Illustration by Doug Lawrence
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Sometimes, just sometimes, we can embark on a great adventure, secure in the comfort of our own homes. Perhaps without the strained muscles, wet clothes and cold nights, but in mind at least, we can follow the paths of others and feel something of their experience.
This past summer, my youngest son, my daughter and her boyfriend (visiting from the Netherlands) decided to throw caution to the wind and embark on a 30-day, 600-kilometre kayak trip through the Inside Passage, from the northern tip of Vancouver Island, north to Prince Rupert.
Now I trust the abilities and survival skills of these three, all close to 30 years old. Still, there was undoubtedly a bit of worry, as apart from a short open water course, they had little kayaking experience. And, there was maybe a bit of jealousy as well, as I spent many summers on long canoe trips and I actually proposed to my wife on a rocky island in Algonquin Park.
Before long though, they were flying, ferrying and driving to their departure point and the trip was under way. Not knowing a lot about the details of the journey, I started reading blogs of people who had previously travelled the same route and saw tales of considerable hardship.
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I knew they had a satellite phone, for emergencies at least, but figured we would pretty much be incommunicado for the next 30 days. So it was a relief to get a short “ping” two days later saying that all was okay, but that they had not made the headway they anticipated due to high winds, large waves and very strong tidal currents. Still, they gave us an approximate location of their campsite and promised to try to message us at the end of each day.
I quickly printed up a detailed map of the proposed route, pored over satellite photos of the area to pinpoint any of the few possible campsites and then carefully marked the spot onto the map. We/they, were on our way at last!
The next several days were tough though. They were starting to get further into open water, conditions were not good and progress was slow. Then I got a short message from their SAT phone to search for any sources that would predict the offshore wind speed and wave heights, as they were about to head around a large exposed point of land which I soon found out was called Cape Caution. I mean seriously? Not exactly a name to instill calm and confidence.
I did find one buoy location out to sea that reported conditions and carefully transmitted the information in the few characters I was allowed by SAT phone. Several closely spaced dots on my map later, we finally got word that they had rounded the Cape and were headed into the sheltered straits! What I didn’t mention to them or my wife though, was that I had a long reassuring talk with the local Coast Guard, who amongst other bits of advice, suggested we assemble a so-called “Sail List” to include all details of their route, gear and personal identifying information, which of course I could never bring myself to complete.
We continued to get our nightly pings with entries like: “Wolf spotted on the beach of our campsite” and “Watching bears fishing at the nearby waterfall.” Exciting to be sure, but not entirely comforting.
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One night, just after I had marked off their latest location, I saw the news about a major earthquake in Russia and the potential for tsunami surges across the west coast of B.C. I sent them several SAT phone messages to at least get further away from the shore. I finally crashed at about 3 a.m., with no firm information about potential impact. As it turned out, their phone was switched off and when looked at 24 hours later, they thought the warnings were for that next night. Thankfully, the surge they experienced was not much greater than the high waves they were used to, though the relief that surged over me when I got that news was probably much bigger.
At long last though, with almost 30 dots marked on my map, we got the final message that they had arrived at Prince Rupert, and were heading to the ferry for the return trip. But, it wasn’t really over, as their airline had just gone on strike. With no return flights home, it was off to the mountains for yet another camping trip.
We had wondered, but never asked, if after all the hardships they endured, how did they manage to get along? Were they the best of friends, or not speaking to each other?
We got the answer somewhat unexpectedly, when we received a photo of our daughter and her boyfriend, on top of a mountain with a beautiful lake in the background. There she was with a huge smile on her face, holding up her hand with a custom made ring of freshly wound grass on her finger. Not only were they talking, they were about to head off on yet another and perhaps greatest of all life’s adventures.
Douglas Lawrence lives in Toronto.