Clayoquot Sound, BC – August 2016

While kayaking, there is limited space for provisions. During long trips I have to ration and on this ten day trip it was vitally important. If you get stuck out there for a few more days because of weather, or even a simple thing like lacking willpower you could easily run out of the necessities. That would be serious.

To be clear, I’m not talking about food, or water. It’s the inadequate supply of beer and chocolate, that I sneak into every possible nook and cranny of the boat. Did I forget to mention the bottle of Jamison I stuffed into the bow of my kayak? That’s also under strict rationing. Every night, I could have beer or two, a few squares of chocolate, and a shot at sunset.

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Things simplify when you camp; you have little more time to deal with the basics. One basic is spending hours trying to keep your beer cold, in any way possible. It usually involves some scenario with me trying to submerge them in the ocean.

Kayak rudder beer cooler

Beers cooling in the surf.

Bad weather and a terrible forecast cut my latest cruise short by a day. As I kayaked to the take-out spot, I realized I had one beer left. It is bad luck to return from a trip with any beer left.

So I stopped for lunch and rescued the lone beer that had been rolling around the bottom of the kayak for nine days. The can was dented, covered with sand and warm. But it was satisfying. This last beer symbolized the end of my voyage. I couldn’t help but reflect on my trip as I sat on the beach nursing the warm Ranier. An epic trip filled with adventure in a pristine wilderness. This expedition had it all; sun and rain, was both terrifying and relaxing, yet always stunningly beautiful. One thing is for sure, after nine days in the wilderness I had happily settled in; a wild child, and was reluctant to return to civilization. Yet return I must, I was out of beer.

Last beer standing.

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I set up camp, high on the beach, during a brief lull in the rain. I positioned the tent behind a large driftwood stump to block the wind; The swell and waves were getting larger in the bay as the westerlies kicked up. As the sun dropped below the horizon, the rain started to fall. I retired to the tent. It rained all night.

The rain starts

12 hours of continuous rain.
I woke up the next morning to torrential rain. I stuck my head out of the tent into a gale to view chaotic seas. Way too rough for the kayak. Clearly I was going to have to spend another night on this beach. I sat in the tent and read, only finally crawling out at 11:00am into the downpour. I decided to take a big hike though the coastal rainforest, which was fully earning its name. Down the trail, that resembled a stream more than a trail, past huge hundred-year-old cedars dripping with moss. I continued along the coast in the afternoon fighting along the wet and overgrown trail, as far as the small First Nation reservation with run-down houses and packs of dogs.

When I got back to camp late in the day, the weather was getting worse, not better. I set up a tarp in the only suitable place I could find; On the trail as it entered the forest. No big deal really, it was pretty deserted. I then moved the tent to a more protected spot behind a rocky outcrop on the beach. I have never been stranded for long before, but I had a bad feeling about this storm. I battened down for the long haul. It rained all night.

Camp night 2

36 hours of continuous rain
The next morning it was pouring and the wind was howling. I got out of the tent and was surprised to see a small stream had formed in the sand and was running under the corner of the tent. It was raining so hard that all along the beach rain run-off had formed rivulets running from the forest to the ocean. I dragged my tent out of the running water and built a barricade with driftwood to divert the stream away. I retreated under the tarp as the wind kicked up; I wasn’t kayaking anywhere today.

Tent under threat of wash out.

I decided to stay at camp, under the tarp. I couldn’t afford a big hike and getting soaked again, I was running out of dry clothes. It was a pretty relaxing day, I read, drank lots of coffee and battled to keep my tent from getting washed away. Most importantly, I stayed dry, but I was going stir-crazy stranded on this beach.

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48 hours of continuous rain
It was raining hard as darkness fell. Big waves were crashing and the tide was coming in fast. So I retreated back to my last line of defense; I dragged my tent underneath the tarp at the trailhead. It was a good spot, I could hold out here through anything. Although I was starting to wonder if I would ever get off of this beach. It rained all night.

Last line of defense. Tent under tarp. Heavy rain.

The next morning I opened my eyes, it was so quiet… I sat straight up, stunned – It wasn’t raining! After well over fifty hours of relentless rain, it had finally stopped. I peered outside: Dreary, low fog, but relatively calm seas. I’m out of here!!
I packed everything as fast as I could. The tent was soaked, I balled it up and just stuffed in the kayak. Like I did with everything else – A panic pack. H and I have a name for this type of advanced backwoods packing: ‘Chuck and go’. I wanted off this beach as fast as possible.

On the water, finally

I launched in a heavy fog and had to navigate by compass; not ideal. I didn’t care, I was off the beach.

When I pushed off and the kayak slid into the water I was hoping she wouldn’t sink on the spot. It was overloaded with food and equipment for my ten day trip though Clayoquot Sound.

My kayak is seventeen feet long, with two large bulkheads in the bow and stern. These were fully packed and I had the overflow in the cockpit, but at least I didn’t have to lash anything to the deck.

I estimated I had 80 pounds of equipment stuffed in every nook and cranny of my boat; food for ten plus days, camping and cooking equipment, clothing, safety and paddle equipment. Plus a few luxuries, including some sneaky beers tucked away. One thing that saved me; I didn’t need to bring much water as there were plenty of streams along my route.

Sunset at first camp

I held my breath as I launched into the cold Pacific. The waterline was high but not dangerous. She handled like a barge, she was running slow and sluggish, went through waves instead of bobbing over them. But the weight distribution was good and she seemed seaworthy enough to make it to the first camp. I swung the bow north and headed off on my adventure. Continue reading →