Out the Door and Turn Left

Summer 2007

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

Between the three of us, we had decades of experience planning kayaking expeditions in remote and sometimes dangerous areas. We were experts in interpreting the charts of obscure places, and in finding kayak crannies in which to stuff essential sources of comfort or safety in rough places. And we had spent plenty over the years chartering floatplanes and water taxis to access wild places in limited vacation time, but this was going to be different.

For various reasons Nick and I and our friend Jinny had only six days for a trip, so we decided to explore our Gulf Islands neighbourhood. We would just exit our Gabriola home, put the boats in the water and turn left, heading southeast. Jinny and I longed to paddle our kayaks, but Nick needed the flexibility to quickly visit spots off our route for his research, so he decided to take Polly Esther, our gently powered, 12 foot folding plastic Portabote™—the poor man’s mothership. What a delight it was to start late, chucking lumpy cookware and bulky water containers into Polly Esther, just packing personal gear and survival packs into our kayaks. Never was a kayaking expedition’s launch so laid back.

Leaving False Narrows at low tide, we skirted the clam beds with dozens of elegant heron fishing in the shallows. A cluster of masts in Pirates Cove enticingly caught the light, but we were headed for Blackberry Point on Valdes Island. At the north end of Valdes, hidden from view, is Coalminers’ Bay (its name is a bit of a mystery); the easy landing on a tiny shell beach makes it a perfect picnic spot with fine oyster pickings and warmish, clear water for swimming. Refreshed by a quick dip, we paddled past the log booms to visit the spectacular cliffs of eroded sandstone—a photographer’s dream of sculptured honeycombing in warm tawny creams. Its variety is amazing, with large smooth caverns, intricate mazes of tiny hollows, spherical concretions, protuberances, dramatic erosion-chiseled friezes and elegant curves. Gulls perch in hollows and ledges are upholstered with lichens and succulents. A group of seals slid into the water as we passed.

Blackberry Point is a fine campground on forestry land, maintained superbly by its users. Plentiful campsites along the shore are spacious and private, and there is a beautiful composting toilet with bags of sweet-smelling wood shavings in its cedar cabin. Abundant driftwood provides comfortable camp kitchen surfaces, and the long beach is open to the swell of Trincomali Channel and the glory of sunset. What’s more, when Jinny and I got there, Nick had already chosen a perfect site and pitched one of our tents.

In the morning, cheerful Crazy Pete, self-styled Mayor of Valdes, appeared with his friendly dog. He lives nearby, unofficially keeping an eye on campers. Chatting exuberantly, he intrigued us with tales of caves and tunnels that run deep into the inland cliffs. As we paddled out, Nick was promising to return and go exploring with Pete.

Nick was bound for Thetis Island and agreed to meet us later at Cabin Bay on Wallace Island. Just short of Porlier Pass, we headed across Trincomali Channel toward Reid Island under blue skies, but an unexpected southeasterly wind increased our work. Approaching the Rose Islets, we experienced that familiar disorientation caused by odd perspective and misjudged size while adjusting to the scale of a chart in new territory. We paddled down the sheltered side of Reid and the beautiful little rocky islet off its south end, before heading across the windy, choppy Cowichan Gap to Hall Island. We needed a stretch but could see no good landing, so after rafting for a rest and snack, we crossed to Mowghli Island.

So far we had been surprised by the lack of other kayakers, but as we approached the Secretary Islands at our gentle exploratory pace, we were overtaken by a double and a single going at a fair clip. No leisurely paddlers these; they were purposeful, speedy, and seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, including us. We continued poking along the edges of the islands, peering down for seastars or anything else that floated into view, and when a pretty cove caught Jinny’s eye, she went ashore to explore.

There are kayakers’ campsites on Wallace at Chivers Point and several boats were beached there. Most of this island is a marine park, with only a small area in Princess Cove still privately owned. Cabin Bay wasn’t marked on my chart but was reportedly about half a nautical mile down, opposite Galiano’s cliffs. Approaching the spot my heart sank—it had steep rock sides. Had I navigated wrongly? But no, when I nosed into the bay around the rocks, there was a little sheltered beach between a wooded hillside and a grassy islet studded with arbutus. Polly Esther was there with gear piled nearby. There were two wooden platforms, perfect for our tents, and picnic tables, though the huge Park Services notice board rather spoiled the view. We decided to use this as base camp for a couple of days—it was time to sling our hammock, exchange reports of the day’s events, and eat our fabulous fish stew.

We woke at dawn to the piercing whistles of a very hungry young eagle—a bittersweet experience repeated each morning. After breakfasting on our sunny islet, we explored Wallace’s trails, and the congenial park warden arrived by boat to collect camping fees. Crossing the channel to inspect Galiano’s sandstone cliffs, which unlike Valdes’ cliffs, turned out to have few erosion patterns, we were briefly caught among large powerboats traveling fast in both directions, churning up enormous wakes, then all was calm again.

That afternoon, paddling around Wallace Island, Jinny and I glimpsed an incongruous bright green lawn through the trees near the southeast end. Going ashore to investigate, we found the lovely old fruit trees and cabins of the old resort in Conover Cove, now used by boaters and campers, full of hubbub and bustle. Continuing around the island, we coasted on the surge of a following wind, navigating among oddly craggy reefs. The glistening water was busy with yachters buzzing about in their dinghies, and a couple of muscular young men tried to look cool and in control as the wind buffeted their colourful inflatable kayaks among the sharp rocks.

Back at camp, fruitcake and port were nicely rounding out our day when several kayakers poked into the bay, walked purposefully through our campsite, then paddled off, barely acknowledging us. Is there a new generation of surly kayakers, or does this area in particular attract them?

We wanted to explore Porlier Pass, but the next morning was cloudy and windy, so we piled into Polly Esther rather than paddling across Trincomali Channel. The weather cleared at the pass and we made an easy passage through at slack tide to Dionysio Point, which is extraordinarily beautiful with grassy, treed headlands and shallow back-to-back sandy beaches among sandstone rocks. A family who had hiked in were relaxing in the sun, and we amusedly watched another pod of dour kayakers land for a brief inspection, keeping on their skirts and safety gear while they strode about, before paddling briskly away as we lazed. Our choppy, wet trip back to camp in the open boat reminded us how cozy a kayak feels.

Early next morning raccoons foraged along the rocky shoreline, encouraging their baby with a humming, chittering sound. It was time to head toward home, so we broke camp, agreeing to regroup on Valdes. Too lazy to portage between the Secretaries, we passed among seals south of Mowghli, paddled along Norway Island, then crossed to land for a swim on the pebble beach halfway down Reid. After a smooth, sunny crossing to Shingle Point on Valdes, we landed to stretch in the shade before paddling to Blackberry Point.

On our last morning, Nick went spelunking with Crazy Pete while gulls dropped clams and squawked in a brisk northwest wind. I made a false start, re-landing to fix a dislodged rudder pedal before heading for Pylades Island, meandering up its shore past a family of ducks. We paddled through the channel and up the far side of Ruxton to its turbulent northern point, though the waters were calm around the pretty beach and islet (bearing a tent) beyond. Powerboats politely avoided us as we crossed to De Courcy, but all was serene along its shoreline and on past Link and Mudge Islands. In the homestretch of False Narrows, the powerful headwind and tidal outflow gave us one last challenge before we landed under the maples and unloaded our gear into the house.

Note: The boat launches at El Verano Drive and Degnen Bay on Gabriola Island are fine launch points for paddling in this area of the Gulf Islands. There is also a campground at the south end of De Courcy Island.

Jenni is a semi-retired writer and editor who has lived in BC for 34 years, has been ocean kayaking for about 25 of them and regrets the 9 she missed.