Never Turn Your Back

April-May 2005

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

by Al Keith

© Al Keith photo

It was the fifth of July, the tenth day of my solo kayak trip on the central coast of BC, and the sun had been out only twice. Gray sea, gray sky, but no rain. And it was rain I needed. It had been four days since my capsize and the loss of my water supply. My energy level had gradually reduced to that of a sleepwalker. Paddling was slow and laborious.

For days I had been collecting the dew on my tent and on the plastic bags which I spread out each evening. Then it was up early as I greedily lapped at the dew that covered everything. But it was never enough. It was sustaining life, but barely. The water in the few creeks I checked out was undrinkable. How had I gotten myself into this mess?

The day I had capsized had been gray, like most of the days of my trip. But the Hakai region was spectacular and I was enjoying myself despite the heavy chop and lack of sun. I was paddling solo because my usual paddling buddy had broken his ankle before the trip and couldn’t come along.

I’d been paddling all morning and finally decided to land on a small islet for a break. As I approached my landing, I could feel the swells building up to respectable surf, and I knew I had to concentrate. I headed for a tiny tongue of land to take advantage of the lee protection it would afford me. Everything seemed to be going fine until I felt a shift in the heavy, waterproof bag on the back deck of my kayak.

I turned sideways to tighten the strap that held the bag to the boat, turning my back on one of nature’s awesome forces. And that was when it happened. In a moment of inattention to the sea, a large wave flipped my kayak as if it were a piece of driftwood. Before I knew it, I found myself out of my boat in the roiling ocean, unsure which way was up.

© Al Keith is a freelance writer and paddler who lives in Comox, BC.

The next wave pushed me even further down until I scraped my hands on a boulder and knew that I was on the sea bottom. I wasn’t wearing my life jacket because it was tucked ’safely’ under the straps on my kayak, but at least I was wearing my wetsuit, and so the cold waters were no immediate threat. But I needed air, and needed it badly. At that moment, a quote from an emergency handbook popped into my mind: ”You can survive—just try to keep on living one minute longer!”

Just then my feet managed to take hold on a larger rock at the sea bottom. I mustered all my strength and pushed upwards as hard as I could, lashing out with my arms. As my head broke the surface, I gulped air into my lungs gratefully.

Then I looked around for my kayak and paddle. My little boat was being tossed about nearby, its cockpit full of water. Thanks to the two watertight hatches, it had maintained some of its buoyancy.

I managed to retrieve my paddle and grab my kayak. After securing the paddle under deck lines, I struggled to push the boat toward a surf-washed boulder. With my failing strength I angled the bow of the kayak onto the slippery rock, and hung on to the side until I had caught my breath. After pumping out some of the water, I swung my body across the half-empty cockpit, slid in and continued to pump. Finally, near total exhaustion, I maneuvered the boat off the boulder and paddled to shore, where I dragged my boat free of the surf and collapsed beside it.

After I had caught my breath, I stumbled to my feet to assess my situation. Surveying my boat, I could see that the sea had taken my campstove, my fuel canister and some of my food. But more disastrous, my moment of negligence had cost me my water. The large water-bladder had torn loose and was nowhere to be found.

Without a stove, there was no hot coffee the next morning, no soup at lunch. And without water I went thirsty for days, living off the little dew I could collect on my boat and tent. Each day I looked at the gray sky and hoped for rain.

On the fourth day after my capsize, the sky darkened, thunderheads moved in, and late in the day the first drops fell. It was no heavy downpour, just a gentle, steady flow of precious drops. I raced for shore and set out all all my remaining containers. I have never tasted anything so heavenly as that first full cup of water. Sheer nectar!

• Don’t head into unknown waters alone.

• Take ample drinking water to cover emergencies.

• Secure loose items, like water containers, to your kayak.

• Wear your life jacket, don’t just keep it tucked on your deck.

• Let others know where you will be paddling, and for how long.

• Don’t paddle into regions unknown to you without a good wetsuit.

• Always observe and respect the sea. Don’t ignore nature’s awesome potential.

• When kayaking among the many islands of BC’s coast, play safe and bring along a GPS. It’ll get you home safely.

© Al Keith is a freelance writer and paddler who lives in Comox, BC.