Murphy’s Law of the Wilderness

sometimes things go so wildly wrong you have to laugh over a bowl of quinoa Nutella

I started off the first full day by stepping on a wet log, wiping out and breaking a toenail. We launched, and it became very apparent very quickly that the small leak in the stern hatch of my boat was a today problem—

When packing the day before I’d jammed something into the back of the boat a little too aggressively and heard something snap. Thinking it was a piece on my hammock or just a boat noise, I ignored it. I’d shook a little piece of sealant on the skeg box loose and by the time we reached our camp for the night, I had about a liter of water in the stern hatch— a big enough leak to definitely warrant repair, but not so large that it’s a pressing issue. Almost all of my gear is in dry bags so while a leak is inconvenient, it will neither sink the boat or soak the gear.

The next day began with the wipeout and broken toenail. On the water, we had a northeast tailwind that wasn’t in the forecast— we don’t know the waters and weather patterns here firsthand yet, so wildly out forecast made us a little extra cautious.

With the small chop behind us, my boat was nosediving with every wave. In an effort to keep anything that needs to be dry out of a leaking hatch, I’d packed my boat stupidly front heavy. With the forecast we had, it would’ve been fine to paddle through. But with the unforecasted northeast?

We turned, and headed back to the first campsite site to repair my boat and search for water.

And that was just the beginning.

The next day we got ready to take an early start and realized I’d torn my neck gasket on my Kokatat drytop— ridiculously unlucky (perhaps fitting since it was decision to go ahead and launch on Friday the 13th).

A drytop functions by keeping your core completely dry though sealed gaskets at the wrists and neck— a torn neck gasket renders that essentially ineffective. In the event of a capsize or even simply a large wave washing over my deck, water would get into the drysuit through the tear, leaving me in cold water and a hypothermia risk (you may recall about two years ago I was hypothermic on a different sea kayaking shoulder season trip).

Feeling damp after a rainstorm below

This left us with two options— either we stay on the first island, where we’ve already spend one night more than we planned, wasting another good paddling day on repairs in a place with no easy access to water, or do a quick, makeshift repair and paddle to the next campsite to make some progress, in hopes of better access to fresh water.

Ultimately we opted to paddle, deciding the risk of being wind bound in a place with no good water access was greater than the risk of hypothermia due to capsize on a relatively calm and low mileage day.

So on we went, and in a haste to pack my boat I shoved my rain gear behind the seat of my cockpit rather than in my hatches, without wrapping it in itself to stay dry. This was a mistake, but I’m getting there.

We were able to ride the ebb current for our first crossing of the day which was awesome, and had lunch near some beached harbor seals just after slack tide (the time in which there is no current, roughly when the tide is neither rising nor falling). We made it to our campsite, about 8 miles from where we started, in about two and a half hours.

We unloaded boats in the rain, and should’ve set up a tarp immediately but didn’t. It stopped raining, so I left my seawater soaked rain gear to dry inside out on a rock in the sun while Ebba and I went out to search for fresh water. So far, most of the rain we’d been in had been more of a light spitting rain than a downpour.

Delicious desserty dinner

After about a mile walk in the woods, we found a good enough stream to filter from, and I packed about 12 L of water in a daypack and it started to pour. On the way back, I slipped and slid part way down a hill with the water on my back.

I came back to camp to my rain gear still out in the rain, with most of my clothes (ALL of my long pants) completely soaked.

My own fault, but I was not a happy camper. Lesson learned— roll your rain gear, keep your rain gear out of the rain, bring your rain gear with you.

Between all my clothes being soaked and a small craft advisory, we decided to take a recovery day the next day (today).

Luckily, the west wind was nice enough to dry out my clothes for me, and were camped at a place with fresh water, clean vault toilets, and a nice view (it’s the little things).

We had a delicious quinoa dinner — 2 cups of quinoa, 1 cup dried raspberries, 3 spoonfuls of brown sugar, 1/2 cup of almonds, top with peanut butter or Nutella.

And I think that’s when it started to feel real for me— shivering there in my shorts (last dry clothes) under a tarp while Andy and Ebba made fun of my “dinner” with so much sugar it’s more desert, laughing about type 2 fun and how every good long trip starts out with a disastrous first week while you’re still figuring it out, laughing about all the people who shook their heads and told us it was an unseasonably cold May out here— part of the draw of long trips is there is something incredibly fun about a healthy dose of misery.

Camp the next day

Do you know what I mean? Without the boat leak, AND the torn gasket, AND the soaked clothes (and the toenail rip) what would there be to laugh about while we gather round the whisperlite at night?

My clothes are (mostly) dried, the otters are playing just outside the tent right now, there are wildflowers in the hills, and it’s a beautiful place to be—

And we don’t have to be anywhere. We don’t have anything to prove, just the feeling of being a person in a body by the ocean to enjoy.

Everything can, and probably will, go wrong. But I will be stowing my rain gear correctly next time.