Day 77 of the expedition finds us at our last resupply in Ucluelet , BC. The weather has been fair, with an incredible amount of light wind, tailwinds, and sunshine. We expected to wait for favorable weather windows at each of the big peninsulas coming down the coast, but we got lucky: when we arrived at Cape Scott, the Brooks Peninsula, and Estevan Point, the weather just happened to be fair enough the next day. What to do? Go! This has allowed us to paddle long days and then take rest days in beautiful places.
An early start to beat the winds around Cape Scott.
The west coast of Vancouver Island is simply stunning. Every day we have encountered another area that made us look at each other and say, “wow.” The landscape is totally different on different stretches of the coast: big sand dunes and beaches, mountains that rise in rows way back into the inlets, giant moss-covered trees with thick salal undergrowth, and dry rocky pine-covered hills that remind me of the east side of the Cascades back in Washington and Oregon.
Sea cave and rugged coastline
Solander Island off the tip of the Brooks Peninsula.
Traveling down this exposed coast takes some consideration, as the sea can become lively fairly quickly. The swell coming off the open ocean can combine with (or askew from) the wind waves and current to create lumpy water. Each combination of wind and swell has a particular feel to it, pushing a kayak around in a different way than the day before. You learn to paddle in the seas for that day, adapting your strokes and tactics to best suit the rippling, dynamic surface you are traveling on.
Paddling with a bit of a sea on.
One of the most amazing things about traveling an open coast in a kayak is just how close to the cliffs and rocks you can get. With some careful observation you can determine where the water is moving up and down, and where the waves are breaking sideways. Swell crashes on the rocks in a violent way, but if you look closely there are small slots in between some hazards where the water is just moving up and down. With a bit of thoughtful timing a kayak can safely pass between those otherwise dangerous areas. We slip through those cracks when we can, gliding behind the rocks and reefs, finding relative calm a dozen meters from where the power of the ocean explodes upwards in spray and foam. It is a special feeling, traversing the parts of the coast where bigger boats would not dare to go.
Calvin looking for a gap.
Time has stretched and elongated as the days add up on this journey. We often have the sense that time is passing more slowly; the days and moments have started to last a very long time. Sometimes that can be disheartening, like when we are paddling a long stretch and wanting to get to camp. Sometimes it is lovely, like when we are spending a rest day watching waves break on the beach. Most of the time we don’t remember the rest of our lives back home. It can feel like all we’ve ever done is paddle, set up camp, make dinner, sleep, and do it again the next day. This is a pleasant feeling, like the trip is forever in a good way. I appreciate the simplicity of our lives out here, a summer that stretches on and on.
Sunset light looking up Esperanza Inlet.
However, in the last week that sense of forever has been pierced at times. When arriving at camp one night I was reluctant to get in the ocean to rinse off my wetsuit: it just seemed a bit too cool out. When we wake for early mornings Orion is on the horizon. A few days ago we saw some small trees along the shore had started to change color. The fall is coming, and it will bring the southeasterly gales along with it. We have seen a couple brief weather fronts on our way down the coast, but those were just the opening act. It looks like we will make it home before the season fully changes, but we do not have time to linger out here.
Orion over the Lennard Island Lighthouse early in the morning.
While the coming autumn is nudging us down the strait towards Washington, our island home is also beginning to call to us. We have started making plans for the days after the trip, started thinking about our return to work. The past few days we have had cell service at our camp sites… the online world tempts us with its many time-stealing distractions. It is easy to start spending time thinking about what is next, about what is happening out in the world.
Headed southeast, headed home.
Over dinner last night we both realized that we both think the next stretch might be the hardest of the entire trip. Partly because we are physically tired from over 70 days of traveling, but also because it will be easy to step off the trip mentally.
Moonrise over Checleset Bay.
But no, we can do better for the next ten days. We will keep our devices turned off. We’ll take the time to stop and keep looking at the world around us as we paddle. We’ll stay out of the tent long enough to watch the stars appear in the darkening sky. This summer will end, but not before we enjoy just a bit more of what we find out here.
Lions mane jelly
Sea lion party
Sea otters with pup
Black bear foraging at low tide.
Robin goes for it.
Clean pebble beaches are the best.