Peace. Quiet. Discovery. Perspective. Meaning. Relationships. Six words that partner well with wilderness paddling.
I hadn't seen much of our son Jake over the summer. My wife Christie and I had spent a fair bit of time away. When we were home, we would hear him hustling out the door every morning, as he had been doing since since early May. He would mount his ride-on lawn mower and continue with the job of moving from school to school cutting grass and keeping our public schoolyards looking sharp. Jake was living the life of a post secondary student, working to save as much cash as he could for the coming winter's school expenses. It reminded me of a bear preparing for hibernation: hoarding resources over the summer in order to survive the winter. It had been almost all work and little play for our Jake.
So rather than a hurried dash to the coast in time for his University of Victoria start up, we took a detour up the Sunshine Coast to Powell River and then, just a bit north yet, to go kayaking at Okeover Inlet. We had three days to leave the grinding routine of his summer behind. Two nights to breathe, get reacquainted, and prepare our heads for his year away.
First, since he would be living by the ocean, a course was in order. For four hours we learned how to pack and load and all about open water safety. Then it was into the cove to flip and re-enter and rescue each other. It was a great refresher for me and a well delivered introduction for Jake. There is a lot to be said for just doing things, but formal instruction is always worthwhile.
And then we loaded our boats and were underway. The training wheels were cast off and the two of us slipped away down the Malaspina Inlet, sharing the calm waters with the bobbing heads of harbour seals. The only sound were those of gulls landing and taking off as we got too close. Their vocal racket was a welcome change from the incessant chatter of the van radio. Turkey vultures, bald eagles, ospreys, seals ... this was the stimulation in our new world. Two nights of decompressing lay ahead of us.
Our base camp tent was perched on a wooden platform at Hare's Point. We had a bit of a struggle for the last half hour reaching our campsite as the tide slowly flowed into the inlet and against us, however a bit of sweat and baring down got us to the spot. Hare's Point is a sheltered cove littered with huge drift logs onto which we dragged our boats. We knew from the charts the tide would rise overnight and a good night's sleep involved knowing our kayaks were above the high water mark. We had a picnic table and a rough bench facing the sunset, almost as if it had been installed, Stonehenge-like, to capture the rays. It is a beautiful, beautiful spot.
The next morning I crawled out of the tent at first light, leaving my adolescent son snoozing a bit longer. Some stretching in the morning sun and a jump into the warmish salt water followed by a hot beverage ... heaven. We had a leisurely breakfast, dawdling over our hot beverages and sitting, just sitting and chatting about nothing in particular. A day of paddling, poking into inlets and coves and examining washed up stuff filled our day. We turned for home with growling stomachs in the face of storm clouds and stiffening winds. Our only plan was to outrun the worsening weather. Just as fat drops drummed on our hulls, we pulled into our little haven and hustled up the slope to our tent.
Funny how priorities become so sharp and focused in the outdoors. Water. Food. Keeping dry. Getting home. In the face of immediate necessity, extraneous issues lose importance. As our stove hissed we talked about setting priorities. After what we had been through, it was an easy segue. Paid work was done; now it was time to embrace a school year of academics, sport, socializing and laying some groundwork for the future.
And then it was over. Next morning we awoke to low clouds and mist. We packed efficiently and were on our way on a flat, gently heaving sea. There was a low fog obscuring the slopes and under heavy skies we sliced through the water in complete silence. Eventually we started to talk, in low tones because that seemed appropriate to the setting, about relationships and separation and our futures – his at U Vic and me back teaching at St. Albert’s W.D. Cuts junior high school. It was easy conversation and I was more than a bit sad to round the last point and beach our kayaks. But we had had our time together, brief as it was, and for that I was grateful.
