It also means ‘Far out at sea, loaded with his possessions’. I wear it proudly.” —John Elliott.

But today it’s to Saturna we’re headed. The island’s name, like that of many of the Gulf Islands, derives from the Spanish explorations of 1791 when José Maria Narvaez sailed into the area. He named the island after the naval schooner Santa Saturnina.

The Spanish returned the following year, as did the British under Captain George Vancouver. Despite animosities at home in Europe, Captain Vancouver and the Spanish captain Quadra met and exchanged information, even co-named the biggest island on the Pacific Coast of North America, “Quadra and Vancouver’s Island”. The name became shortened to just Vancouver Island with British colonial establishment at Fort Victoria (now Victoria) and the first wave of settlement by Britons (including my relatives who were ship captains sailing out of Newcastle, England).

At Saturna, we slide into a visitor’s space on the government dock. I jump onto the heavily planked surface of the dock, as Laurie leans hard over on the wheel and guns the engine in reverse to kick the stern in. I snug the bowrope down quickly, then jog down to catch the sternline she tosses to me. We notice the dock is somewhat damage from a recent fire.

We shut down the engine and make our way up the ramp, checking out the boats around us. The government dock is right besidethe ferry dock but we see no cars waiting. It’s an hour and half till the it arrives.

We walk towards the store and, well, what do you know— there’s a pub. Just like our island. Like so many of the islands. Very convenient. Ahh, a sailor’s life. We head in for a lunch of fish and chips, and sit nursing a brewski, enjoying the view down Navy Channel, back the way we’ve come—Gabriola lost in the distance.

After lunch I lead Laurie up the main road past the few cars which have gathered for the ferry until we come upon a small church on our right. A simple, elegant structure— St. Christopher’s—which my uncle Norman built when he lived on Saturna, years ago.

We peer in the windows. It’s hard to see but at the far end in the gloom of the building I think I can see the baptismal font my grandfather donated when my uncle died.

Walking back to the boat, we talk about how Saturna is one of the least populated of the Gulf Islands—only about 350 people. In the distant past, the island was used by the First Nations for seasonal fishing and hunting and there may have been some more permanent habitation, but today there is a single uninhabited reserve near the south end. The winter village site for these people was on the Saanich Peninsula of nearby Vancouver Island, and that’s where their descendants dwell permanently today.

The reserve on Saturna is the joint territory of the Tsawout (say-out) and Tseycum (say-come) bands, which are two of the five Douglas Treaty Tribes of the Saanich.

Laurie is familiar with these bands because her work with the Georgia Strait Alliance has brought her into contact with their community leaders over the years. Recently, for example, GSA has been working to build consensus for the Orca Pass International Stewardship Area and, like the Saanich bands, has been active in the public opposition to the Georgia Strait gas pipeline, proposed to run right through the islands.

She reels off the names of the other Saanich tribes, including the Pauquachin (pak-wa-chin), the Tsartlip (sart-lip) and the Malahat. All are part of the larger Straits Salish Sencot’en language and cultural group spanning both sides of southern Georgia Strait and into Puget Sound.

The Saanich were all one people prior to contact with Europeans and the establishment of the arbitrary international boundary

in 1846 (Treaty of Washington), which made itillegal for them to travel to the SanJuans and Point Roberts in the US. Up to that point, they were one people living in one ecosystem of islands and waters, with one culture. And the paddle was the way, as they passed seasonally from one spot to another in canoes to fish and to congregate cultural celebrations. (See sidebar )

On the US side of the border today, the Saanich people are represented by the Lummi and Samish people (for more see Russel Barsh’s article)

Nowadays this cross-border relationship is being renewed with the annual Canoe Journeys, where coastal First Nations from both sides paddle to a specific gathering spot. This past summer the gathering site was Tulalip, Washington.

Back at the boat, we start up the engine, leave the dock and head across the mouth of Lyall Harbour, looping around Minx Reef. We’re making for Winter Cove, about a mile from the government dock, formerly a provincial marine park and now part of the new Gulf Island National Park Reserve. The Cove is a well-protected basin and an ideal place to drop anchor—no doubt named as a safe anchorage for the winter season.

After we drop our anchor, we launch our kayaks and paddle out into the Strait through Boat Passage. There we raft up, rising and falling together, surveying the whitecaps rushing south, driven by the freshening northwest wind. There’ll be no paddling for us out here today. We sit a few minutes reminiscing about our paddle from here to Cabbage Island a few years ago on a flat calm, sunbaked day, so different from today.

There’s no public camping allowed in Winter Cove (or anywhere on Saturna for that matter), but paddlers can camp at Cabbage Island. Or, if the sea conditions and currents allow for it, it is theoretically possible to paddle around Saturna in a day— although wind from either the southeast or the northwest can make that untenable. And wind against current at Boiling Reef off East Point is definitely not a condition you want to experience firsthand.

Cabbage Island, lying nestled into the arm of larger Tumbo Island, has mooring buoys for boaters and established campsites for paddlers. The shallows between it and Tumbo contain an amazing display of intertidal life. Across the open Strait, you cansee the white tops of the Coast Mountains of the Mainland.

Other than Cabbage, the only good camping option for paddlers planning a leisurely circumnavigation of Saturna or encountering bad weather enroute, is the reserve land in Narvaez Bay, approximately half way around Saturna. Permission is required from the Tsawout people to camp here so you need to contact the band office (250-652-9101, kharry@tsawout.ca). Campers must adhere strictly to the band’s rules of no fires, no garbage, no structures. With such limited camping options available in the area, this is a privilege we hope no one will abuse.

A Boat Passage at flood, leading out into the Strait from Winter Cove. Bryan Nichols photo.

The new National Park encompasses part of Narvaez Bay, as well as Tumbo and Cabbage and the marine area around both, and other terrestrial parcels on Saturna and some other islands (see map page 11). The Park is something of a patchwork quilt, spreading across 16 islands plus numerous small islet and reef areas.

Saturna has the distinction of having a larger percentage of its land in the National park than any of the other major Gulf Islands (60%). Having had a significant ‘Crown Land’ base, the federal government was able to purchase large tracts of land on Saturna for the new Park. For more information, contact Parks Canada: 250-654- 4000, gulfislands@pc.gc.ca. Be sure to also visit the Park website: www.pc.gc.ca/gulf.

While strongly supportive of the park, Saturna Islanders are also concerned about its impacts. Given the limited schedule of the small ferry to the island, it is often impossible for visitors to return home the same day they arrive.

The National Park Reserve is in the heart of what is now being called Orca Pass, the international stewardship area declared by a coalition of non-governmental and local governmental agencies, named after the ‘charismatic megafauna’ which dominates the landscape of symbols and logos in the Pacific Northwest—the orca.

Orca Pass (outlined in detail in our Aug/ Sep 2003 issue), is essentially the world’s first transboundary stewardship area. Along with the impending National Marine Conservation Area status on the Canadian side and several marine stewardship areas on the US side, it will help to ensure the region’s ecological integrity. (This special place is now vividly portrayed in a beautiful new 11"x17" poster put out by the Georgia Strait Alliance. For your copy call 250- 753-3459 or email gsa@georgiastrait.org.)

As we paddle back to our boat, we chat about plans for the next day. We hope to hike up Mt. Warburton Pike, the highest point on Saturna. The 497-metre (1,630 foot) summit offers a panoramic view of the surrounding Gulf and San Juan Islands. From here it’s possible to grasp the continuity of the area, geographically, and to get a real perspective on the past, imagining a time when only the great canoes plied these waters.

The paddle was the way, but it’s also becoming the way again as kayakers stroke through these waters, coping with the same winds and waves the ancients encountered, landing on the same beaches. And now, with the revival of the great canoes, we are seeing more of these ancestral craft traveling the coast, rekindling a canoe culture which was in abeyance for far too many years.

Your best bet for advice and information on Saturna is Bob Bruce of Saturna Sea Kayaking. He can be reached at 250-539-5553, rbruce@gulfislands.com.
You can also check out the Saturna Tourism Association website: saturnatourism.com. Bob says there is good food service at the Saturna General Store’s café as well as at Saturna Lodge in Boot Cove. He also recommends food at the Bistro—a short walk up from Breezy Bay, as well as the associated winery and the Haggis Organic Bakery.

Kayaks and tours are available on some of the southern Gulf Islands near Saturna Island:

• Galiano: Gulf Island Kayaking: 250-539-2442, kayak@gulfislands.com.

• Mayne: Mayne Island Kayak & Canoe Rentals: 250-539-5599, maynekayak@gulfislands.com;Mayne Island Eco-Camping & Tours: 250-539-2667, camp@mayneisle.com; Blue Vista Resort: 877-535- 2424, www.bluevistaresort.com).

• Pender: Kayak Pender Island: 250-629-6939, kpi@gulfislands.com.

• Saltspring: Saltspring Kayaking: 250-653-4442, sskayak@saltspring.com; Sea Otter Kayaking and Sailing: 877-537-5678;Island Escapades Adventures: 888-KAYAK-67, escapades@saltspring.com Andale Kayaking: 250-537-0700, allanmather@hotmail.com