Thursday, August 14, 2008
Discovery Island
Hot, Clear, high Cirrus clouds. High pressure system holding.
Paddling off Oak Bay, Launched from Cattle Point at 1830hrs. Paddled out to, and around Discovery Island, with a return detour into Baynes channel to play in the current. Pulled out at 2130hrs.
I'm paddling out and around Discovery island tonight. The 'Great Chain islets' to starboard. Hard to tell which way the tide was going until I was well out, by the outer-most rocks. This was a 'what a gorgeous night - I'll stay out longer' paddle. I hadn't checked the tides but felt comfortable with winging it. Some fun little eddies and rips in between the two markers. Passed three paddlers heading back towards Victoria. Nods, smiles and 'nice evenings' exchanged. Farther out it was smoother. Paddled up-current between Discovery and The Chathams. Fairly good current coming in off the strait, I'd guess 2 and 1/2 knots judging by the land as I passed by. Spent some time exploring the islets on the outer edges of the group.
Found a fellow rowing out here in a dinghy, powerfully and easily, amongst the eddies and rocks. Seemed to be really enjoying himself, as was I. It is a beautiful evening to be out here. I find it curious that he choses to moor his sailboat out her amongst the exposed rocks instead of one of the protected bays. In a flight of of imagination I created an image of a crusty, old, sea-dog, spurning human companionship for the company of nature. Seals, birds, ancient sea-worn rocks, gnarled dwarves of trees, the slap of waves against his hull. I understand, or maybe I'm running off with an image, and he's a harried stock-broker, or stressed-out public employee looking for an evening's respite. On a night like tonight, warm, soft-lit and quiet, a man's mind wanders, and sometimes settles into blissful nothingness. No thoughts, just a gliding kayak, a light breeze on the face. I love these moments. No kayak, no paddle, no technique or equipment - skating on water - being.
Toodling over, on a very nice current, to the lighthouse on Discovery; I slide along the inside edge of the kelp, slaloming into and out of it. Occasionally feeling the bump, and drag as it passes under my hull, and rubs past my heels. Little padding between me and the hull. Makes me smile. Water is glass-like out here on the south side of the island, sheltered from the ebb current.
Way out there I can see clouds of sea-birds feeding against the backdrop of the Olympic mountains. Still some snow hanging in there. I'd guess there's a school of needle fish being herded to the surface by feeding salmon, or possibly something bigger. The birds being the opportunists take full advantage of the easy pickings. A lone bald eagle is trying it's best to get into the crowd for an evening snack, but seems over-sized and clumsy in the chaos. Badgered incessantly, it quits, and flaps it's way back to land pursued by a brazen Sea-gull.
Spotted a group of kayak campers in the campsite - tents, bodies, kayaks up on the logs. Just because I can, I cruise through the bay, playing on the edges of my chines as I lay down, and brace-turn in and out of the outcrops. There's a very fine line where the chines are at their most effective, and I'm still learning the 'sweet-spot'. Occasionally, a wavelet will catch a chine and bump me. The kelp beds are dense and healthy out here, a good sign. Again I wish I'd brought my hand-line, as I'm sure i could have found a nice fat little greenling to fry up for a late dinner. Need to check the restrictions out here first though I guess... I'm skimming around, exploring the rocks, looking down to the sea-floor, 'surprise' out-croppings covered in Fucus leap up at me, forcing me to maneouver quickly. Pop-weed provided entertainment to my brothers and I on the family camping trips. Trick was to find it in the perfect stage of dryness to get a good loud bang when squeezed. Trial Island is off in the distance. A nice fresh breeze from the southwest.
On the south side I find the current heading in the opposite direction of what I would have expected. The kelp fronds streaming away from the direction of Trial Island. Interesting.
Just rounding the western tip of Discovery as the sun was taking on a rich orange glow. I duck up into the channel between the Chathams. A small area of chop marks the spot where the water being forced around and through the islands bump against each other at a hard 90 degree angle. Now I'm working hard against the ebb tide as it funnels through. Sweep, stroke, sweep, stroke, sweep, stroke for a few yards - then a quick vertical power stroke to get up the channel. Just for the fun of it I choose to ram my way right up the center where the current is flowing at it's fastest, the smoothness of the surface in contradiction to the rushing water underneath it. The tiniest bit of edge keeps Tassie's nose straight ahead as I paddle, the land on both sides ticking by to the slowest of progress. Occasionally, a slight over-paddle, or botched stroke, on my part will start a spin-out, sweep sweep sweep.
The sun is hidden behind the land in the distance now. I stop and bob in the kelp, and look across at the churning water between Ten Mile Point and myself. Tonight I get a small taste of Baynes Channel on an ebb tide. The nuts and berries pulled from my PFD pocket get washed down with a swig of water from the camel-bak. The odd Ju-jube sticks between my teeth, and I probe it out with my tongue, while visually working out a ferry angle that will allow me to skim past the south side of Jemmy Jones Island. I plan to turn at this point and catch a free ride on the current back to the beach. I launch into it. Immediately after leaving my nest of kelp on the island's tip, I'm into spinning eddies, and chop from all angles. I shorten my stroke, and start working my paddle angles to provide some brace. I'm spinning left, and right, and left and right - unexpected side-ways flows catch the edge of the kayak and wobble me. I slap the water with my paddle, and continue on. Suddenly it's all calm again, Jemmy Jones is to my starboard, not a swell, or wave, only the slightest ripple. I can't get over how drastic the sea changes. Ten Mile Point must take some horrific forces to give so much shelter. The sun is gone now, and the wispy, torn Cirrus clouds are burning a fiery, tomato-red against a deep blue sky. Behind me the moon is up and white in the sky, looking pretty damn close to full. The ripples on the ocean form diamonds of stained glass, coloured in primary blues and reds, with grey and black highlights provided by the clouds over-head, and the sea below. It all shimmers and shifts, a twirled kaleidoscope, in the hands of Davy Jones, or his band of sea nymphs.
Time to put away my synthetic paddle and reach for the greenland paddle under my front deck lines. Whirling like a bicycles pedals, sweeping, hands sliding back and forth along the grain. Low, high, wide, close, I'm playing, enjoying the feel of the recently sanded and waxed cedar in my bare hands. It's warmth in my palms is comfortable, carbon-fibre and fibreglass seem so cold to the touch. As with my heavily used garden tools, wood is it. Strong and giving, a living thing, and after years of faithful service, a friend.
Just as the last of the light fades, I glide soundlessly into the cove, and pop my skirt loose. With gentle back-paddling, Tassie stops inches from the beach. I slide myself straight-legged up and out of the confines of the cockpit, back onto the deck - make a few stiff-legged jabs into the water with my bare feet in search of a footing, and stand up into a good, long stretch. Hoisting the kayak off the surface and onto my shoulder, I pick my way over logs, up and off the beach, change my clothes, load up, and head for home.
Sipping a tea, getting my thoughts down on paper - my muscles radiating a nice warmth. Very soon I'll eat a late and light dinner, have a shower, and crawl into clean sheets.
Life is good,
daniel
Time on water - 3 hours.
No comments:
Post a Comment