Mothership Meanderings: Pirates Paddle

October-November 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

In the Pacific Northwest, the boating season is intense in the summer months—but only then. The rest of the year, eight or nine months, multitudes of power and sailboats spend their time quietly at the dock.

Cooler, wetter weather is the main deterrent. But there must be more to it than that, since even quite lovely stretches of weather elicit little boating activity. Despite all the sophisticated navigational equipment and seaworthiness of modern power and sailboats, paradoxically, it’s often the smallest of vessels you’ll see on the water in the off-season—sea kayaks.

The spread of ‘mothership kayaking’ may somewhat reverse this trend as boaters find the combination appropriate for the off-season. The real secret is that you don’t have to go far afield. You can even leave your mothership at the dock and use it as a kayak launching platform for day paddles on nice days.

‘Go when it’s good’, is our motto. Wait for a weather window and be prepared to go. In mid-winter, the warmest time of day is usually the early afternoon. You’re low to the water, where the breeze is least, and tucked into your cockpit, with snug sprayskirt, maybe gloves, a warm and dry paddling jacket—for some even a drysuit. It can be pretty toasty!

Just launch off your big boat at the dock and poke your nose into the many nooks and crannies near where you tie up, areas you probably never see from the big boat. Get in close, explore the shallows, enjoy the rocks you fear when steering the big boat.

Or, if conditions look favorable and the forecast is ok, you can take your bigger boat out for a few nights. Certainly for boaters in the Pacific Northwest, there are many sheltered spots within fairly easy reach of Seattle and Vancouver, such as those in the San Juan- Gulf Islands archipelago.

PIRATES COVE

Alan off the west side of Link Island.

Pirates Cove Marine Park on DeCourcy Island in the Gulf Island chain is one of BC’s busier marine parks in summer, but in the off season it’s usually quiet. So one weekend in February, when fine weather dawned, we decided to take a complete break and get out on the water for the weekend. We quickly gathered our gear and provisions (a little too quickly, as it turned out) and headed down to our boat in nearby Silva Bay, to catch the tide in the Pass.

The water was mirror still as we motored away from the dock, save for the ripple from the canoe stern of our double-ender. Making our way out of the Bay, we rounded into the waters protected by Breakwater Island, passing Drumbeg Park on our right. Gabriola Passage was early in the flood and we made our way through easily, past fleets of scoters, into the calmer waters of Pylades Channel.

Here our eyes were drawn south, along the shore of Valdez Island, to the white slash of beach at Blackberry Point (one of the prime paddling campsites in the Gulf Islands), and beyond to the blue humps of the islands mounding in the distance. To the west of us, our gaze swept up the rising green slopes of Vancouver Island. In the foreground, our destination, Pirates Cove.

As we neared the entry, we slowed, confirming adequate depth over the shallows at the end of the reef. No problem today for our 4’ draft.

Luck was also with us—no one else was anchored in the cove. We were able to simply drop our anchor in the center (in summer, stern ties are all but mandatory).

Engine stilled, the quiet enclosed us. I launched our kayaks and geared up while Laurie packed us a picnic. Then we were off, paddling along the Pylades side of DeCourcy, through clam and oyster-studded shallows, past summer cabins empty for the winter and around rocky islets. Now and then the slick heads of harbor seals popped up, eyes silently watching, then descending to feast on hordes of little fish flooding under our hulls.

This imposing sandstone overhang dwarfs Laurie.

To our left a tiny passage opened where DeCourcy butted up to Link Island. ‘Boat Passage’, as it’s known locally, is only suitable for shallow draft vessels, like runabouts or kayaks, and it dries at lower tides. So check your tide guide or be prepared for the possibility of a short, crunchy, intertidal portage.

That day we had enough water and slipped through the narrow opening, marvelling as always at the rocky southwestern shores of Link Island, sculpted by wind, rain, sea and sun into fantastic shapes.

The sandstone shoreline of both Link and DeCourcy is sensuously eroded with smooth curves, hollows and hillocks, and in some spots, elaborate honeycomb patterns. The sheer artistry of nature amazes us every time we see it.

And then we noticed the eagles. There they sat in the hundreds, perched like so many white candles among the branches, along the whole forested west side of the island. Undoubtedly the herring were running to draw such a congregation.

Regrettably, in our rush to leave home that morning, we’d left behind our cameras, so instead of seeing through our camera lenses, we drank in the scene as we drifted by (fortunately we had taken photos on previous paddles so we are able to illustrate this column!).

Some of the great birds soared circles above us, others uttered their piercing, whistling calls. But most were mute observers, turning their powerful eyes and hooked beaks towards us for a long chilling stare as we passed.

Link Island ends at Mudge Island, with a lovely stretch of sand between them which is covered at highest tides, but today it provided us ample beach. Pulling ashore, we stripped off our sprayskirts and paddling jackets, popped our kayak hatches to get our grub, and soon were sitting back cozily against a drift log, enjoying the surprising warmth of the late winter sun, our sandaled feet making depressions in the sand.

After lunch we wandered about checking the tideline for anything interesting that might have washed up. We were careful not to intrude onto Link Island beyond the high tide level. This private island is kept in a beautifully undeveloped state by its owners.

We did walk some way up the public road on Mudge Island, and with more time we could have hiked the length of the island to overlook furiously flowing Dodd Narrows at the north end (up to 8 knots), but today we returned to our boats after just stretching our legs a bit.

We relaunched into shallows on the Pylades side (at low tide you can be in for a long carry over muddy tidal flats) and paddled away from the beach, past a cute little islet. This islet has been mentioned by several writers in the past, including myself, as ‘crown land’ and open to kayak campers. And it’s been used infrequently for many years for just this purpose, with minimal impact. But as Mary Ann Snowden says in the latest version of her Gulf Island guidebook (Sea Kayak the Gulf Islands, Rocky Mountain Books, 2004), this is in fact private and unavailable for paddlers.

Paddling through nature’s art gallery.

We paddled along the Pylades side of Link and passed through Boat Passage again so we could have another look at the amazing eagle display. Then we paddled the west side of DeCourcy, past scoter and pigeon guillemot roosts in the sandstone cliffs, along shores as remarkably sculpted as those of Link.

Rounding the southern end of DeCourcy we paddled toward Ruxton Pass, between DeCourcy and neighboring Ruxton Island. On our left was the south side of Pirates Cove Marine Park, itself a good anchorage in a northwest wind, and the beach where paddlers land. Opposite this, on the Ruxton side, is Herring Bay, a good anchorage in southeast winds, but boaters have to watch their charts carefully to avoid the reefs at the entry. The same reefs are a delight to paddle among at low water.

Rushing through the passage with the flood, we now rounded the peninsular tip of the Park and re-entered Pirates Cove proper where we saw that we’d been joined by a sailboat from Seattle. With some pleasure I saw they had kayaks strung from their lifelines.

What a perfect spot for an off-season mothership trip, we said to one another as we arrived back at our boat. We soon had our oilstove going, the boat warming up nicely, dinner in mind, looking forward to a rare winter night on the water.

NOTE: The paddle described here is probably only around 10 km, but we managed to spin it out quite happily into several hours, following the shoreline’s ins and outs and enjoying the wildlife encounters. Experience shows us that the slower we go, the more we see.

For those interested in pursuing the fascinating subject of sandstone weathering, check out the latest issue of the Shale Journal, with lots of photographs, fascinating information and technical speculations.

See www.island.net/~gm_chin/shale.html or nickdoe@island.net email .