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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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