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In the somewhat remote coastal village of Fair Harbour we hired a local fisherman named Leo to transport us with our single kayaks and all of our gear and food to the Cuttle Islands, south of the Brooks Peninsula. On a map this peninsula sticks out from the northwest coast of Vancouver Island like a hitch-hiker’s thumb. Leo’s sturdy aluminum boat threaded the maze of channels of Kyuquot Sound for an hour and a half before reaching the islands at ten in the morning where “Voyager” was unloaded, Leo leaving us on our own for the next ten days when he would return for the pick-up at a determined rendezvous site further south.
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Coastal driftwood assumes exotic graphic grains.
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We set up camp under an ominously grey sky and scattered our tents on both beach and forest sites. After lunch it was time to explore our surroundings as our seven kayaks paddled about the small grouping of islets, then venturing out to the gentle swells of open water to view rafts of sea otters, flocks of seabirds, and coteries of curious seals. The weather improved and buoyed our spirits for the planned paddle the next day to the southern shoreline of the notorious Brooks Peninsula, the focal point for some of the west coast’s strongest winds.
There’s an easy rhythm in kayak camping. There are the tidal flows and the resulting currents, there is the breeze (both magnitude and direction), there is the acute awareness of the ever-changing position of both sun and moon, and there is the rhythm of one’s individual paddling stroke. We read the water’s surface for ripples and waves, alert to lurking dangers just under the surface. We read the sky with hopes for dryness and especially calmness.
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The kayak convoy paddles through a tangle of ‘salad’, one of many kelp beds surrounding the Cuttle Islands.
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A brilliant sunrise and gentle breeze the next morning confirmed our plan to paddle north to the peninsula. We loaded our sleeping bags and a tarpaulin in case of being stranded by a change in weather. Thankfully the weather was spectacular with almost no breeze. Flat seas allow safe paddling in unprotected water. More than two hours later we surf-landed on the sandy shore of this wildly remote nine mile-long peninsula and filled our water bags for future treatment. After a leisurely lunch we surf-launched into the tropical-looking green water and paddled back south, spotting otters and a humpback whale before landing back at our campsite, jubilant that the weather co-operated with safe passage to and from the renowned peninsula. The weather was amply benign for sleeping outside the tent under the stars that night.
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The group gathers on the beach for the evening ‘chart chat’ as the
next day’s paddle is discussed.
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The weather gods were kindly for a long paddle north to the
formidable Brooks Peninsula.
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Our main purpose for landing on the Brooks Peninsula was to stock fresh water for treatment in our water sacks. From the chart we could read the topographical drop of this stream from nearby hills, deciding that this was our best option for water cleansed by the stream flow.
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The wind picked up the next day and a chilly breeze it was. The islets’ eastern shores facing Vancouver Island were protected from wind and safe for paddling in this breeze. Gerry, his daughter Danielle, and I explored a stream on the mainland (of Van. Id.), paddling up the stream with only inches of clearance, a bit evocative of Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” with the deep forest shadows and lush vegetation. Small fish were amazingly prolific in the shallow stream. Upon returning to camp we all discovered that a juvenile black bear was becoming too chummy for our likings and with all seven of us forming a slowly advancing line while banging pots and pans the bear decided that easier pickings were elsewhere and stomped off in a huff.
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Sunrise in the Cuttle Islands.
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Gerry and daughter Danielle are halted by low water for further exploration up a stream on the Acous Peninsula of Vancouver Island.
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After three nights in the Cuttle Islands we paddled south to the nearby Bunsby Islands to set up our second campsite, again for a three-night stay. Three of the campers then set out fishing and would later bring back a hefty supplement to our curried veg satay supper. Paddled alone for much of the day to explore the small archipelago, making several easy landings to walk the beaches or to simply sit and watch the daily dramas unfold where forest meets the sea. Shoreline meadows of sea asparagus thrived, strands harvested for seasoning our savoury meals with this salty delicacy. At one beach a mink seemed unconcerned by my proximity and continued scouring about the beach logs and rocks nearby for a potential feedbag while two mink pups endlessly play-fought, chasing each other around rocks and driftwood. Apparently my presence was irrelevant and benign.
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Green Head is an easily recognizable landmark in the Bunsby Islands.
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Bad weather finally caught up with us but briefly so. All day that Saturday we were stuck in camp, mostly under the tarp while waiting for a charitable change. The northwest wind died down late in the day, steady rain changed to showers, and the improvement later allowed frisbee exercise on the low tide sandflats. Overnight the showers petered out and we awoke the next morning to welcome patches of blue in the sky. Soon the sun shone directly on the camp, our opportunity to dry out the dampness from the previous day.
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Supper vanishes quickly around the Bunsby Islands campsite with appetites exaggerated by fresh salt air.
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When rain occurs on a camping trip you’d like to be almost anywhere else. Fortunately this was our only rainy day.
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With excellent weather we set out together to explore more of the Bunsbys, often veering off solo into small coves and channels, always mindful of the tide and the current. There was no danger of becoming lost in this picturesque archipelago, obvious landforms being our navigational guides. Entire afternoons were spent both together and on our own paddling forays along complex shorelines and sandy beaches with no human footprints, only occasional paw prints in the sand from island wolves.
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After a day’s rain the next morning offers more hope with expanding patches of blue sky as the Bunsby campsite beach is explored after breakfast.
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Hermit crabs colonize a clam shell in the Bunsby Islands.
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My brother Flash paddles through some salad as we venture out in the open water to view sea otters. The otters feed on sea urchins, the latter feeding on kelp, the sea otters thus assuming the role as custodians of the kelp beds supporting
a rich and varied eco-system below.
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Late afternoon tranquility in the southern Bunsby Islands.
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Alix brought along her water colour paints and brushes to interpret the beauty of the varied coastal region.
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Moonrise in the southern Bunsby Islands over low mountains on Vancouver Island.
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Crustaceans and seaweed keep close company in the tidal pools.
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The odyssey continued south. We reluctantly broke camp from the idyllic Bunsbys for a two and a half-hour open water crossing to the third island group, the Mission Islands. The sea was like satin with only a hint of a swell while paddling southeast. A rest stop was staged by a couple of humpback whales feeding near the surface. During our half-hour marveling respite brother Flash and I ventured as close as they would allow where we caught a distinct whiff of cetacean halitosis. One whale spy-hopped a couple of times for a better look at our intrusion before continuing the maritime feast by slipping under the surface.
The Brooks Peninsula profile gradually diminished on the northern horizon. More immediate were the mountains that run along the spine of Vancouver Island, the mountains being the backdrop for countless small islands and islets. A ‘welcome wagon’ greeted our arrival to the Mission Islands, our hosts being a huge raft of about fifty sea otters congregated by a kelp bed, the insouciant otters not nearly as shy as expected. An irresistible beach nearby was chosen for setting up camp for the final three nights on Fisherman’s Island, the campsite having several spectacular seascape views in different directions. We weren’t the first to visit this site as some rickety lawnchairs had been left on the beach, the unexpected novelties most welcome. Creative use of driftwood provided an easy camp kitchen. We moved right in.
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While en route to the Mission Islands the group pauses for a half hour of watching humpback whales feeding near the surface.
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Paddlers are especially wary of moving water along the reefs as ‘boomers’ can suddenly sweep a kayak on to a reef, leaving the paddler stranded on the rocks with a precarious exit strategy.
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A distinctive seaweed-strewn islet with a single tree in the Mission Islands becomes a recognized navigational aid.
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A healthy kelp bed in the Mission Islands supports an eco-system of
mammals, fish, and crustaceans.
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The campsite on Fisherman’s Island was too idyllic to leave in a hurry, three nights there enjoyed with the surprise of beach furniture, its provenance a mystery.
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Islands and islets galore beckoned a visit, most within an easy brief paddle. Again we paddled together but often solo as well with different shorelines appealing to different paddlers. Hours could be spent alone on your own beach, on your own little islet. One day I got carried away by exploring alone, unaware that happy hour was approaching and I was doing the dinner that night. Happy hour meant ‘appie’ hour and appetites were growling back on the beach campsite.
Fortunately Alix bailed me out on conjuring some appies as I rushed back to duty facing the disgruntled crew. Prepped a smoked salmon pasta with mushroom sauce, followed by the ever-popular dessert of ‘snapped-up fruit’, the concoction being a mix of dried fruit briefly re-hydrated in boiling water, then slathered in Triple Sec. Belligerent feelings over my tardiness were salved by good ol’ reliable alcohol.
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Three different views of sunset from the campsite at Fisherman’s Island, starting at 7:53 p.m………….
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……….8:06 in another direction…………
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………..and 8:31 in yet another direction. With these views the crew was in no hurry to leave Fisherman’s Island.
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Our friend Deb was having a birthday and needed a party. Coincidentally we were near the only village within paddling range and after a week on the water we were curious about the wonders of civilization. An easy paddle brought us into Kyuquot, a coastal community of a couple of hundred souls.
Kyuquot’s only café had three items on the menu: coffee, pie, or pie a la mode. We went for the works, then collared a local to get a group shot of us on my camera. Paddled back to our campsite against a stiff breeze and sloppy sea where we made a group decision to stay at this site an extra day, the Mission Islands too attractive to leave. But our wine supply was running low and the single malt portfolio was now out of business due to excessive consumer demand.
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In a celebratory mood we paddled into nearby Kyuquot to celebrate Deb’s birthday at the local café.
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Paddlers and their boats arrive at the government wharf in Kyuquot.
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Early morning low tide tranquility at Fisherman’s Island offers a perfect reflection.
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A sea arch provides a photo op on Spring Island.
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When “Voyager” again appeared on our horizon we were down to last night’s leftovers for breakfast. We helped captain Leo get our kayaks and gear aboard his boat, an hour and a half sail back to Fair Harbour, then down the dusty road to Zeballos in our car convoy bound for the venerable Post and Beam. A feast of tostados ceviche featuring fresh halibut awaited to ease our return to civilization before the seven of us went our ways down Island and homeward, all of us agreeing that this was among our favorites of all kayaking trips over the decades.
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“Voyager” returns for the pick-up ten days later…………..
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…………..with captain Leo at the helm.
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