D'Arcy Island

It's a thick fog out here at Island View beach. The kind of fog that, no matter how hard you stare into it... nothing... It's 1000 hrs. and I'm ready to go. Zippers are zipped, clips are clipped, velcro is velcro-ed, straps are... cinched... the VHF is on, volume low, squelch is set. I've calculated a bearing, and tried my best to compensate for the ebb tide and Northerly breeze coming down the channel. Some time circling in the sight of the beach warming up. 1030 - a deep breath, and I'm off for D'Arcy Island.
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It's profound being this far out in the fog... three kilometers out I'd guess...
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I feel the splash of a badly placed paddle and correct... I realize how tense I've become, especially in my neck and shoulders. I stop for a moment to do a little dance, way out somewhere, in the fog. I spin my kayak on the spot with big bow to stern and stern to bow sweep strokes. My torso is opening up and I can feel my muscles stretch. Flopping onto my side I submerge, and float slowly up into a balance brace, scull up and fall over to other side. I scull my kayak in circles with my eyes closed. I imagine myself in a beautiful white arena, softly lit. A man, his craft, and all the space he needs, rocking on the rich green ocean, hidden deep within the soundless curtains of the mist. I check my bearing, spin myself around, and settle into a good, long, muscle-stretching stroke. Relaxed.
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...and a hint of blue.
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As I paddle onwards the fog thins overhead, and the faintest glow of blue sky shows. The dimness is lit, a wall of white looms; and the whole seascape is unfolded in front of me, at 1130, just as I enter Hughes Passage - the gap between James Island and D'Arcy Island. I'm pleased that I'm within a few hundred meters of D'Arcy Island. The sky is bright glowing blue, it's sunny, and warm. The air is fresh and lung-filling. A breeze from the North tickles my left cheek.
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...gazing out at Haro.
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I've always loved sea-life... fescue, goose-neck barnacles, purple stars, leather-back chitons... so I guess it would come as no surprise that I absolutely live for the tiny little islets, and reefs that form at the wind and ocean ripped outer fringe of small islands. I'm bobbing here in a hidden cove, in a little islet, high walls protecting me, chawing a cold Eat-more bar. To my left, outside of Sidney Island - Halibut and Mandarte Islands. To my right Little D'Arcy. I decide to take a quick run out to Halibut Island to check on the Cormorants before continuing on to D'Arcy. Afternoon winds are picking up a bit early today.
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...islets, auklets, and peanut butter bagels.
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I return to the Northern tip of D'Arcy to begin a slow and full exploration of it's contours. A bit of current here, funneling in through Hughes Passage. I cross over to Little D'Arcy, a beautiful little island, flanked on the exposed side by sea-battered islets and reefs. More beautiful Cormorants, a lone Auklet, and myriads of other sea-birds that I haven't yet learned the names of. Put another scrape in the hull of 'Tassie' poking my nose into a squeezy little surge between two islets. Bit of 180 grit and a dab of enamel and she'll be right as rain.
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The view out into Haro Strait from here is stunning... I drift along,and take it all in. The South end of D'Arcy is peacful and sheltered from the Northerly breeze and current. Time for lunch, at a little bay, sitting on a log, in the sun. Spent a peaceful half hour eating a Timmy's 12 grain bagel with PB, and a bowl of cold refried beans. I adjust my cockpit foam, and beach-comb for nothing in particular. I zip up my Drysuit, launch, do a few rolls and braces in the little bay and I'm heading North to finish my loop around the island. I recognize many of the landmarks that others have posted photos of on the WCP.
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...James Island.
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The crossing to the sand-stone cliffs of James Island, is directly against the current and wind. progress is slow, and for the longest while I'm not even sure I'm making progress but repeated shoulder-checks to D'Arcy show forward progress. Instead of my usual sprint crossing, I'm relaxing and taking my time, enjoying the rythum of my body, paddle, and the ocean. I can feel my whole body relax as I move along, big, easy, full torso strokes, paddle blade held close to the hull. Twice the ocean gets choppy, leaving D'Arcy, and later at the spot where the flow from Hughes Passage collides with Sidney channel's southern spill. I stop and rest in the lee of a large, drifting log, 16" by 20' long - we both float sideways to the current for a time. I stop on the sandy south Beach of James and stretch out, walking up to the crumbling cliffs to take a better look at a large tree that hangs, still living, by a sparse root or two, pointing out to sea. By the looks of the erosion here, I'd say James Island is disappearing fast - reclaimed by the same sea that laid it's foundations millenia before.
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...barging up-channel.
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I'd estimate it's three kilometers up Sidney Channel and I'm using every trick I know to keep my lead in this race. Pump - pump - pump - pump - pump - my stroke is strong and my breaths are sharp. Slowly I pull ahead, zipping along in the sandy shallows, hooking towards the beach to get some speed, cranking edge-up over the sand as i steal every inch of depth I can, then launching back out. Halfway there I make good advantage of my lead - laying back onto my deck - blue sky and puffy little clouds lay over me... and i relax... in my mind I hear the captain chuckle as he nudges the big diesels up. I sit up, stretch side to side, front to back... and I'm off!
He's got a hair of a lead on me now... pump - pump - pump - pump - pump... I accelerate with quick, and deep strokes, then settle into a long stroke as I start catching the current on my bow. There's a 2-3 knot current against me, and it's feeling like a whole lotta exertion, but my reward is the free ride home - from the northern tip of James Island. I'm almost there, but leaving the shelter of the island, I'm into the turbulence, where the current piles up against, and flows around the island. The green and black tug, groaning from the weight of a barge-load of scrap metal, and the current against it, pulls away. I laugh and give the good Captain a tip of my hat. It's been fun :O)
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NOTE - Before anyone jumps on me for playing stupid with barges - my VHF is on channel 16 - he is well off in the middle of the channel - and I'm safely out of reach in the shallows.
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I exit the channel and bank to port on a sweep and planted paddle. The still-rising winds gust into my face. Across the northern end of James Island I find the most perfect surf rolling up and breaking. It's a shallow and sandy beach. Every perfect, cresting, three-foot wave is the same as the next, predictable. Even though I'm still feeling a pretty good burn from the sprint up the channel I can't resist some play time!I run out, face to the wind, and catch a wave in. Allowing 'Tassie' to broach, I lay down into the waves and let them slide me into the beach side-ways. First few times I ride in too far, and end up having to sweep around, right up on edge, trying to find some water deep enough to sweep a paddle in. Bump... I'm grounded... waiting for the next wave to lift me and carry me back out. Next time the winds are coming from the North, and there's a good ebb tide, I'll be out here, on the gentle, sandy slopes of North Beach, James Island. I'd be tempted to try it at the South Beach in Southerlies and a flood tide but there are those damn, kayak-eating boulders, marring the spotless sandscape.
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I zoom along perpendicular to the beach - broaching waves bumping and twisting me - towards the 'big island', on nothing but a repeated extended and single-sided sweep stroke... If I'd had any doubts - and I'll admit I did - about the suitability of my shorty Greenland Paddle for rougher conditions, I'm over them! It's a pleasure to use.
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At the the marker - before the final run home - I fumble with the GPS, trying to find the 'Power On' button, while bouncing, balancing and being spun in the turbulence. Frustrated I give up and stow it under my deck bungies - still off. I briefly considered the pleasure of hurtling the damn thing into the ocean... bloody electronica... while I admit their usefulness, I resent the distraction, and the infinitisimaly small buttons.
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Time for my reward. Pump - pump - pump - sweeeeeeep and lean - a tight spin around my paddle, and the North-east point of James and I'm onto a wave. Wooohooo! 'Tassie's' nose dabs back and forth while I get the feel of the wave. I'd already powered myself out in earlier hi-jinx so I let the waves surge me forward, and pass, and surge, and pass. The wind is at my back, and the tide is with me. The sun is low on the horizon, over the Penninsula, the sky starting to show it's sunset colours of orange and apricot, with a hint of grape. There is enough warmth in the air for it to be comfortable. I ride these perfect waves into Saanichton Bay, skim out and around the end of Cordova Spit. The waves build over the shallow sandy bottom and become a whole lotta easy-rider.
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Here I am - alone - on the most glorious January evening a man could imagine. The sky painted in deep dusky shades of purple and tomato red. I paddle out into the channel, grab a wave, and ride it back. I zig-out, and zag-back repeatedly as I'm carried South to Island View. I'm so happy I'm laughing. Today I have it all. Fog, sun, calm, wind, wild-life, chop, rock-gardens, solitude, challenge, sport, surf, sand, beach-combing, sunset, current... inner peace... solitude... and it is glorious.