 The
Denver Post
July 4, 1999
Canadian
Kayak Excursion a Kick
Wilderness
wannabes savor, soak up adventure
By Patrick Soran
Special to The Denver Post
Vancouver
Island, British Columbia
 When
I signed on for a six-day sea kayak excursion off British Columbia's
Vancouver Island, I figured I'd be in for something of an adventure:
sleeping in the wild, cooking in the open, kayak the briny blue,
that sort of thing. I hadn't expected to find myself chasing flapjacks
flying down a beach. Or rowing frantically across a silky sea in
a game of "splash the paddler."
As it turns
out, these free-spirited high jinks highlighted a week spent with
a dozen urbane-too-long big-city escapees. The things I had really
hoped for on my trip with Northern Lights Expeditions - a week away
from the raucous roiling of automobile traffic, a little eye-to-eye
contact with denizens of the deep and a refresher course in wilderness
camping - far exceeded my expectations.
How
does a week at sea in a kayak work?
First of all,
you're not really at sea at all, you're on the coast, the Inside
Passage in this case. We skirt islands and occasionally dash across
a broad channel, but are never out of sight of land. Groups generally
pitch camp in one vista-laden locale for two or three days, then
move on to another drop-dead gorgeous spot.
 Guides
(three of them for the 12 of us) show adventurers how to pack the
kayaks with the staples required for a week of so-called roughing
it in the woods (Starbucks coffee, Quebec maple syrup, eggs, butter
and Belgian chocolate), how to get into the compact craft, and all
the tricks of paddling (forward, backward, right, and "No,
your other right").
In addition,
these pathfinders instruct us wilderness-wannabes on how to assemble
and pitch a dome tent (don't second-guess the instructions), and
master the use of a B.I.F.F. (Bathroom in Fabulous Forest). They
also know the natural and cultural history of the area as well as
the names and habits of dozens of land and sea creatures, many of
whom we see.
But, perhaps
most important, they know the lyrics (ordinary and ribald) of several
sailor songs (which we sing, pirate-style) and the long-forgotten
rules of bocce ball (which we ignore).
Three times
a day our guides become multi-starred wonder-chefs, too. They bake
fresh-caught salmon (several of us purchases fishing licenses),
roll sushi, mastermind omelets, pizza, chocolate cake and lasagna
- all in the middle of the forest. They teach us seaside swabbies
how to wash the dishes, the only chore they ever asked for help
with and for which we gladly volunteered. (Fourteen meals divided
by three scrubbers per feed equals about one hour's duty per person
for the week.)
If all this
sounds a little like summer camp, I suppose it is, though the extent
of the high jinks on the high seas depends greatly on your group.
Our cluster of a dozen includes two doctors, two architects, a high
school track coach, an ER nurse, a New York artist and a couple
of pedal-to-the-metal business types. After checking each other
out for wit and waywardness on Day One, we pretty much let down
our guard - or at least our taste in puns - for the rest of the
week. We are strangers only that first day, quickly thrown into
a high-octane funfest and determined to lighten each other's mental
loads.
At its heart,
sea kayaking is about life on that tenuous border between land and
sea. Coming from Colorado, we find it something of a treat to float
at sea level itself and be dumbfounded by these islands that are
really glacier-carved mountain peaks awash in salt water.
One day we watch
dozens of Dall's porpoises stitch together sea and sky. One dark
night we paddle into a quiet cove where we stir the water to elicit
a phosphorescent glow from single-celled critters turning on their
organic night lights.
Here's
some other stuff we did:
Day One: Start
with an on-land lecture about the sea kayak at our departure point,
world-renowned whale-haven Telegraph Cove; paddle a couple hours;
lunch of bagels and salmon; paddle two hours to Compton Island;
pitch tents; eat dinner; go star-gazing.
Day Two: Paddle
around Compton in the morning; spot starfish, sea urchins and otters;
hike to an island overlook; retrieve jaws after dropping them in
response to the views; fish; nap in the tent as a gentle breeze
blows by; savor Caesar salad and lasagna; night paddle.
 Day
Three: While most of the group journeys to a Native American's island
to admire his wood carvings, I linger behind at camp and drink coffee
as sunshine burns off the fog, producing the most perfectly heart-rending
greens, silvers and blues imaginable; bathe in the startlingly cold
waters of Johnstone Strait; commune with orcas; fish.
Day Four: Pull
camp; pack kayaks; paddle four hours to our next site on the mainland;
commune with another pod of whales; notice level of serenity increasing
as we climb to another overlook; bake freshly caught salmon.
Day Five: Lanky
guide Shawn Robinson was caught yesterday lovingly plucking elderberries
on our hike. This morning he folds them gingerly into batter and
crafts them into plate-size pancakes. The trick? You have to catch
them with your plate as he flips them out of the kitchen. The result?
Life-long image of college-educated men and women chasing their
breakfast down a beach. Only one person (me) misses their prize.
Paddle coast; commune for third time with whales; bocce ball. In
late afternoon we are quietly reading when the call comes out, "Whales!"
I run to a rocky escarpment as a killer whale passes by me a mere
2 yards away. It comes up for air and looks me right in the eye.
Does it care for me as much as I care for it? Oddly, its look seems
to communicate that it does. I sit in silence for some time contemplating
the meaning of the universe; later, chocolate cake for dessert.
Day six: Our
last day; our last chance to splash each other oh-so-accidentally
as we break camp and play kayak-keepaway and splash-the-paddler
as we stroke our way to our pickup point; boats unpacked; cars loaded;
tip envelopes gladly given (and graciously received); goodbyes muttered.
When I signed
up for a six-day sea kayak excursion off B.C.'s Vancouver Island
I never dreamed I'd make 12 fast friends so easily. Or miss them
so quickly.
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