June 12th

We left our glamping site and headed for Robson Bight, where the orcas rub there bellies, under cloudy skies, but smooth water. For most of the morning, it was a quiet paddle while enjoying the rugged coastline imaginable. Rock faces chisled by retreating glaciers adorned with sea creatures below the tide line and abused logs tossed by passing storms. All topped with a thick, wild forest.

[Rugged, rocky coastline]

By time we entered Robson Bight, the north west winds had picked and forced us into the area closer to shore than we were supposed to be due to the orca restrictions. We didn't see any orcas frolicating in the surf, or anywhere esle for that matter, so we took the safe route after discussing the consequences of being hauled up before the Royal Canadian Mounted Police for violating the restriction. There are several solar-powered remote cameras with microwave links to somewhere to help keep an eye on the activities at the Bight. 

While the Bight is not that large, it is large enough that I had to stop for a pee break just before we noticed the sign designating the far side of the protected area. Strike two.

June 10th

We left the protected area of the steel-tubed breakwater by a little opening near the boat ramp. The destination for lunch was Telegraph Cove, a cute little town that is a prime tourist destination for those travelling by land. It has the Prince of Whales whale-watching group operating out the corner area of the main downtown area, a cafe/diner with some really good hamburgers, the ability to stay in the 100+-year old houses, a new hotel, and they are rebuilding the whale museum that burned down a couple of years ago. 

[We parked in an open slip and wandered around the town in our wetsuits]

[Quaint houses that you can rent out by the night]

After lunch, we paddled out of the cove and headed south for a bit. Rounding a large peninsula head, we turned 180-degrees and headed back into a beautiful cove with an established campground. Blinkhorn Peninsula protects this little bay from winds from either north or south, along with it very own large waterfall on the island side not too far from the camp area. 

After we got our tents set up, we were entertained for over an hour as two porpoises rounded up small fish and enjoyed an all-you-can-eat buffet.

[The photographer not quite thinking, missed the waterfall just off the right side (bottom?) of the picture]

[Our entertainment for the night--porpoises!]

June 11th

We got up and got moving, since the tide was already flooding (going in our direction) and would be till around 11:00-ish. It still took us a couple of hours to get everything packed while making some breakfast, and then get it down to the water's edge. Here is a perfect example of optimism and confidence in your ability to get something done. The tide is rising up the beach and you can see where the high tide line was yesterday. Dividing the space left by the last high tide the hours remaining until the next high tide gives you some idea of increments. Then figure the amount of time you think it's going to take to load the boat and be ready to go, and place your selected logs on which to place your boat near the appropriate increment. Place boat on logs and start carrying the bags of stuff that somehow still don't fit easily into the holds and place next to the boat. Start loading boat. Realize that you've been overly optimistic about how quickly this process was going to go. Move boat up the beach. Move stuff in the bags that are being licked by the water making it's way up the beach. Repeat at least two more times with increasing bewilderment of how much you could be off. 

[Racing the tide]

We finally got off the beach into water so smooth you could count the needles on the trees reflected from the steep hillsides. Well, maybe not the needles, but the limbs for sure. Peter took time to take some pictures and cuss at his Insta360. I couldn't hear him, but I'm pretty confident he was cussing at it. 

There were several campsites we could see tucked into the trees, as we paddle by them hugging the shoreline. The shoreline is where the interesting stuff can be easily seen. What is disturbing is how few creatures we are seeing on the bottom. The water is crystal clear up to about 10-15 feet, and there isn't as much of a variety as you would expected in these tidal areas. I did see thousands upon thousands of jelly fish. Little ones, mostly. A big one would be the size of man's watch who is lacking somewhere else in his life. The small ones were so increadible small, and, yet, their "bodies?" were such amazing detailed beings. 

Paddling at a good clip with the current moving us along, we were set to stop around noonish for a pee and some lunch. I spied a bit of beach on the far side of this bight (not big enough for a bay) and figured that would probably be a good place. On the near side of said bight, I saw some sort of structure peeking out of the woods. This seems as good a place as any for lunch. 

[Torn tarp over large platform]

It was, in fact, a glamping sort of camp that had been abandoned for at least a few years. It was nice enough that we made the decision to stay the night. It was pretty awesome, and I'm sure it was a high-end thing when it was operating. I has several large platforms big enough for a good-sized wall tent and a personal patio each. It has a two-stall shower system that brought water in from up higher on the creek to provide water pressure, and it  looks like it had the hardware for a filtering system and propane powered instantaneous hotwater heater. The propane tank is still there with half a tank left. The composting toilet was at least $5k when new, probably twice that, and I can attest that it still works great. Where we decided to set up camp was in the dinning room, repleat with some solid tables, wicker lounge area furnature with table, a very nice sink with expensive faucet, and a giant Jenga set. All covered by a substantial translucent tarp cloth with fabric woven into it. 

[camp Beach Cafe]

[The Beach Cafe sign]

[Shower stall. There was an outer sitting area with mirror for each stall]

[Stairs to the throne]

[Composter. There was a solar panel near the dining area to power some aspect of this device]

Lunch was a couple of creative instant potato dishes washed down with some filtered water from the creek. The water that we had been carrying since Cluxewe was tainted heavily with nasty iron with other unknown heavy metal tastes. It all got dumped out and replaced with some of this sweet creek water. 

[Lovely creek to get water (upstream of the walkway) and bathe (downstream of the walkway]

Tomorrow, we plan a 10.5 mile paddle past Robson Bight, which is where the Orcas go to rub their bellies. They don't know why they do that, but the area is restricted to give them space to do their thing. Supposedly, we are supposed to stay a mile offshore. There will be a sign. There are signs at each end of the shoreline which mark an area where you are supposed to stay at least 0.5miles off shore. 

June 9th

It rained all day. All day.

[We made due with covering the tents and making a little place to sit.]

We stayed put at Alder Creek Resort and read book, me on Kindle and Peter some tomb he picked up at the Cluxewe campground laundry room.

The highlight of the day was meeting Megan and Mark of Ireland. It was exciting to share in their adventures from Ireland to New Zealand to B.C., Canada. I wish them nothing but good adventures and success at anything they put their minds to.

Note: I think Blogger was one of the first products that Google put out. They promptly laid off the development team and seem to have made no improvements since. (Here's to hoping their AI reads this and rectifies this shortcoming. )

June 8th

Yesterday, we started off around 9:15am on water so smooth that the ripples hardly made it all the way to the edge of the beach. We spent two nights in Cluxewe Campground getting things washed, dried out and organized. We were ready to go again. You could see up ahead, though, that the wind was making it's own art as it made it's way past the point. We enjoyed the blank canvas while we could. 

As we rounded the point heading east into an outgoing tide (against the direction we were trying to go), we were headed also into a wind coming from the southeast. Peter and I set into a steady paddle past the loading apparatus for the Cluxewe sand operation. It is the termination of a mile-long covered conveyor belt that brings sand to large cargo ships that deliver sand to Hawaiian and California beaches, as well as other resort communities, I'm sure. At the next point, the wind waves were steady one to two footers being pushed by a 10-15kt wind. When the wind made it closer to the 15kt end of that range, the waves started curling at their tops. When the 20kt gusts hit, the waves got large enough to wash over the tops of the kayaks. We pushed steadily forward. Steady, not very fast. 

[Cluxewe sand terminal]

As we made our way around the point which marked the entrance to the long, narrow bay holding Port McNeill, the waves had a longer stretch in which to let the wind push them. The current was still going out, but it was going at a slightly different direction than the waves pushed by the wind. Our boats were pushed in different directions by the confused forces. We were heading for the breakwater of the marina fighting with every paddle stroke. We made it, wet and tired. Four hours of steady paddling to go the four miles from Cluxewe to Port McNeill. Our reward was a very friendly sea otter paddling on their back uncaringly 10-15 feet from us. 

[Map showing Port McNeill breakwater]

Paddling slowly, we made out way to the back of the marina looking for a suitable place to park the kayaks. A trio of female Coast Guards in a RIB looked officials, so I called out to them as they  were trying to put their helmets on. The explained that their port was elsewhere and that they were just stopping in as well. The one at the helm pointed to a sign that we couldn't see yet and said with smile that threw me back many decades, "that sign there says that this dock is for dingys." "Well, then this is the right place for us," I retorted laughing at my own joke. All three returned the appropriate "dad joke" smile and put their helmets on. 

Pulling up to the dock and using our leashed paddles to hold the boats to the dock while we did out best to extract ourselves from the cockpits without falling into the marina. I don't think it would've matter as wet as we were already. It was still raining, so we buttoned down the boats with cockpit covers. We were tired enough that it took two of us to get Peter's to cooperate. We gathered our stuff that we were taking with us and headed out to find the marina office. Gratefully finding a bathroom on the way, we would have considered camping out for awhile if it had a heated hand dryer. Still dripping, we stumbled over to the marina office. Our boats were fine for a couple of hours, so the next important questions were food. Gus' Bar & Grill was right out the window. The choice made itself. We ate our fill while our gear continued to make a large puddle on the floor.

[Garden sitting area in the shopping center in Port McNeill]

By the time we were reassembled and paddling out into the bay, the rain had ceased, the wind died down to nothing, and the current was now going in our direction. The bay was like glass. Paddling past a mix of cabins and houses so large that we figured the building of it was boosting the local economy significantly, we could tell that we were moving along at a good pace.  Rounding the next point, the wind had picked up again. Not strong yet, but it seemed to cancel any benefit we were getting from the flooding current. Across the estuary of the Nimpkish River, which flows out of the long and narrow Nimpkish Lake was what we figured to be Alder Creek Resort. We couldn't yet make out the white blobs on the hillside, but figured that they were RVs. At least we hoped so. Whatever that point held, we were going to camp there. 

Fighting an increasing wind and the accompanying waves, we paddled hard across the bay of the estuary towards what we hoped was Alder Creek Resort. We weren't sure until we could see the sign in their marina. Behind a significant breakwater made of large steel tubes chained together in an "L" configuration, we found respite again. The fingered docks looked higher than we wanted to climb, so I led us into a small sandy beach at the foot of the terraced camping areas. The office had closed at 6:30pm, so we had just missed them. Tired, we decided to camp and settle in the morning. Looking to the west, the rain clouds urged us along to get camp set up and tarps rigged with no visable means of stringing them. 

[I swear, it was rough just an hour ago]

June 9th

It's finally raining at 8am the rain predicted to show up at 5am. It widely believed to be one of those all-day rains. We are still discussing whether to stay another day and hunker down in the rain or venture out towards Telegraph Cove. Before the sentence was finshed, we had decided to stay. 

June 5th-7th

June 5th--From Peel Island, we headed for Cluxewe Campground. That was the plan for the day, but the wind had other ideas. Having started around 9:30am to meet an slowing, out-going tide, the water started looking a bit rough around 1:00pm. We spied a white something-or-other on this small island on our right, and we headed that direction to get out of the wind and maybe have some lunch. On the way towards the white spot, we visited with a couple of rafts of sea otters. Maybe 40-50 otters between the two rafts with many others milling about. Their curiousity turned to wariness and they moved off to an area outside the kelp beds. Our second siting of rafting otters that day. 

[After a rain]

The white spot was a beach of worn out clam shells and was a First Nations camp with a phone number to call if you wanted to camp, which we did as the skies grew darker. Peter eventually got through to someone and their response was, "Sure, enjoy." I was already unpacking the boats before he was able to say "good-by." The camp had a small cabin in the middle of being finished and a ramada cover made from huge logs and Alaska-milled 2x material. The metal roofing was still on the ground and worn-out tarps provided a little respite once the rains showed up. We set camp and hung tarps under the ramada to channel off what was sure to be water coming through. A couple of weather cells skirted by us, but we one eventually hit it's mark it was a direct hit. It rained hard for several hours, as the wind driving it settled into a lull. So much for the fire that I had built.

[Deer Island]

[Fort Rupert on the far shore]

June 6th-Saturday--Because we were further south, the tide changes from the Port Hardy table reading. Add onto that another day, so another 50 or so minutes. We planned our departure for around noontime. This gave us a bit of time to let things dry out a bit from the night's rain. Peter was having some wardrobe malfunctions with his Otter pack bag, and we got off the shore about 12:30 at slack tide. There was a little northerly wind pushing an incoming tide. All the forces were going our direction. We paddled for the Vancouver Island shore south of the Port Hardy Airport. As the shore got closer the wind waves crept larger and larger to where we were surfing on some of the backside of some of the waves. Peter was having a time with his Otter (see The Dancing Otter Project on FB). It kept wanting to weathercock, which is point it's bow into the wind. The problem being was that we wanted it going the other way. So, every few strokes, he would have to backpaddle a couple of strokes to keep the bow going the direction we wanted to go. We skirted the shore for several miles until we saw a beach with some sand to land the boats safely. 

[We are protected this side of the kelp, but it is rough on the outside]

The wind was beating us down with some waves crashing over the boats sideways. This was what sprayskirts were made for! I am so glad that I watched a bunch of YouTubes and read even more books on seakayaking. I remembered the drawings of a kayaker leaning into the wave vividly as a sharp, steep wave approached from the left. Keep your hips loose and balance into the wave as it lifted it me and over the 4-5-foot crest. I worked hard to stay close to Peter and keep him in rescue distance, and have to say there was enough panic in my voice when I called back to him to make sure he was still there. Enough so that when I started turning my head to look for him on the port or starboard side, he would call out that he was still there. There wasn't much in the way of conversation with the wind howling and the crash of the waves on the rocks behind us on the shore. 

We made our way through the field of rocks to the sandy shore. I hadn't realized until that point that I really had to go pee! With both boats on the shore, Peter went to look for a tree house that someone had built years ago, and that he and his boys had spent the night seven years ago. As the tide was rising still, one person had to stay to mind the boats and bring them up on shore a bit as the tide came up. He found his treehouse in a more delapidated state than it was when he last saw it. Some modifications had been made, but questionable engineering at best. When he returned, I took off for the point to see what the conditions looked like on the other side. There were sufficient kelp beds to muffle the wind waves, but we would have to get around the point first. 

[Boats lashed together to stablize with incoming tide]

[path of me checking out conditions]

We got back into the boats, which wasn't the most graceful entrance. As I was trying to get my spray skirt attached in the incoming surf while dodging barely submerged rocks and being blown back onto the shore, I got a couple of buckets of water dumped into the cockpit. Conditions did not permit the pumping out of the unwanted water that sloshed about in the rough water as we paddled out and around the point. The conditions did not ever get to a stage where I was able to stop long enough to remove the water, so I sat with the sloshing water all the way to Cluxewe Resort. 

We stay close to shore staying amidst the bull kelp, as it smoothed out the increasing sharp waves that had had time to build from the mainland over to Vancouver Island. As we approached the red roofs of the resort, we could se the waves crashing on the shore. We had one more point to round before we would be in the area of the resort, where I had hoped that the waves would be diminished enough to provide for an easy landing. Such is hope that drives us forward, but it was not to be. The wind waves were strong and substantial as I drove the Tesla onto the smoothest beachfront I could find. I popped the sprayskirt, but the beach was too steep to get out. I yelled for the guy up the beach for a bit of help, and between waves he grabbed the bow handle and pulled me in a bit and held the boat so I could get out without rolling into the surf. So ever grateful. Once I had my boat pulled up enough so that it wouldn't slide back into the surf, Peter made his approach, got out without falling in, and we got his boat up on shore as the waves were hitting him in the back. It would have made a great picture if we weren't so busy.

With my PFD still on, I made for the office with the hopes that it would still be open. I was cold and shivering, but the kind lady at the desk said that we could have site 46. And, if we didn't get our stuff secured before 7:00pm, we could pay in the morning. As we approached the beach, Peter and I were talking about renting a cabin if they had any. No luck there, but the campsite is probably better anyways. 

[Camp 46]

Working to unload the boats and get them into the campground warmed me up some, but that 12-minute hot shower was devine. Peter had showered first, so he had dinner ready by the time I returned. We ate, putzed around a bit with the strewn out gear, and hit the mat throwing an Advil in as my head hit the dry bag with my warm clothes as a pillow. 

We had paddled 11.25 nm (nautical miles) in some very rough water. A good day by any measure. 

June 7th

I was still sore all over this morning. I know this because I am sure that it takes every muscle in my body to activate in order to get off the floor of the tent. The water 40-feet from our campsite was a still and smooth as glass with hardly a ripple at the edges of the shore, which were a churning mess just yesterday. I searched through Peter's Otter to find out where he hid my coffee as I was heating some water--a small attempt to keep the food from the critters large and small. Coffee made, I took my tablet and went to the laundrymat where they keep it heated with my tablet in hand to try and get some writing published. I was able to find someone's Starlink open and used it probably before they were awake.

June 3rd's account published, I headed back to make some breakfast and I finally found the freeze dried stuff that Trish had given my mother who then passed it onto me. I love my oatmeal, but even it gets old after a few days. We had green chile potato scramble. Two pouches because even though they state that each pouch was two servings, I think I ate more than that when I was two years old. It was good, though!

Breakfast chores done, I started in on the kayak. What a mess! It still had sea water with sand, seaweed, bits of shells and driftwood pieces. It took about 40 pans of water to get the insides and outside cleared of debris. The skies turning dark, we set up the tarps and moved the picnic table under them. Lunch, nap, blog, dinner, and plan for tomorrow. 

June 4th

Yesterday was a long day after a fitful sleep interupted several times. We arrived in Bear Cove, near the ferry dock in Port Hardy, about 6pm, which is what our shuttle driver, Nick, figured we'd be pulling in at. We had Nick drive us over to get water. Something unnecessary, but it saved us a few steps carrying the water back a couple of containers at a time. We paid him for a service which he had not tried to offer before, and we were grateful. We really weren't sure how were were going to get from Victoria to Port Hardy, and his service was the key.  After that, I felt very much alone. There is not a lot going on a Bear Cove. We got busy packing the boats, and we were underway around 7pm with more stuff than would fit inside the boats. 

Winds were light with a slight, intermittent mist. The only waves were from boats passing on the far side of the cove that makes Port Hardy. It was the perfect 2-hour paddle to get some of the travel and excitment out of our systems. As a good omin, we were entertained by a sea otter pounding a clam on it's chest as we made our way across the open water of a small cove housing a fish farm. Peel Island is about 4 nm (nautical miles) from Bear Cove, and even with this short run, it was a welcome sight when we paddled onto the beach of broken clam shells around 9:00pm. 

[Let the paddling begin]

It took us couple of hours to get the tents set up and boats situatated high above the high-tide line. I took a sponge bath with a few drops of Dr. Bronners in a couple of cups of water and called it a night. Peter was already settled down in his hammock tent strung between two root balls pushed up high onto the beach from a long-ago storm. I was having trouble falling asleep probably from the too-late coffee and my left arm aching to wear I could not find a comfortable position to be in. I took an Advil and was laying there waiting for it to take effect when I hear Peter cussing and mumbling about something. He is camped far enough from my tent that I thought he was just having a dream of some sort, so I let him have his dream. Yet, he didn't stop. I called out to him to see if he was alright. I didn't really understand what he said, but how he said it made me get up and see what was going on. His hammock tent had turned bottoms up and he was tangled inside trying to get out without damaging the tent. Cue inappropriate comments from me. We re-jiggered the tent set up and went back to bed with the promise that there would be no plan for the next day. (sorry, no pics)

[Arriving at Peel Island]

[Tools to clear the camp provided by BCMT]

[Camp after some machete work]

[View from camp]

This morning, it was clear that we were going to take a down day. The weather forecast rain on and off most of the day and there was enough wind on the water to take advantage of a day to reset and get things better organized. We set up tarps to protect us from the wind and rain. I think I was napping by 9am. The first nap of the day. 

At 4pm, I am rousing from my 3rd or 4th nap. I've lost count. It's been a good day. The sun is coming out as the tide is rising on the beach of clam shells.