To find out that your kayak is taking on water in the middle
of a 4 hour crossing is never a good thing I suppose. Making this type of discovery
at the end of a 14+ hour day during a month long solo paddling trip along a remote
coast can also add a little spice to such situations. “Saddle up!” sang the
little voice in my head. “It is getting dark and its instant mashed potatoes
for dinner!”.
After a long winter working as a Registered Nurse on Haida
Gwaii, I was searching for a little excitement to kick off the summer. Born and
raised on Haida Gwaii, I was doomed to be a paddler ever since my dad had me in
a kayak when I was less than 2 weeks old. After paddling across the Hecate
Strait from Masset to Prince Rupert in 2008, I have since toyed with the idea
of connecting Northern BC all the way down to Southern Vancouver Island. During
a nightshift in January I settled on the idea of paddling the length of the BC
Coast from the Nisga’a Village of Gingolx in the Nass
River valley and ending in Victoria, BC. The trip would take me through
10 separate First Nation’s lands and cultural
boundaries and I was very much interested in speaking with the youth who lived
in these remote First Nation communities. With a bit of prep and some
wonderful hospitality from some good people in Terrace, I soon found myself
sitting in my kayak floating down the Kincolith River in a fully-loaded boat
with Alaska to my immediate right, a month of paddling to my left, and some friends
waving goodbye from the shore.
 |
| 6 weeks of gear |
One of the most significant things that hit me as I began
making my way south was the history of people who have called the West Coast
their home. Beginning with First Nation people who have been here for thousands
of years, to European settlers who arrived a mere few hundred years ago, it is
easy to say that every single beach that I stopped at or camped on was once
inhabited. A few times during the trip I paddled around a point or corner and
came face to face with a deserted cannery town site. With empty windows staring
out at the water, trees growing through the roofs of houses, and not a single
living soul within miles, these were places that made the hairs on the back of
your neck stand straight up and made you feel like you were being watched. A
good example of this was when I passed the abandoned town of Butedale located
approximately two thirds of the way between Prince Rupert and Port Hardy. A
fishing, mining, and logging town, Butedale was established in 1918 and at its
peak the town had over 400 occupants. In its day, Butedale had regularly
scheduled steamboat dockings, and was a hub of the Northwest Coast. The town
sits directly beside a massive cascading waterfall which dumps into the
Princess Royal Channel, and through the use of a hydroelectric dam connected to
the falls, Butedale had full electrical services. This was evident by the large
rundown sign boasting “Icecream!”. My imagination was running strong by that
part of the trip, and when I closed my eyes I could easily see Butedale during
its glory with numerous steamships, the sounds of machinery working in the
large cannery warehouses, and the yells of men, women, and children selling
goods on the wharf to passing boaters. When I was there, all that greeted me
was the whistling of wind through abandoned wharf pillars and the occasional
bark of a passing sealion. Spooky stuff!
 |
| Butedale |
 |
| whitewater potential Everywhere! |
There is something to be said about solo multiday trips.
With no distractions other than immediate surroundings, I soon found myself
completely immersed in the present with little thoughts other than when to eat,
where to sleep, and how far to paddle each day. I have to admit that the first
few days were a bit intimidating as the magnitude of my venture began to sink
in. However, always the optimist, I trained myself to focus not on the
long-term goal, but instead began to set achievable daily goals in order to
avoid overwhelming myself. I will be frank, I am in no way the first (or last)
person to attempt a journey such as this. However, the prospect of spending 6
weeks kayaking on the ocean by oneself can be daunting. In order to be
successful, you really have to focus on the positive side of any situation
during time spend alone in a remote setting. If you let yourself dwell on
negative thoughts, things can get a bit scary out there!
 |
| somewhere on the Central Coast |
By the end of the first week, I felt that I had really
settled into a comfortable groove. From the moment I woke up in the morning and
opened up my tent to the moment I curled up in my sleeping bag for the night, I
was constantly on the move. Things became easier and easier and the days all
began to blend in to one another. Life was simple and I loved it.
  |
| exposed westcoast camp, best ever |
For the most part the weather held well during the trip. This
was especially true during the times when good weather was necessary to make specific
daily destinations. Granted, I spent a few days dining on large slices of
humble-pie. Generally the beaches that I camped on were mixture of sand and
shale, but a few memorable nights I was forced to surf land on rocky ‘beaches’
in order to safely get off the water due to bad weather. I chose to use a
plastic boat on this trip for specifically this reason. While fiber glass and composite
boats paddle much nicer, I was all alone and needed to rely on a kayak that
could take a solid beating. That memorable moment when I felt water sloshing at
the back of my knees during an open ocean crossing was a direct result of a
forced landing on rocks earlier in the day which had allowed me to scramble up
a cliff to fill my water bottles from a questionable looking muddy stream. Luckily,
the mini crack in the hull of my boat wasn’t too serious and with regular
pumping every 20 minutes or so, I was able to successfully complete the
crossing and make it to camp where I promptly set about to patching the hole
with a lighter, Aquaseal, and gorilla tape (a must for any kayak repair kit!). I
am happy to say that the patch held, my will-power did not waver, and after 4
weeks of kayaking I arrived at the harbour in Victoria a full 2 weeks ahead of
schedule.
 |
| day 27, tasting it! |
During my 27 days on the ocean, I underwent all the ups and
downs one can expect when pushing personal mental and physical boundaries. I experienced
pain, sweat, bled, felt pure bliss, spent days in absolute silence, growled, sang
my heart out, laughed like a maniac, foraged for fresh food, ate stinging
nettles, fiddleheads, urchins, roots, and grubs, bathed and drank from fresh
springs, ran out of water and drank from mud puddles, caught fish, ate a life
supply of trail mix (and still lovin it!), paddled with dolphins, porpoises,
and humpback whales, was chased by sea-lions, discovered instant mashed
potatoes, got the ultimate hand-tan, spend days and days soaking wet, paddled
through sleet, rain, wind and tide, got caught in breaking West coast swell, camped
on haunted shores, slept on moss, sand, and rocks, raced super-tankers (and
lost), told myself I would never paddle again, and swore I would never stop
kayaking. In the communities that I paddled past, I met old friends and made
new ones, was taken into peoples homes and experienced the epitome of human
compassion and hospitality. I am thankful for my dad and uncle Don for their
infinite paddling wisdom, my trusty Necky kayak and Werner blade for not
breaking apart and delivering me safely to my final destination, and Mountain
Equipment Coop for supporting this adventure and providing the necessary gear
which helped me achieve my goal of paddling the length of the BC Coast. My
heart is warm, and my soul is strong. Sahgwii hla ang.Ga aalaay isda Guu (Lift
your paddles up). Haawa.
 |
| classic camp shit-tornado |
 |
| vancouver island sunset |
No comments:
Post a Comment