Photo by kayaker and 50+ writer Guy Foster

Sedona AZ (October 17, 2014) -Twenty-to-five in the morning found Fraser and I launching at the Egmont boat ramp bound for Pender Harbour. Minutes earlier, Fraser’s partner and porter, Patricia, heroically dropped us off. The tide and weather had been heavily scrutinized, the evening prior at Ruby Lake Restaurant where the host had whipped up a “very close to closing time” fine trout supper. With a little apprehension, I climbed into the recently purchased kayak with Fraser holding onto the gunnel, just in case.

The equipment necessary for such an adventure, purchased at Sunshine Kayaking, was carefully stowed away using every inch of the kayak’s stowage. It had been sometime since yours truly had embarked on such a lengthy adventure, this being the first time at night. I suppose the first paddles were a little tentative, but soon we were off Agamemnon Channel. A little Dutch courage was consumed in the form of rum to round off the dawn breaking, lifting the spirits from tentative to “okay” – a huge improvement.

So, another bucket-list thing for this individual. Having run this distance in the past to Gibsons and cycled it, why not kayak? As with all such adventures, preparation maketh the journey, ranging from toiletries to flares, courtesy of Collins Rhōg. Rhōg helped with transportation logistics and, of course, the “what have we forgotten” factor. In hindsight, a list would have been advantageous, although placement of its inclusive items would have been equally important.

Clothing was a tricky question; it has to be comfortable and breezy, and shoes should be non-slip. In this case, my wardrobe amounted to an old pair of holey sneakers and form-fitting swimming trunks (not necessary flattering) garnished with a short-sleeved yellow shirt and a “past its prime” floppy straw hat.

Our small party observed the Earl’s Cove ferry from a distance, making its first run of the day. Several aluminum work boats zoomed like water bugs over the flat surface. The edges of dawn teased the colors off the shoreline, easing the quest. A broad smile rose like the sun as my friend “talk mumbled” between the dipping paddles.

Ah, yes…the call of nature. At our first stop, a huge cup of hot cocoa brought a welcome warmth to our bellies as we inspected the rugged shoreline, savoring the sight. Majestic mountains rose high above the water in an ancient vigil, as sentinels. Getting in and out of the kayak proved to be like a ballet, the moves were known but not necessarily executed.

Just out of Green Bay, this prima want-to-be capsized in eight inches of water with such force that a crab was sucked into the cockpit. The “holding” rock had given way, sending me down with a crash. The shock was fast, laughter being the cure. After regaining some composure, the water was removed and so was the little crab – leaving this occupant a little crabby after the immersion. It felt good to get the last drop of water out with a sponge.

Following the coastline off Nelson Island, along the Agamemnon Channel, was a pure delight. The rugged beauty belied a treacherous outlook if the seas were rough. The rebounding seas off the cliffs caused a slight but manageable chop. Wildlife, not that much, amounted to a few curious seals and some seagulls winging over to check us out.

Boat traffic increased noticeably as we approached Madeira Park. Fraser’s Patricia awaited us, driving us to their place for lunch, followed by a two hour nap in a hammock to complete the day. What a way to enjoy life! Seven and a half hours in the boat and ready for the world again by 3:00 p.m. Yep, that’s the life!

A large mug of coffee and a hearty breakfast was all prepared for me, as we discussed our next plans at one-thirty in the morning. By 2:50 a.m. we’d quietly launched at Madeira Park, while the drunken dregs of a party nearby floated in on a breeze.

Kayaking at night in the harbor with the light of the moon is an experience not to be missed. Boats loom up, and then disappear. One boat becomes three, and buoys seem to be night seals. We take the Francis Peninsula shortcut, under the bridge, just for the fun of it. Shortly afterwards, we’re in the Georgia Straight, all alone, apart from the twinkly stars and flashes of dust burning in the atmosphere as shooting stars.

Then, suddenly, came an urgent call of nature with the realization that there was no shoreline to reach within imminent time frame. Fraser hears my predicament, luckily, and an empty pill jar barely suffices. Yes, something one does not think of during the planning stages. Maybe being a guy does have its advantages.

Phosphorescence in the bow’s ripple is one of the pleasures of kayaking at night. It was a surprise to notice it appearing as a pulsating light in the cockpit bottom of Fraser’s kayak – enough for me to inquire if he had left his headlamp on.

Methodically paddling brought us through the evening hours till dawn, gliding past Thormanby Island, through Welcome Pass, to be greeted by first light off the shores of Merry Island. (see picture) Making a stop at a small island, hardly more than a rock, we celebrated with a dram of Irish whiskey.

Resuming our trek in the White Isles, we cruised along the inside of Merry Island, barely a speck in the distance. We were both adrift in our own thoughts and some distance apart. Paddling to the White Islets felt very robotic as we bypass Davis Bay, in the early morning hours. Arms and shoulders ached, and the small of one’s back reminded you that you’re attached at that point.

As we navigated around the rugged rocks, we were lucky to find the only cove for safe access. Here we took a most welcome break, but the rocks were far too slippery for a leg stretch. The area was full of seals who gazed at us warily, surrounded by numerous sea birds.

The waves started to increase in size, postponing our lunch until we reached the Roberts Creek Pier, where we found an accommodating rock to disembark. My shoulders were somewhat unresponsive and I was helped from the kayak onto the rock pier, only to find that I had sea legs. I stood drunkenly for awhile, waiting for my land legs return.

After a good break, with the wind abating, we could see the entrance to our destination. Some three hours later, we passed through the gap arriving in the harbor. Our journey, completed in 13.5 hours from Maderia Park to Gibsons, finished in time for a meal and a beer at Grandma’s Pub. We met my good friend Ian, who helped us load the kayaks into my truck. The trip’s success was measured in an excessive tip to the waitress.

We recapped lessons learnt; good luck, good weather, good tides, good friends, good planning, and emergency bathroom facilities! The sores under my arms have healed nicely as I write this.

I cannot but help think that the first two weeks of September are the best time for marine treks like this, with the gentle westerly wind and a favorable ebb tide making the journey doable, and almost enjoyable. I smile somewhat, rising from my recliner thinking, what’s next?

Feeling fifty plus…and starting to feel the need to fill life’s bucket and cross it off my list.

This exclusive SedonaEye.com article written by Guy Foster.

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