Hell AND High Water

Misadventures in the Gulf Islands

It was about three am when I woke up to the sound of boats clanging together. I swore, cursed my bad luck (read: error in judgement).

In just about every kayakers tenure, they play chicken with the high tide and either A) awake in the night to a flooded tent or B) conduct a middle night rescue mission for poorly placed boats. (There is also an option C, swim for boats lost to the high tide. Always a little nervous, I tie on boats every night).

The banging and sloshing pretty definitively meant that we’d miss-calculated the high tide line (okay so we didn’t calculate it), our boats while tied on were being mashed against the driftwood, and we would get wet in our 3 am rescue mission. So it goes.

We got up with headlamps and waded into the ocean to pull three waterlogged kayaks out of 1-ft chop. As one might guess, we missed our 5am wake up window for the narrows the next morning both due to being unable to roust ourselves after our late night adventures, and due to an unforecasted 20kt wind from the southwest. After *much* group debate we decided to scrap the whole paddling day and chalk it up to windbound. None of us really wanted to take the day off, conditions were iffy at best, and while on a good day we could’ve definitely do it, this particular day had gotten off to a bad and early start.

Swamping a boat or tent of course is a bit of a rite of passage, one of those things that makes for an excellent cautionary campfire tale a few years down the road, but right now we were not laughing. (Okay Ebba is laughing as I read this out loud for her).

Remember that time we were young and dumb and said “the boats will be fine” and had to wade into the ocean at three am? Good times.

For all of the rain soaked clothes or late night dalliances with the sea, one of the better parts of the wilderness is it’s ability to teach a lesson.

The wilderness is a world of “if…then…”, painfully clear relationships between cause and effect.

If you leave your rain gear out and hike into the woods with all your dry clothes on and it rains, you will be wet. You will have no dry clothes, so you will be cold. Now you bring your rain gear everywhere always.

If you don’t pack enough food then you will be hungry. If you don’t bring enough clothes then you will be cold.

If you don’t move your boats above the high tide line then you will wake up at three am and wade thigh-deep into the ocean to lift them to higher ground. From now on, you move the boats higher beforehand.

I truly wish I had pictures to convey what a scene us wading into the water in the night  with headlamps to grab our half-swamped boats was, but I do not think Ebba and Andy would’ve found it endearing if I had is pause for a photo op.

But that was last night— back to the linear narrative.

PORTLAND ISLAND

After customs and a different long day in Sidney, we made it late in the evening to Portland Island. Sandy beaches have been few and far between, so I was thrilled! Definitely my favorite campsite of the trip so far.

Plans at Portland

The next day, we paddled 11 miles to James Bay. We had a good tailwind and the flood tide with us, some decent sized waves tapering off to calm, and life was good.

JAMES BAY

James Bay, like Portland Island, is in the Gulf Islands National Park Reserve (Preserve? Can’t remember) and made a good spot to rest for the 26-miler the following day.

The living room

PIRATES COVE

Site of the boat swamping. The previous morning we were on-water around 8:30 to hit a 26 mile day. The 26-mile day itself wasn’t so bad, with a flood tide helper most of the way and calm seas.

Pirates Cove itself is nice, and the island as a great history (and hilarious campground hosts! Thanks Sarah and Blaine for the stories!) but it’s definitely not ideal for a kayak camper with a tricky driftwood beach and a long stair carry to tent pads.

Ship in front of the mountains

Highlights of the past few days have included plenty of seals, starfish, and coffee breaks.

Challenges have been… challenging.

All this to say, we’re cold and tired and hitting a town soon, so if you want to contribute to our hot meal fund, smash that subscribe button below.