Mothership Meanderings: Separation Anxiety

June-July 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

Not to be used for navigation.

Queen Charlotte Strait is the name of the body of water where Vancouver Island diverges from the Mainland of British Columbia just north of Johnstone Strait. This is not to be confused with the strait bounding the Queen Charlotte Islands well to the north of here—Hecate Strait, aptly named after the Greek goddess of the underworld.

While Queen Charlotte Strait can also be a hellion at times, in calmer conditions you can safely enjoy the many weather-beaten islets fringing its eastern side.

I remember one trip, blessed with early calm, as we explored this fringe of islets: me standing on top of the wheelhouse watching for rocks and scanning for future paddling spots; Laurie below, steering while delighting in the many scoters and auklets we were passing.

As that morning wound on, however, the wind started to blow up to the point that we finally abandoned our northwesterly progress and ducked into Wells Passage where we were protected from the now rough waters of Queen Charlotte Strait.

Wells Passage is an entryway to a veritable maze of inner waterways—Grappler Sound, Kenneth Passage, Mackenzie Sound, Nepah Lagoon...

With so many protected bays and lagoons in which to anchor, where should we go? Scanning our guidebooks, we noticed that nearby Drury Inlet had a cluster of rocks and islets at its head, exactly the sort of formation in which we love to paddle. There was also an interesting looking offshoot into Actaeon Sound leading to an inner lagoon—lots to explore by kayak! Since our tide and current table s showed that slack water was just ending at the entry to Drury, we decided to go for it.

With the help of our guidebook, we navigated past the hazards at the narrowest part of Stuart Narrows and proceeded west up the Inlet, finding it to be a considerable body of water. The low surrounding land was forested with second growth timber as it had obviously been heavily logged over the years, and some recent logging scars caught the eye. Perhaps this feature, and the fact there are so many other good anchorages nearby, kept Drury from becoming popular with boaters—certainly we saw few boats here.

Reaching the Muirhead Islands near the head of the Inlet, we found a small notch where we dropped anchor. I launched the kayaks off the side as Laurie readied our paddles and gear.

We had a gorgeous paddle in the lagoon-like hidden channels among the evergreen encrusted rocky islets, tree limbs draped in lichens and shores thick with moss, before returning to the boat for dinner.

We passed a quiet night at anchor. In the night, the weather turned and morning dawned gray and misty. As usual, I rose early and quietly launched for a paddle on my own while Laurie rolled over to steal some further winks, tucked into our snug bunk.

Early morning is a magical time for paddling. It’s usually still and you feel wonderfully at peace as your bow slips through the mirroring waters, the shore’s reflections multiplying in your wake.

I decided to reconnoitre nearby Actress Passage which leads into Actaeon Sound. As I approached, I could see kelp fronds around me in the water bending in the flow and I stopped paddling to get a feel for the current.

I hadn’t checked the current table s before setting out, but thinking back to the times for Stuart Narrows the day before and working forward, I realized it must now be close to peak current.As I neared the mouth of the Passage, near Dove Island, I could feel it starting to grab the bow of my kayak. Ahead I could see the main tidal stream clearly turbulent, with whirlpools forming.

The current began to drag me in and as I tried to turn, the flow streamed against the nose of my boat, momentarily destabilizing me.

A calm paddle in the Muirheads Islands was a sharp contrast to the racing current in nearby Actress Passage.

Panic flared and I braced, slewing about in the flow. Straightening out, I paddled as hard as I could, straining against the waters which were sucking me back into the narrows.

I could barely hold my own against the dragging force and my arms began to burn. But finally I managed to break free and pull into calmer waters where I paused to catch my breath.

That was a close one. If I had been pulled right into the Passage, it would have been a struggle to keep afloat in all the turbulence. I shuddered at the thought of cold, swirling waters closing over me.

Whether I had capsized or not, I certainly would have been sucked through into the inner Sound and stuck there for hours, waiting for the tide to turn.

Laurie would have woken up to find me gone. Since I had no VHF radio to communicate with the her and we had done no pre-planning for such an eventuality, she would have become concerned. What could she do... go off in her kayak to find me? Call Coast Guard?

With that thought, I promised myself to work out some protocols with her and look into getting a waterproof, handheld VHF.

As I now caught sight of our boat resting at anchor by the Muirheads, calm as can be, I felt a surge of appreciation.

Or was it something else? All that adrenaline had left me with a bit of an appetite. Time for breakfast.

Check out Peter Vassilopoulos’ book, ‘North of Desolation Sound’, for more on Drury Inlet (Book Reviews).