Resume

My name is Daniel, I'm an Expedition Paddler, a certified BCU 3* Sea Kayaker and a 4* Sea Leader Aspirant. I hope to obtain my BCU 5* in multiple disciplines and would like to pursue a career in coaching, at the BCU Level 5. In answer to the obvious question, "Am I really that dedicated?". I am.

Two years ago I chose to make a career as a paddler and picked up my first paddle. Since then I've logged over 1500 hours of on-water time, much of it solo, and much of it open-water. I taught myself to roll, have instructed, and been a pool chaperone, and have undertaken numerous multiday solo expeditions.

Last summer I spent two months with Ginni Callahan working on her farm and gaining experience helping her on a few courses. During her LoCo Event I undertook, and completed all my certifications and required courses needed to qualify and take my four star assesment with Karl Anderson and John Wallum.

I am comfortable paddling both traditional and modern styles, and have built myself two Skin-on-frame kayaks this winter. A slim Baidarka, and a very slim Greenland play-boat.

Currently I am paddling my way down the entire coast of Washington from Canada in my Baidarka. As of this letter am waiting out the weather in Queets, about 30 miles south of Kalalloch WA. I chose this expediton as a way of evaluating and building my skills, meeting other paddlers, and making a name for myself in the world of sea-kayaking. I'm not looking for fame and fortune, I'm looking for work, and a way to do the one thing I love most, and that is paddle, professionally.

Birthright

BIRTHRIGHT from Sean Mullens on Vimeo.

Little Man

little man

accept

conform

no.

mother nature

father sea

the truth is in the child's eyes

drink the earth's nectar

your body is soil.

dream...

~d

Chowder

The day is fuzzy. Thick like clam-chowder - shades of grey. Two-tone grey gulls pass over a grey fish-plant, siting on grey pilings, in a grey bay, reflecting the grey sky. The breakwater cuts the horizon, smudged and blurred. The only colour in the entire scene is the drizzle of sepia rust on fish-boat hulls. A black crow perches on the edge of a grey dumpster. The blue-water tug 'Crowley' comes home through the mist - Waadah Island a shadow behind it. Miniature wind-waves form on the puddles outside as a sudden gust tears through. The crows turn in unison to the wind, their ruffled feathers flattening, their heads bowed. Even my own mind is thick like clam-chowder... I squint in the brightness of the overcast. The fog floats in, and I stare out the window... nothing to write...



~d

Nope Not Today

Gave it a try today. Weather wasn't good with the incoming front and tomorrow's storm.



20 knot winds in my face, three to five foot short period wind waves on top of a three to four foot swell in my face, fog in my face. It all beat me back from the south. Cape Elizabeth would have been inpassable with it's shallows reaching far out. No protected landings for the next twenty or so miles. Not a place to wait out a storm and upcoming 3-4 meter swell for the better part of a week.



I got out a mile or so, and then made the call, pretty easy to make actually - no place for me out here today.

Wild Salmon One Government Zero

I'm pretty damned proud of my people today. Let's hope the government got the message this time.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vf1M-WGvfCg

The Long Sandy

Crossed the river bar into Queets yesterday, bused into Quinalt to print off weather reports and plan next leg. Tenative plans to land at Grenville Bay and later at Copalis River/Beach. Not many options for protected landings and launches on the next few stretches. Especially worrisome are the stretches from fifteen miles north of Pt.Brown, Grays Harbour to Cape Disapointment.









Tenative stops/emergency pull-outs at inside of Pt.Chehalis, Grays Harbour; Tokeland/Toke Point, Willapa Bay; possibly North Head or Benson Beach, Cape Disappointment. This means I'll be doing really long days along exposed, surf pounded shorelines... if anyone knows of or could recommend more pull-outs it would be appreciated. Options when the brown hits the spinning are always nice to have.



Weather - looks like big seas May 20th through the 23rd so I'll most likely stay off the water. May try to get tomorrow on the water and a short day on Wednesday to take advantage of the last of the smaller seas. A series of fronts coming through will make for windy conditions Wednesday and Thursday... after that a calm? I hope so.



For the techies here are the sources I'm currently using - A LOT.

Buncha numbers from a buoy

&

A buncha blah blah blah from the NOAA Weather guys

Wild Life and Wildlife

It was a long paddle from La Push to Queets and a full-filling one as well.



Early this morn I found a few left-over glowing embers in someone's abandoned campfire from the previous night while on my morning walk and leg stretch. I re-arranged things, added a few twigs, and soon enough I had a cheery 0600 fire to warm my body and spirit.







I had very pleasant 3-4 foot following seas about half the way, and then on the rear quarter with the wind the rest of the way. A bit of work keeping a heading as there was a tendency to broach but in general it was nice to have the assist.



I had my first whale encounter in a kayak, nothing hugely overwhelmingly intimate, no big whale eye looking up at me, or tail raised high in the air. A small whale, a gray I think, lolling about the surface, spouting in front of me a few times, beside me a few times, and then it was gone. I was enjoying a series of rides, alongside an off-shore reef at the time, and this was another smile in a gallery series of today's smiles. Sea-otters, dozens of them over the day's paddle, popping up to watch me, squealing their funny squeal. A porpoise kept me company for a short while. Locals dismiss the Cormorant as a nothing bird but again today they were flying inquisitive circles around me. I like the company. A flock of Brown Pelicans skimmed right bye, feet from me, their wings skimming along the wave crests, almost touching them. I've never noticed how they fold thier wings in a bit to drop down a ahir and open them to lift again. Probably a nothing to most but interesting to me.



Destruction Island makes a great bearing point. It seemed a distant mirage, and as I traveled along the coast it slowly revealed itself - quite a ways out - tempting to paddle out to it but no time today unfortunately - places to be.



Kalaloch was a surfy mess of brown water and I couldn't spot the river mouth so I passed it by.



Queets was a wild surf ride in over the sandbar, and a serious struggle to keep from being sucked/washed back over the sandbar. I picked a beauty of a wave to ride in on, clean, strong and the perfect speed - total fluke but I felt like some kinda bonzo surf-dude riding it in, edging and stern ruddering. Just as it foamed out I felt the lightest tickle of the sand under the skin of my kayak. Nice feeling. Once into the river proper things slowed down a bit, from a five knot current to about a three knot current that I could paddle against and feel like I was able to make comfortable progress. A serene and peaceful place this river - sad that a highway has been built over top of it, and the homes of the friendly First Nations people of Queets Village.

La Push to La Push

I paddled out of the Ozette, seal hopped my kayak across the gravel bar at it's mouth and started today's journey to La Push.



Cape Alava is beautiful and I'm awestruck by it. The sea is calm and sheltered in a triangle of offshore islands and partially exposed reefs.

Tso'ees to Ozette River

Decided to head south after all. Lightest of breezes and calm(er) seas made for a challenging but comfortable paddle. Fishermen everywhere, a result of a very short Halibut Fishery. Most of the guys were clustered behind the big offshore reefs, and a bunch were crowded gunnel to gunnel in the Devil's Armpit at Point of Arches. Clapotis was rough in there, and they were being tossed around badly as they hung in there in hopes of getting the big one. I paddled merrily through the middle of them, chuckling a bit under my breath. They must have thought I was even nuttier than they were as I disappeared in the trough of 7' swells and surfed down the backside of 4' clapotis.

I found the mouth of the Ozette and came in without incident in the small breaking waves. Great place to land.

I'm setup on the backside of the little spit where the river makes an S-bend into the ocean. Pretty spot, out of the wind, the river in front of me the sea behind.

Baby Steps and False Starts

Mother Nature spread her legs and gave me a show this morning.

I'm unapolegetically vulgar here -seeing things that normally live under the sea dangling jiggly and flacid in the air is graphic. I awoke to a -0.7' tide, and was able to walk and boulder-hop my way far out on to the point. I was able to walk through a series of magnifcent caverns, and a maze of tunnels; and explore beautiful, life-filled tide-pools; I was amazed by boulders covered inch-by-square-inch with inch sized sea anenomes, crowded so close together they were cubes. Starfish at waist-level, orange and purple gripping and solid, flacid sun-tars sprawled out on the sand, mussels barnacles and goose-necks crowding the line where the sea is thrown up by the incessant pounding. Quite over-whelming and one hell of an inticement to stay 'just a little longer' ...and back to the opening sentence.

Photo credit - Trisha Nettleship

Paddling out from the Point of Arches, I freak out over my discomfort in the clapotis and head North to Tso'ees River instead of South, muttering in disgust "That's it... I'm going home". I'll admit, I'm having a moment of weakness. By the time I reach Portage Head I'm relaxed and feel much more comfortable, the clapotis off here is fairly severe but I've paddled it before and expected it so it doesn't seem such a big deal anymore. I realize - it's just a state of mind and happily surf into the mouth of the Tso'ees all giggles and grins. A nice long paddle up the river with my canoe paddle 'Makah' and I'm feeling unbelievably fresh and cheery. The ride back down-river is serene and a chance to reflect as I drift lazily with the current. I set up camp on the salt-marshes just inside the river mouth. I'm leaning against a giant buttress of a tree that has washed up here, watching the eagles soar lazily in the evening drafts, happy that I'm not listening to the ocean tonight. It's my quiet, contemplative time tonight and I'm not sharing it with jets taking off, that never stop taking off.... Roooooooaaaarrrrrr... Roooooooaaaarrrrrr... Roooooooaaaarrrrrr...



Tomorrow is a new day and damned if I haven't still had 'it' all along... I just forgot where to look.

Paddler's Retreat

Friday, May 28, 2010 at 10:00am







End Time: Sunday, May 30, 2010 at 3:00pm



Location: Cape Flattery & Neah Bay WA



It's a random gathering of kayakers of all disciplines and skill levels. :O)



Day paddlers; Rollers; Rock-hoppers; Surfers; Lily-dippers; and of course Friends of , Fans of, and Family of, are all welcome.



Lots of places to camp beach-side, and hotels and motels ranging from budget to deluxe. Email longboatshortboat(dot)yahoo(dot)ca for a list or with questions. No registration necessary, but advance booking of accommodation highly recommended.



Good paddling is easily accessible in a 270 degree range from here... the protected beaches of Neah Bay ...the wild rocks of the Cape ...surf at Hobuck Beach ...family and novice friendly paddles up the Wa'atch and Tso'ees Rivers ...inner-coastal trips from to Sekiu and Pysht River... Surf and Coastal runs south to Shi Shi Beach and Point of Arches with lots of rock-hopping options amongst incredible formations.



Admission by donation, in support of the LBSB expediton fund.



Hope you can join us!



~daniel~

Time to Get Back on the Water

Weather has been excellent, forecasts look good with a high-pressure systen pushing in from the the SE, surf has recided a bit. Time to get paddling. May be awhile before I post again as towns and computers will be few and far between on this next stretch. Hope to launch the am of Thursday May 13th.



Whoosh... I've butterflies...

~daniel~

Test Paddle

I had the opportunity to paddle Setsuko's Waterfield Kayaks Qaanaaq 512 SS "Azuki De Cheata".

Being Human.

Odd that a creature like us is so vulnerable. No hard shell, no super-strength, no venomous bite, no camoflauge... nothing... nature has put the amazing capacity to dream into the most fragile of vessels.

A man with a damn good reason to paddle.

Duane Strosaker is a paddler with a reason to paddle these days - I'd like to publicly throw my support behind him and encourage everyone to get involved in the issues...

SoCal Offshore Oil Rig Aware

5,000 barrels a day... at the moment...

What's That Smell?

Ahhh... the refreshing smell of... errr...





Mr. Sea Lion - deceased - decided to pay me a visit in the night.

What's left of him has moved with the recent very high tides, and he's now finishing his natural processes on my door-step. Good news is that I'm getting incredible views of the Eagles and Ravens flying about my camp all day. The bad news is foul. I guess the good news is fowl.



More good news is that I'm on my way into Seattle for a few days R&R and a test paddle of Setsuko's shiny new Qaanaaq 512 SS "Azuki De Cheata". I'm really excited about it. Hope I can find my favourite sneakers there as well as mine have disintegrated beyond use. I'll happily give them a plug as they're the best $100 trail shoes I've ever owned - Inov8 Flyroc 310's. They still have a looong way to go to come anywhere near my Viberg hikers. Leather and kayaks don't play well together unfortunately.



Had a wonderful day yesterday - spent the whole day goofing around in Persephone. We went rolling, and surfing, and bongo-sliding, and I even managed to sneak around the Point to the place I've taken to calling 'The Devil's Armpit' for some rock-gardening and clapotis play. The seas were relatively subdued. Big thank-you to Poseidon - I really needed this day and it was gifted to me.



...and I spent a good portion of time just floating there in balance braces looking up at the sky. Peaceful...

Coming Around.

I'm feeling like it's all falling back into place again. Getting the need to be paddling boiling up in my blood. Weather is showing signs of change. I test paddle a friend's kayak for giggles and kicks and then I watch for my chance. This week I spend playing in the water and getting a good roll-on. I've been thinking... of a long dreamy balance-brace all day.

A Typical Day.

Funny, I haven't really thought much about posting, or even writing down the typical off-water day, or around camp activities before. They seem like such quiet moments to me.





Submitted for your perusal...



This morning I awake pre-dawn, as has become my custom, slide out from under the tarp and take a look at the world through bleary eyes. Sometimes I imagine how it must look to the ravens or who-ever else is watching. The lumpy brown blob, starts to shake, and bulge, and slowly a tubulous black blob starts extruding out the end, foot by foot by foot. Like watching a cow giving birth... or something equally discombobulating...



Bleary eyes - unstuck but still fuzzy - the sea still crashes but it's quieter now with the distance low tide puts between us. It's cool and misty feeling like... yep... there it is... rain.



So I worm my way back under the tarp feet first, snuggle up next to Persephone, reach out and pull a sea-sock full of deck gear back in to block the entrance, and snake an arm out to deftly flip a piece of driftwood onto the tarp from the outside. Deftly? Maybe not, as a few times I've overshot and caught the weight of it on my noggin.



Sun is up now, has been for a few hours, or so my warmed toes tell me. I lazily roll onto my side, getting a wet lick of the tarp's slippery tongue as I brush it with my face. I pull off my mitts and open up the entrance for some fresh air - cool crisp and clean... ahhhhhh...  I roll the rest of the way onto my belly to come nose-to-tail with a big green banana slug. I lay still and watch him hesitantly chose his path, an eye stalk pushes out and touches ever so gently an angle of a fern leaflet, he slowly twists and lifts his body across the void, arching a full half of it out before lowering it slowly to the next. Amazingly he seems to know just how much pressure to put at any point of contact and the fernlet barely surrenders a fraction of the fraction of an inch to the ground below. Such luxury to be able to watch a slug travel - three feet he travels while I watch, slowly, deliberately, and gracefully. A few times he turns towards the taut skin of Peresephone but a tap of my finger to the skin sends a little vibration his way,  his eye-stalk pulls in, he turns away again. The grove of coltsfoot I'm camped in looms over me like a tropical canopy. What a unique perspective I think to myself.



Time for a morning walk to get my blood flowing. South to the Point of Arches, a quick look to see the daily state of Mr.Sea Lion - deceased. He's rapidly diminishing in stature, now a half-buried furry object, last week he was quite approachable, the week before I was lifting his flippers to feel the soft wrinkled leather, touching his fur, and looking at his little toe-nails, wiggling his stiff fish-bone whiskers . Now his skin presents little barrier, and his odour... slipping rapidly to carrion for the crows and eagles, and my shy friend the coyote who quietly visits my camp in the night. I've only seen him once but he's around, his footprints give him away, always alone, always in the dim light. I was awakened one night by him on my body... or was it just the dreams thrust upon me by a full pack of cookies devoured in the darkness? I really don't know... it was so odd... and I couldn't wake myself fast enough...



A quick stop on the return trip to pick up my billy - it's sticky with black tar from the odd white wood I tried last night. Strangest stuff. I continue my walk North to the little stream to fetch water, I lower the billy down into a little well in the stones, and scoop it up full. Porridge with raisins this morning, chased back with clear hot tea, and tortillas quartered and toasted over my little wood-stove. I feel a bit spendy today and gob a big blob of Peanut Butter on each one before folding it, and savouring it's crispy warm oozy goodness.



Coming out of the forest I stop behind a tree as I see movement nearby on the beach - a river otter. I'd like to say it trotted out but they don't really trot do they? Odd movement, like an inch-worm, a big furry brown inch worm, that swims... and eats fish... ahhh for lack of the proper word...



So it 'trotted' towards the surf, stopping a few times and looking about, and up, nervously. Eagles? Little otter throws itself forward like a child launching a sled, and slips along it's belly in the foamy residue of the receding froth - repeatedly, with legs kicking it along. I watch it cruise along the waves, looking for... the rip! Little otter knows about rips! It paddles along then starts out at an angle, tiny in comparison to the three foot waves cresting over it but it loses no ground, and not once did I see it lifted up by the wave and tossed, though I expected it.



Odd how much the surf changes day to day. Yesterday it was an intense frothy mess, today it's clean and mellow-er. Yesterday huge crests waaaay out there and crest after crest after crest all the way in. Today a single three foot wave cresting at the beach. They're bigger in the middle of the bay but still quite paddleable. I've decide to wait though, at least until I tye up some loose ends. I want to share this place with others.



It's a long walk the length of the beach to the trail-head - pleasant though.The sand is packed enough... and fine enough that my steps don't sink as I walk. I love walking but trudging is too much like work.



Interesting beachcombing here. Found a glass Japanese fishing float the day I landed. The majority of the beaches tidal washings are plastic water bottles, styrofoam crab floats, and plastic plastic plastic... Yesterday I found a little tub of hand cream - Japanese I think, a glass bottle from China or Hong Kong, a stainless thermos bottle, a sandal with a crop of very healthy gooseneck barnacles living on it, and a piece of plywood to cover my fire-pit and stove - to keep my little woodpile dry.



There is freshwater here in April - little rivulets of groundwater coming off the bluffs, and a larger stream that burbles. Burbles - I've always liked the sound of that word. Burrrrr-bles. Each little rivulet presents a different face to the sand encrusted sea. One has a toothy grin, piles of logs, loosely stacked helter skelter - another a rusty rail, and an little dam of logs neatly stacked - mounds of perfectly round rocks reveal another - a collection of riddled and perforated stones, some with burrowing clam shells still tucked inside litter the mouth of this one - just back there a rocky outcropping hides a hidden little set of falls, mossy,  and ferns and wild ginger cling to the cool moistness. The water always runs to the sea, but sometimes it vanishes into the sand.



At my end of the beach it's rare to see footprints - on a weekend a set or two heading purposefully to the point, but that's about it. Here by the trail-head there are tracks everywhere, the toe-heavy dents of heavy loads, scufflers leaving a swoosh splat swoosh splat with each step, over there a little dog, and he had a good roll in the pile of seaweed as well. Only once have I seen a barefoot print, and upon seeing it I took my own shoes off and left a set to keep it company.



The trail out is three miles, maybe four, maybe two, depends who you ask. I love this hike, even the oozy goosh of the humic mud that sucks at my feet as I walk. Salmonberry shoots are ready for the picking and I do pick them, peeling them and relishing their moist, crisp acidity.



A raven is croaking his call over my head as I lean here against a giant of a moss-covered wind-fall. Sun is getting low as I see the colour of the light changing. Off I go!



Walking the trail I'm looking at things differently. Is that some kind of mustard with the white flowers? The ferns are unfurling - Asplenums a tight little top-knot - Swords crazily twisted and twirled. A yellow flowered Geum there. Huckleberries and blueberries, their little flower buds shaped exactly as their berries will be, blushed red from the spring sun. Azaleas, small ruddy little buds preparing to open - red? or possibly purple? A Rufus Hummingbird dances overhead, a rat-a-tat-tat of a pip as he dives and climbs. Must be the pink Salmon-berries he's laying his claim on. Bees, the first bees are about, so glad as the wild strawberries have been flowering for weeks, their blossoms withering and dropping for lack of a drop of pollen.



I reach the parking lot, and the road...



Today I'm starting towards Neah Bay, I make it a two day journey, sleeping under a spruce, or nestled in salaal amongst the rocky outcrops high above the sea, or tucked discreetly down behind a log. I always sleep well, covered in a thin rain poncho that serves as my shelter, as I always eat well. Another day I'll take the time to write it down for you...



~d

A Quote.

"The sea, like any expanse of nature, is a great teacher of humility. It strips away the nonessentials: the ego, the place in society we fill, and the clutter of busy lives. Swells stirred to life by mid-ocean storms radiate outward, losing little of their power until they steepen in shallow waters or crash with relentless hammerings against cliffs rising straight from the depths. At times it seems that the oceans, with their ruthless power of destruction, would be better left alone. They care nothing for human fear, misjudgement, fatigue, and whatever strength or fragility the human visitor brings to their shores.





Wind, waves, cold water, and the exposure of miles of endless cliff can bare the soul as any desert experience might. All the insecurities of society --- the stress of success or fear of failure ---suddenly seem inconsequential. What is left is the stripped-down reality of purposeful, passionate living in an environment that tolerates nothing less. It is a great and continual cleansing, at first shockingly cold; but like the initial plunge into a mountain stream, it refreshes and wakes the body and mind to new life."



A quote of Chris Duff, shared to me by my friend Kathy. Thank-you, ~d

~simple~

Simply feel it, breathe it, smell it, see it, touch it... allow yourself to be awed and overwhelmed by it without asking why.





...about me.



I grew up with my fingers in both the soil and sea, lifting boards in the backyard looking for beetles and worms, lifting logs in the forest looking for salamanders and centipedes, lifting rocks on the seashore looking for crabs and blennies. I spent 25 years of my life working the soil, growing beautiful things, growing my food, growing soil. I lived as a simple hermit, in peace, and solitude - I walked the empty rural roads and city streets in the wee hours of the morning when all the world was asleep. My body my transport. Peaceful - the frogs, crickets and owls my companions. Now I paddle - my body my transport. Seems logical to me to spend the next period of my life with the sea. Possibly someday I'll be able to fly under my own power and experience the sky as well.



Soil, Sea, Sky, Food, Water, Shelter ...and Dreams.



I found myself asking why? Why? WHY? I found clarity of vision in a true friends words to me in a particularily rough spell...



"So I will peacefully rake and NOT waste time trying to find answers to insane WHY? questions but breathe the day in in all its beauty. And be grateful for what I can hold onto lightly & lovingly."



I have changed... I no longer argue with what is presented to me - I hold it as a thought, and savour it like quickly melting ice-cream. Accept it or not - it doesn't really matter. It is what it is, and I am what I am, as you are what you are, as the world around us is what it is. The past is heldfast, the future is a dream, and today is the moment of opportunity. It's all quite simple, enjoy it before it melts away.



The honest and simple truth is that I want it all, I want it with my eyes wide open, and I continue to want the incredible clarity of vison that comes with giving in to all the forces acting upon me in any given moment - on the water - in the forest - on the beach - or walking down the road.



I want to live each moment anew, for the rest of of my life. I'm going to feast on these luscious moments - and make a simple life doing so.



Nothing is chasing me, I have nothing to run from, there is no skeleton in my closet waiting to reach out and thump me with a femur when I least expect it. I'm a simple man, with a simple plan, who finds his happiness living a simple life, searching for simple pleasures. I don't ask the question why much anymore.



...and I'm very fond of double scoops of strawberry in a waffle cone.

~daniel~

Quick updates on where I've been

More to follow and I'll add to it as I can.



I left Makah Bay and paddled the day to Shi Shi Beach on April 15th. I left Shi Shi Beach April 19th and landed at Ozette River that same night.

Ready to Go

Picked up my charts, have my cases,  and the water is calm. Looks like I'm off! I imagine it'll be hard to find internet access for the next while so I'll update when I can. Next stop the mighty Columbia River.



Take care all!

~d

The LongBoat ShortBoat Expedition

...life with ~daniel~

The LongBoat ShortBoat Expedition

The LongBoat ShortBoat Expedition

The LongBoat ShortBoat Expedition

Happy Dance?

Sounds like the weather is finally calming down for the coming weekend! Woohoo!



...errrrr



Tentative Woohoo!





"...SMALL CRAFT ADVISORY IN EFFECT THROUGH LATE TONIGHT...



TONIGHT...W WIND 20 TO 30 KT...EASING TO 10 TO 20 KT AFTER MIDNIGHT. WIND WAVES 3 TO 6 FT...SUBSIDING TO 1 TO 3 FT. W SWELL 14 FT AT 10 SECONDS...SUBSIDING TO 12 FT AT 10 SECONDS AFTER MIDNIGHT. SHOWERS LIKELY.

FRI...W SWELL 12 FT AT 11 SECONDS. W WIND 10 TO 15 KT... BECOMING SW LATE. WIND WAVES 1 OR 2 FT. CHANCE OF SHOWERS.

FRI NIGHT...W SWELL 12 FT AT 11 SECONDS. N WIND 10 KT...BECOMING NE 10 TO 20 KT AFTER MIDNIGHT. WIND WAVES 1 TO 3 FT. CHANCE OF SHOWERS IN THE EVENING.

SAT...NE WIND 15 TO 25 KT. WIND WAVES 2 TO 4 FT. W SWELL 9 FT...SUBSIDING TO 7 FT IN THE AFTERNOON.

SAT NIGHT...E WIND 10 TO 20 KT. WIND WAVES 1 TO 3 FT. W SWELL 6 FT.

SUN...E WIND 10 TO 15 KT...BECOMING N IN THE EVENING. WIND WAVES 1 OR 2 FT. W SWELL 6 FT.

MON...NE WIND 10 TO 15 KT...BECOMING W IN THE AFTERNOON. WIND WAVES 1 OR 2 FT. W SWELL 5 FT.

TUE...SW WIND 10 KT. WIND WAVES 1 FT. W SWELL 7 FT. "

Hurricane

Not something to brag about... a very scary thing indeed. I heard the Banshee's screaming at me as the combination of brutally steep 20 foot 12 second seas, a full moon tide, storm surges, and the rain-flooded Wa'atch River bursting it's banks and flooding the plains around it - and me -  made for a nervous night. Tatoosh Lighthouse measured sustained Hurricane force winds of 94mph. The brunt of which buffeted me in my exposed location ten feet above the high tide line.





I can proudly say that my little camp came through unscathed. This is a shot from a few weeks back. It's a system that works extremely well. I'll often, when the winds are an issue, turn the tarp to windward side and lay logs and rocks along it to keep it down and ramp the winds up and over me.

photo credit Jim Mercure

A Different Perspective.

I'm sitting here in the wee hours of the morning, a full moon shining across the bay. The moon tricked me into thinking it was pre-dawn light so I got up to see. What a beautiful sight. As I'm munching on a little snack of a couple of cookies, I start thinking...



I'm stuck here... yeah I am, but now I'm off the reef and in the sandy bay. Town is a few miles walk away, things aren't so bad, people have been lifting the tarp, and poking around to see what's under it, but so far seem to respect my stuff...



Possibly I should be looking at this as an opportunity instead of a situation?





My weaknesses are big surf launches and landings... so like everything else I've taught myself... I need to paddle in big surf over and over and over until I get it. There in front of me is a bay with big surf, the weather is going to hell in a handbasket again tomorrow, and I need to replace the charts and case that washed off my deck yesterday. I've been walking the beach at low tide hoping to spot it but no luck so far. Why not just spend the next week of ugly out there, in a controlled environment, with controllable exposure, on a known beach, practising and learning?



I'm going to stay here in Makah Bay until this next big weather system passes through, and until the whales arrive which will be very soon.



I'm going to identify my weaknesses, and fears, and force myself to overcome them, and learn from them.



I'm going to continue!

The Bug and the Windshield.

Mark Knopfler sums my day up pretty well... I'm THE BUG.







Well it’s a strange old game - you learn it slow

One step forward and it’s back to go

You’re standing on the throttle

You’re standing on the brakes

In the groove ’til you make a mistake



Sometimes you’re the windshield

Sometimes you’re the bug

Sometimes it all comes together baby

Sometimes you’re a fool in love

Sometimes you’re the louisville slugger

Sometimes you’re the ball

Sometimes it all comes together baby

Sometimes you’re going lose it all



You gotta know happy - you gotta know glad

Because you’re gonna know lonely

And you’re gonna know bad

When you’re rippin’ and a ridin’ and you’re coming on strong

You start slippin’ and a slidin’ and it all goes wrong, because



Sometimes you’re the windshield

Sometimes you’re the bug

Sometimes it all comes together baby

Sometimes you’re a fool in love

Sometimes you’re the louisville slugger baby

Sometimes you’re the ball

Sometimes it all comes together baby

Sometimes you’re going lose it all



One day you got the glory

One day you got none

One day you’re a diamond

And then you’re a stone



Everything can change

In the blink of an eye

So let the good times roll

Before we say goodbye, because



Sometimes you’re the windshield

Sometimes you’re the bug

Sometimes it all comes together baby

Sometimes you’re a fool in love

Sometimes you’re the louisville slugger baby

Sometimes you’re the ball

Sometimes it all comes together baby

Sometimes you’re going lose it all

April Fool's Day Came Early

I'll admit it - I wimped out on writing this. Hence the Mark Knopfler song. It's taken me awhile to come back to this post. I overestimated my own ability in surf, and underestimated the size of the waves, and the difficulties they could present. I don't plan to write about the tough days but they seem to be the ones that leave me with the most to think about. ~d



I'm up, dragging my kayak to the outer edge of the reef. I've found a channel out through it and I'm loading up. By the time I'm finished loading the tide has started washing over the reef, and is coming in fast. I've moved my piles of gear three times so far and had my drybags bobbing like corks in the rapidly filling tide-pools a handful of times. My kayak tips to one side because I - not so wisely - think I can put her stern up on a rock to hold her, it turns out to be a great pivot point for a lean which fills Persephone full of water. I haven't put the sea-sock in yet... in all senses of the term... this attempt is a gong show from the start...

Here I gooooo...

I paddle out through the rapidly disappearing shelter of the channel, being swept sideways, and in and out with each surge. A lot of bumping and banging and struggling to keep from getting jammed sideways between rocks, and I'm out. A series of three foot waves crest in front of me, I ride up and over them, a bit wet, no worries. I keep paddling out, strange... it doesn't feel like I'm moving forward... a series of five foot waves come at me and I struggle through as they crest in walls, now I'm getting a serious face-washing. I'm thinking to myself... I've been paddling my butt off and I should be clear of these by now. Then the big boys start standing up in front of me, great green walls of water, their tops spilling over as they roar at me. Where's the damn shoulder??? There's supposed to be a shoulder!!! I get the full body slam, and get pinned to the back deck as I rise up on them and punch through the top, the drop out the backside is high enough to worry me. The roller-coaster starts to sickenly lean waaaaay forward before plummeting downwards, I hang on and get ready to brace. I slam down into the hole only to be picked up by the next, and the next, and the next... I've lost all forward momentum and am now being thrashed by wave after wave.

This is really bad... every wave has me flat on my back deck, every brief period between has me madly fighting a broach, and grabbing for gear that is trying to wash loose. Secure isn't as secure as I thought. Boom! I'm up a face when Persephone starts a horrifying backwards slide - surfing backwards in a baidarka with more bow than stern is a scary undertaking - and she stands up.

This is where it all goes into slow motion... my body turns as I look back... my bow goes up... I roll down the face of the wave into a broach... and I'm being tumbled... my paddle gets ripped out of my hands... roll or drown... roll or drown... roll or drown... thanks Duane... I rat claw myself to air, catch a quick breath before tumbling again... pull my spare paddle out while I'm underwater... it's surreal under here... roll up awkwardly... catch another breath before I'm tumbled again... roll up again... HEY! there's my... tumble... roll up again... I grab my lost paddle and pin it together with spare... tumble... roll up with both paddles in my hand... the front deck is rapidly being cleared... unimportant things like deck snacks, my hat... but my chart case is hanging there by a single hook... flopping around... okay daniel, stow the paddle or grab the case... stow the paddle... tumble... roll up... getting tired now and that last roll was pretty sketchy... chart case is floating six feet away... I can't reach it... I'm now in deep shit here I'm thinking... tumble... finishing this roll I have to lay right back and scull finish... I'm twisted up in the cockpit and can't get straightened out as the sea-sock has somehow wrapped me up... agghhh... wet exit... grab my rear deck bag as it floats by and clip it to a deck line... blow up my PFD... think think think... I fix the sea-sock between hammerings... the chart case floats just out of reach... re-enter and roll-up... the deck bag comes up last and drags me over again... roll up again... crap... the reef is right there now and I'm about to be washed up on it... I jump out of the cockpit so that I can swim the kayak in... a long series of bumps and bangs and thumps and tumbles as I get washed up on the rocks, shins being cracked as I try to push myself away from the rocks and stay seaward of the tumbling weight of a loaded and swamped kayak.

Mats of mussels, blankets of barnacles, slippery masses of seaweed... bump... thump... slide... grounded... repeat... poor Peresephone is taking one hell of a beating. I finally get washed far enough inshore that I can start guiding her through the reefs. I walk her swamped mass around the point, off the reef, and to the sandy beach in Makah Bay.

My bruised shins... my bruised pride... my poor beat-up kayak... barely floating with all the water in her...

Miraculously the Nylon held, the keel strip of duct tape took the worst of the scrapes, and Peresephone seems a bit worse for wear but not compromised. I'll be touching up the places where the coating was knocked off to to prevent seepage leaks, but other than that, she withstood her second trial by reef. I on the other hand, want a drink to calm my tattered nerves. Unfortunately, possibly fortunately - this is a dry town.

My gear sits in a soggy pile beside me for the better part of two hours while my heart-rate slows... my half inflated PFD bulging out from under it all... staring accusingly at me like a big bloodshot eyeball.

Not exactly a good day but probably a neccessary one...

Whoosh

Good thing I moved my camp up the slope a ways yesterday. The sound of huge logs rolling and crashing in the night seemed a lot louder than the night before. This morning I awoke to a collection of oddities. A layer of hail shed to the edges of my tarp, a two foot by twelve inch piece of rotten tree laying beside me - the thump and nudge that woke me last night, A pile of logs where my camp previously had been. Possibly my intuition is more on track than I've been giving it credit for...





I slept very well last night through the onslaught. Made myself two pots of Mussels this time... ohhh so good these little orange creatures.



Walked into town on the low tide this morning to write, and buy some groceries. Fresh fruit and veggies! I had a bag of oranges but I shared them with the kids, I'm a softy.



Though it's been intermittently raining today, the wind has dropped, and as I walked back down the beach to camp I looked out over the bay to see a double rainbow. A rainbow with with one end on the spot I hit the beach on the return trip, and the other on the surf line. If it's a sign I'll take it. The sun is only a finger width above the horizon, there are still some squalls in the southwest, and rain-clouds about, but the sky is predominantly clear. I think the low pressure system has settled in a bit and stabilized a hair.



Fingers, toes, and moustache crossed for good weather to launch tomorrow. Surf looks gentler this evening. Hell - I'll even knock on this log for good luck tomorrow.

Changing Weather

This morning it was an odd scene. To the south - rain and mist, and almost everything obscured under huge cumulo-nimbus clouds. Overhead - clear blue skies, carried by a biting cold wind from the north. To the north, the huge anvil-heads of thunder-storms. Hail, it's hailing now, I run for cover as pieces of ice the size of McD's fountain drink ice rattles down around me. The winds are coming from the southwest again. Makah Bay looks the same as it has every day since I crash-landed here. Big raging waves breaking over it's fields of reefs. Not a friendly looking place...





Something big is happening with the weather and I've no choice but to hunker down and wait. Peanut Butter is almost gone, fruit is finished, ran out of sweets. Still have tuna, KD, cous-cous, lentils and oats. Mussels to feast on for the harvesting at low tide. Freshwater falling from the cliffs around the corner - orange tinted but drinkable. Managed to get a few bags of wood cut up for my little stove before the hail came. I'm eating fresh Mussels tonight my friends, and they're the sweetest, most buttery little beasts I've ever enjoyed. Could be the fresh air though too ;O)

Sleeping with Slugs

They're green, they're surprisingly fast, they're very hungry, and they're tramping through my bed. Every ten minutes or so I have to stop what I'm doing, search out intruders and do the pinch and flick. Things a guy puts up with to 'go-light'. At this moment - as I lay here under my tarp hiding from the rain - a big one munches on an apple core I tossed him, two more are heading straight for me, tubulous eyes extended, mouth thingies extended, bodies extended in a full-out slither. Just out of reach as of yet but...





Twelve of them, I went out to 'relocate' three of them and found an even dozen! Ooosh!

Now I've got myself spooked over the high tide tonight, coming into a full moon you see. Logs are moving about the beach a surprising amount every night. I lay out an escape route to the highest ground possible, a meager three more feet. A scramble up the scree slope would get me higher but no way to get gear up there. Stormy days and highest high tides suck... I'm being forced higher and higher up the beach as the logs continue to start drifting. Thousands of them, rolling and colliding, and the biggest of them pounding the beach like great battering rams - backing out and slamming in. I can feel the big impacts through the sand at my feet. Powerful things these waves... high tide is at midnight, guess I'm sitting up to keep watch. Full moon in two days.



I spent the day scratching my head looking at a field of dumpers. Between here and the outside I can count six or seven layers of crests at any one moment. It's a 'You got yourself into this now how are you getting yourself out?" moment. Low or high tide the big ones are still out there, always over six feet, the smaller ones over four. High tide the reef is covered but it allows the big ones to reach shore. Low tide I risk being washed back over the reef. Full high tide the beach is awash with a sea of floating logs. Sighhh...



Found a bunch of whale bones yesterday. A jaw, a few vertebrate, and what I think may be the flipper  joint bones. Like giant mushrooms. I'm surprised how light whale bone is, I'd expect it to be heavy and strong coming from such a large animal. It's light, and porous, and fiberous. Fun beach-combing here, fishing floats and aerosol cans with japanese writing on them - plastic water bottles by the dozens - blue glass and a beach of stones pocked and dimpled and perforated. I picked a little one up as an amulet. Reality is though that I can't carry anything with me so I limit myself to the tiniest pieces of beach glass that I collect from the beaches I stop at, and which I gift to people I meet. Beach Jewels - the one thing I can take, and enjoy, and not feel like I'm slighting the sea's generous accomodation.

The Cape

I lay here under my tarp this morning, it hanging mere inches from my face, wet with condensation, thinking... well maybe another hour. I know very well that the tide changes to a solid flood at 1030 which means I need to be past the Cape really early or really late, but not on the change. I get up at 0800, fiddle enough that I hit the water at 1000. I put myself in 'The Gut' at tide change.

Cannons, crash, boom, bang. It's a very, very big world out here. Waves crash over reefs, a chop is six feet, clapotis is like mountains of water sloshing back in forth in a giant's bathtub. From the bottom of a slosh it's a stretch of the neck to see the top. I choose to follow the coastline side, which though larger, seems more predictably constant than going out towards Tatoosh Island. Stronger flood current to deal with, but for a shorter period of time.

Cape Flattery really is the big world. Massive pillars of stone surround it, grain askew, the slish-slosh of the unbridled Pacific bouncing through a grandiose Pachinko. Sea-lions own this place, and snort their disapproval as they follow me closely. "Hole in the Wall" hmmm... interesting name, and very descriptive, it all goes through here. Deciding to check things out a little closer I roll and lurch my way closer to the shore, passing through the narrowest of slots and over a reef that bared it's teeth at me as I was lifted up and over on a wave. The pulse out here is over-whelming, the seas blood surging with power far beyond anything I've ever experienced before.

12oz Nylon. That's only a hair thicker than the average pair of jeans. That's the only thing between me and all of this unbridled power... I feel it all... everything... the kayak flexes and twists... overwhelming... My hips are being thrown back and forth in the water. My hips are really getting a work-out today.



Once I get around the Cape things feel calmer, the hardest part is over. So I think.



Waatch Point is a triangular reef, sticking out into the Pacific, just before a low valley that divides the Cape from the main part of the Olympic Penninsula. It runs to the Northeast. I'm coming across the outside of reef, giving it's booming big waves a wide birth when a wild Easterly roars out of that low valley, 25 to 30knots, pushing me off-shore and tearing the Makah Bay up into a froth. Boomers everywhere, crests everywhere, trails of spray blowing back off their heads as they roared shoreward in vertical faces. The wind and snot are more than I can handle, can't go into the bay, and after my last experience with off-shore winds I'm pretty damn hesitant to play games with them. Options? The point, two beaches, I choose the closest one and struggle to stay upright while surge after surge tries to surf me wildly in. I didn't even see the reef until I looked down and saw Persephone's bow scraping across it while I'm back-paddling with all my might, my stern held high by the wave. Please don't bite in I'm thinking, and thank-you it didn't. I'm being unceremoniously broached, dragged, scraped, slid, and washed across the entire reef by each wave coming in until finally I'm out of reach of the biggest. I sit there, my paddle trapped under my kayak, feeling like an ass.



Persephone thankfully is virtually unharmed. I have new respect for that nylon.

Neah Bay

Spent day at Makah Tech Center, catching up on emails and the blog. Launched yesterday at 1700 for the short paddle to Koitlah Point. Found a beautiful little sandy beach, hidden behind a reef and great pillars of stone.





Note to self - sandy beaches aren't what they seem around here, they're usually sandy because they're protected by great rocky shelves of reefs.



Waahdah Island, just off Neah Bay is beautiful. Lots of reefs on it's outside and guarding the entrance to Neah Bay. Beware the breakers on the reefs - I decided to have an end of day goof around session on the waves spilling over the reef, got too close and was sucked in to the void as a big wave built.. It crested on top of me and pulled me back and forth over the reef a few times. Two rolls later I managed to get myself upright, and paddle away unhurt - and wiser... I can be such a dummy sometimes.



Neah Bay is a pleasant fishing town on Makah land.

the marina is home base to a fleet that fishes the rough waters of the 20 miles south of the Cape, all the way to the Canadian border. This is big water and hats off to these men and women. Washburn's General Store - 1902, serves this community and the others nearby, including Sekiu.



Looks like a big storm coming in Sunday, better check my weather resources. Looks like a big weather system is getting ready to hammer the coastso I'm going to try and get up really early and make the twenty mile dash around the Cape to Shi Shi Beach before things get ugly. Looks like a 5 hour paddle - all in one go. I can ride the storm out on the other side quite happily while I explore the place. Though it's pretty here I'd really prefer to be stuck on the other side.



Early to bed early to rise. G'nite!

Rain Drops and Whale Souls

Rain drops throw up deep green fountains on an opalescent, shimmering sea. Concentric circles seem a tidepool of sea anenomes amongst shimmering fronds of kelp. Every splash of a drop a new story, erasing the last, a new unfrozen frame of time. Little pearls of water skitter across the scene - it's all so alive and fresh.





Landed on a beach, nestled amongst tidepools, in a forest of rock formations, gardens of stone spilling from their flanks. Marked on my chart, a special place, my place, for today.



It's a wonderful paddle today, my stroke feels strong, and precise, and entirely natural. In all it's subtle, and not so subtle variations. I speed across the water, a wake behind me bigger than I've ever made. Persephone's bow slices the water like a sharp knife. This is what paddling a baidarka is about.



A spiritual experience...



There is a spirit at Seal Rock, I felt it roar, shreik and scream. Seal Rock is a monument of an island, visible many miles away, standing upright with steep cliffs on all sides. It's the outermost of a chain of reefs that curve far out into the bay, bisecting it. Across, and closer in, is it's sister, Sail Rock. I paddle towards it in the misty light, a spatter of fine rain on my face. Back-lit by the whiteness of the Strait it's outline is stark, ominous, towering. As I approach, it just keeps getting bigger, and bigger, until I realize the sheer scale of it. Sail Rock is covered in Cormorants and Gulls, squawking and squabbling. Oddly there are none but a single solitary shadow of ?a bird? sitting motionless high on it's flat top. I tap my eyebrow in acknowledgement of it.



As I pass between the two sisters, I bump bottom, a glimpse of eel-grass sliding under me as I pass. Waves suddenly start coming up, big and sharp and the wind starts to blow harsh and bitter, and the skies burst open, pelting me with intense rain... obliterating rain... raindrops so close together they meld into the sea surface, blurring the hard line between sea and sky... tearing everything open.



I become aware... the hair on the back of my neck bristles... there is something here... something powerful... incredibly angry and sorrowful...



At first it feels like I'm being warned. "Don't get too close". I speak back, "My name is Daniel, I'm passing through, please forgive me, I wish your blessings to continue my voyage in safety". Things stay intense and the sea crashes around me... I repeatedly kiss my hand and touch it to the wave crests and apologize... for what I have no idea but I feel the need to...



A Sea Lion surfaces between myself and the Rock, less than twenty feet away and watches me, unmoving, unflinching. A guardian or sentinel? Again I kiss my hand and touch a wave crest and start paddling away. Gives me shivers even now.



Three days later I meet two Makah men who I talk with about the life here, I asked them about Seal Island, "Is there a spririt there? Some kind of legend?"



The answer was brief... "That's where they shot that whale. All kinds of bad stuff there."



You can't make this shit up, and I didn't, and wouldn't dare. First Nation's culture means more to me than my own, they know about life and nature - more than I could ever. Something happened to me out there that day, and I wept as I paddled away from that place... not knowing why.



Now I know...

R&R

Spent a second day in Sekiu so that I could catch up on a bunch of boat maintenance, sewing, sleep, laundry, mail, and eating. Stayed up waaaay to late last night watching 'High Plains Drifter'. I so love this movie - Clint Eastwood at his best.





Shed a bit more gear, will re-pack again tonight and see where I'm at volume-wise. At the moment I'm using a flat bag on the rear deck as my overflow bag when I re-stock groceries and such and would like to reduce it down a bit. Having the weight up high like that isn't doing me any favours. I'm sure there's still more to shed ;O)



Though it's nice having the creature comforts, Persephone is so much lighter in the water with less, and when I'm paddling the weight on regular basis it's very easy to forsake a sleeping bag and tent for a tarp and rain gear. One of these days I'll put up a gear list. Not much, not much at all...



I'm trying to fatten up a bit for the next leg of the trip. Small towns like this have such great little cafes. Home-made spicy tomato soup, and a grilled provolone and swiss cheese sandwich - YUM!



Persephone is on the beach, loaded and ready to go. My belly is full. It's a twenty n.mile paddle to Neah Bay. Should be a pretty paddle, the shoreline keeps getting better the closer I get to the Cape. I'll be getting in at dusk as I'm starting late today. I find with towns it's better to come in quietly in the evening and sleep on the beach beside my girl. No-one bothers me and I can re-supply in the morning before the rabble-rousers are rabbling. Landing on unknown beaches is best done early afternoon - dawn launches these days.



Had a gentleman on the beach this morning tell me the story of his daughter. Very sad... she was young and naive and went off to the big city to work and be on her own. She got in with the wrong crowd, a rough crowd. Things went bad to worse, and she put a gun to her head and shot herself, the first shot passed through her skull but didn't kill her, so she put the gun in her mouth and shot again... this shot took out her eye and a good part of her brain. She lived... poor girl.. poor man... I stood there for an hour after he walked away looking out to the ocean. I realized something about myself. I love the ocean, and the soil, and nature very much - not for the wonder of it all - though it is indeed wonderous... because it is honest, and true... predators are unabashedly predators. The eagle never lies to the fish before it eats it.



The tides come and go, a storm is a storm, a wave is a wave. Night and the moon, day and the Sun.



Possibly we ask too much of life by forcing it to adhere, be defined, predicted, follow patterns that we can understand? Straight lines are so obviously out of place on the sea, the horizon yes, a roofline is obviously man-made many miles away.



I'll be a drifter, unapologetic for who I am, floating alongside the lines of flotsam, a traveler, an observer, a participant, and sometimes a victim. At least the one who victimizes feels no malevolence, doesn't need to and can't. I'll tell the stories of journies and not apologize for who I am, or be anything I'm not... please... tomorrow let me continue to voyage.



Today was a spiritual day... Jim came down from his resort where he was such a hospitable host - Curley's resort if you ever find yourself in Sekiu. Clean sheets, nice people. A pleasure to shake your hand Jim. I did a few rolls for him in the Bay on my way out - a thank-you from a paddler.

Clallum Bay and Sekiu

Skipped brekkie and launched early. Couldn't believe the water today, flat calm, not a gust of wind for the entire day except an evening puff from behind to carry me into Clallum Bay and over to the little town of Sekiu. Nice quiet little town this time of year. Sportsfishing is it's big industry and come May it goes crazy, or so I'm told.





Gorgeous coastline coming in. Pillar Rock is striking - the size and quantity, and pot-marking of it's cliffs and formations are very different from anything I've seen so far. Tide-pools abound with sea-life, mussels as big as my fist. I stopped here on a little, sandy, east-facing beach for a quick lunch of fats and proteins. Tuna-fish, kippered herring, peanut butter, and chocolate. Sounds awful I know but it's what my body wanted, who am I to argue.



Pysha River would/could be a great place to launch to get out and see this stretch of coast, and has miles of sandy beaches and a protected estuary to get in and out from. The stretch from here to Clallum Bay seems uninhabited and wild - sea-life big and small everywhere. I traveled well off-shore to Pysha, and paddle with porpoise twice - small and black and in no particular hurry to be anywhere. Had a nice off-shore ebb carrying me along the tide-line of drifting flotsam most of the day. Later, as it statrted to change, I was past Pillar Rock and and exploring the coastline. Lots of eddies and flotsam lines to follow. Saw a pair of sea otters today, they first showed up sliding along the surface in a way that I didn't recognize, at least not like seals or river otters.After a few minutes of this one popped his furry little face up in front of me about fifty feet ahead, then a second about fiftenn and looking at the other otter instead of me. I came up right behind him, all of a sudden he turned, his silvery face showing a look of shock and they both ducked under. A very funny moment, one that had me laughing, and grinning now as I write. Really curious animals. I hope they don't remember that men in kayaks just like mine hunted them almost to extinction.



Coming into Clallum Bay a tiny little seal pup who was sitting on a rock waiting for mam to return, splashed into the water and popped his little head out of the water to watch me pass. So cute... There was a rock formation nearby that looked just like a Chia head. Jim at the fishing resort later mentioned the exact same rock, desacribing it the same way and called it 'Little Musolini'. Apparently there's really good Halibut fishing out there. Imagine... me fishing for halibut in a skinny baidarka... bwah ha ha ha ha...

A Makah Legend

A Makah Legend





The Indians who live on the farthest point of the northwest corner of Washington State used to tell stories, not about one Changer, but about the Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things. So did their close relatives, who lived on Vancouver Island, across the Strait of Juan de Fuca.





When the world was very young, there were no people on the Earth. There were no birds or animals, either. There was nothing but grass and sand and creatures that were neither animals nor people but had some of the traits of people and some of the traits of animals.



Then the two brothers of the Sun and the Moon came to the Earth. Their names were Ho-ho-e-ap-bess, which means "The Two-Men-Who- Changed- Things." They came to make the Earth ready for a new race of people, the Indians. The Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things called all the creatures to them. Some they changed to animals and birds. Some they changed to trees and smaller plants.



Among them was a bad thief. He was always stealing food from creatures who were fishermen and hunters. The Two-Men-Who- Changed-Things transformed him into Seal. They shortened his arms and tied his legs so that only his feet could move. Then they threw Seal into the Ocean and said to him, "Now you will have to catch your own fish if you are to have anything to eat."



One of the creatures was a great fisherman. He was always on the rocks or was wading with his long fishing spear. He kept it ready to thrust into some fish. He always wore a little cape, round and white over his shoulders. The Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things transformed him into Great Blue Heron. The cape became the white feathers around the neck of Great Blue Heron. The long fishing spear became his sharp pointed bill.



Another creature was both a fisherman and a thief. He had stolen a necklace of shells. The Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things transformed him into Kingfisher. The necklace of shells was turned into a ring of feathers around Kingfisher's neck. He is still a fisherman. He watches the water, and when he sees a fish, he dives headfirst with a splash into the water.



Two creatures had huge appetites. They devoured everything they could find. The Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things transformed one of them into Raven. They transformed his wife into Crow. Both Raven and Crow were given strong beaks so that they could tear their food. Raven croaks "Cr-r-ruck!" and Crow answers with a loud "Cah! Cah!"



The Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things called Bluejay's son to them and asked, "Which do you wish to be--a bird or a fish?"



"I don't want to be either," he answered.



"Then we will transform you into Mink. You will live on land. You will eat the fish you can catch from the water or can pick up on the shore. "



Then the Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things remembered that the new people would need wood for many things.



They called one of the creatures to them and said "The Indians will want tough wood to make bows with. They will want tough wood to make wedges with, so that they can split logs. You are tough and strong. We will change you into the yew tree."



They called some little creatures to them. "The new people will need many slender, straight shoots for arrows. You will be the arrowwood. You will be white with many blossoms in early summer."



They called a big, fat creature to them. "The Indians will need big trunks with soft wood so that they can make canoes. You will be the cedar trees. The Indians will make many things from your bark and from your roots."



The Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things knew that the Indians would need wood for fuel. So they called an old creature to them. "You are old, and your heart is dry. You will make good kindling, for your grease has turned hard and will make pitch. You will be the spruce tree. When you grow old, you will always make dry wood that will be good for fires."



To another creature they said, "You shall be the hemlock. Your bark will be good for tanning hides. Your branches will be used in the sweat lodges."



A creature with a cross temper they changed into a crab apple tree, saying, "You shall always bear sour fruit."



Another creature they changed into the wild cherry tree, so that the new people would have fruit and could use the cherry bark for medicine.



A thin, tough creature they changed into the alder tree, so that the new people would have hard wood for their canoe paddles.



Thus the Two-Men-Who-Changed-Things got the world ready for the new people who were to come. They made the world as it was when the Indians lived in it.

To Low Point

Bit slow getting camp packed up. Launched 1000ish arrived Low Point at 1300ish. Stopped for a break at Crescent Beach, very pretty and lots of good paddling in the area. Nice reef offshore made for some exciting tide-races and standing waves. Inside the bay is protected on the edges, with nice sandy beaches all around. When I came in on the west side an eagle flew off the rocks and circled overhead, as I approached the beach I saw another adult and two juveniles poking amongst the rocks.





Around the point, after launching, the water got a bit lumpy - three feet or so, and a sea-lion popped his body right up out of the water to get a good look at me.



Made it to Low Point today, not my intended destination of Pysha River but still a good twenty nautical miles of paddling so I'm happy. Did a bad-ass surf landing right on the point, sailing in on a big cresting wave to beached amongst barnacle covered, basket-ball sized rocks. The nylon has a few new scratches, and a superficial dent because of it but nothing too serious. Dumb idea coming in at the point when only moments before I'd passed a quiet little cove with smaller surf and smaller stones but I wanted to check if this was indeed the point by spotting the river. Too lazy to go back, and seeing those beautiful big cresting waves got my adrenalin pumping so hard I just went ahead and caught a big one in.



The sacrificial duct tape I've been putting on my keel peeled away twice today in great long streamers that I had to reach under my kayak and pull off.

R&R

I thought I was in a hurry to get back on the water, turns out I was in a hurry to get away from Port Angeles. It's an odd place, beautiful scenery, idyllic location, but crime and unemployment are rampant. Heavy industry lives, where in many cities, there'd be sea-side boardwalks, and children playing in parks.

 The mill overshadows and is also the lifeline for this town. Men in suspenders driving big diesel trucks roar through town. These same men all watch suspiciously as I order my breakfast and gulp down a cup of tea with honey. I left town late this afternoon, Kevin became my gracious host, driving me around town while I picked up my supplies, and chatting with me while I loaded up for a late departure.



It was dark last night while I was trying to find a landing spot here on Angeles Point, a few hours from town. I was having a difficult time getting off the water as it was high tide and there was dumping surf crashing on rocky beaches at high tide. I paddled along, in the dark towards the mouth of the Elwha River searching in the darkness but mostly just listening to the rumble of waves crushing down on the beach. Listening... listening... crashing surf... crashing surf... wait... no more crashing surf... Something sounded different at one point though, the surf crashed but it wasn't accompanied by the growl of rocks rolling back into the sea with the receding froth. A sand-bar, and a little hidden slot about ten feet wide which allowed me to di\uck through and behind the sandbar into the mouth of the estuary. It felt so good to find it using my senses and my awareness...



Suddenly I'm not in a hurry anymore. This place is so pretty. I'm sitting here by a little brook that is making bloopity bloopity soundsas it flows. Burbling? Off in the distance the sea roars like a lion but here the brooksd laughs like a room full of excited children. A magical place where the river meets the sea - a quote I think. Not sure by who.



I feel the tension drain away as I sit here, writing in the misty rain of morning, listening to birds sing and chirp. Shore-birds sing so differently than sea-birds. A hundred feet to my left I can hear Pigeon Guillemots, gulls, sea-ducks. Here it's Red-wing Blackbirds. The crow is around as well, as man has been here.I'm staying another night.



It's evening now. The sun is two fingers above the horizon, and sinking fast. The light is changing to that pretty low light, soft. All the things around me have shadows, the smallest stones and pebbles even. Everything is so three dimensional in this light. Wish I had a camera as the contrasts are incredible - Ansell Adams was a master in this light.



I had a few people walk by my little camp, typical for a Sunday I guess. I've been thinking that I'll make Sunday and Monday off the water days as often as possible. Possibly a day to go fishing, or write, or hang around the camp and eat. Maybe go rolling. I feel fresh, and comfortable, despite my lack of a shower in days, and bag of sopping wet (stinky) clothes. Ooooops BRB...

forgot to put them back out to dry - nothing worse than climbing into wet long underwear before the days paddle - makes my willy shrink just thinking about it.



Lights almost gone now - air is getting cool so I'll be packing up my little stove, and stuffing everything back into it's appropriate dry-bag in preperation for tomorrow. I think I'll push for the next river estuary, maybe it'll be as pleasant as this one.



The world is starting to feel wilder and less 'touched'. Less houses, less people, surf, the Olympics right there as I write. Across the water Vancouver island, probably the clear cuts over Jordan River that I'm seeing to the left. I saw the lighthouse at Race Rocks today. I've been paddling for three weeks and yet a single days paddle could get me home back where I started. Home is where I am, not where I was. Odd...



The Race Rocks lighthouse is flashing at me now - miles away. Time to finish my tea and say goodnight.



Sweet dreams all,

~daniel~

Persephone Runs Off in the Night.

Slept the night on Rocky Point in a 4x8 clearing in the dog roses, on top of a rough driftwood bed, semi-floating on the spongy edge of a salt-marsh. It was rough but it got me through.



Wow what a day... Paddle to Port Angeles was calm and reasonably short, and entirely uneventful. The night on the other hand...





I wanted to go into town to get a late lunch, so I pulled Persephone up onto some logs well above the high tide lineat 'Hollywood Beach'. I felt comfortable leaving her here in such a high visibility spot. I had lunch, wandered around town playing tourist, looking for charts, then found an internet cafe to update my blog. They had a fellow strumming and singing so I spent a very pleasurable evening messaging friends and working my way through my emails until the place closed at 2300. I walked down to the beach to curl up beside Persephone for the night. This is the right path right? This is the right beach right?? That was the log she was sitting on right??? Someone stole my kayak... and all my gear, my only possesions, were in her...



In a panic I ran up to a fellow standing nearby and asked where the police station was. I ended up explaining what had happened. He asked me "Was it a yellow kayak?" YES it is! Kevin listens to his scanner, monitoring ship traffic and local emergency services. He'd heard it reported to the police and coast guard that some kids had set her adrift. While I ran off to find the nearest phone he walked out onto the pier to see if he could find her. When I got back from the phone Kevin called me out to the pier and there below us, hiding amongst the dense cluster of pilings, right in the center, was Persephone, poking her nose out from time to time as if to say "I'm here".  Ooooosh... now how was I supposed to get her out of there??? Police came, took a look said they didn't have a boat, sorry, good luck with that, and told me I couldn't dive off the pier to retrieve her. Kevin being the kind fellow he is walked home, drove back with his leaking inflatable kayak, pumped her up and there I am, past midnight paddling out to get my kayak, with a pump between my knees 'in case'. Thanks Kevin, you're a saint bro.



The night was a bust so I paddled Persephone over to the marina, pulled the one way locking gate shut behind me with a click, and wandered out of town until I found a set of steps in a dark corner where I could sleep what was left of the night.



Port Angeles left a sour taste in my mouth. Something like Old Spice, diesel, sulfur and stale beer.



"Yur not from a-round these parts are yuh?"

Pre-dawn to Pre-dusk.

Big day today, not huge water but a LOT of paddling. Left Point Wilson about 0330, arrived Rocky Point, about two hours paddle from Port Angeles before dusk, possibly 1630. Still don't have a watch but it was five fingers horizon to sun.



Winds were down a bit so I slipped out pre-dawn from Pt.Wilson to get off the point and into something new. Paddled in the dark for a few hours, feeling the two-three footers pass under me, sensing where I was in relation to the shore by by the shape of them as they rocked me side to side. I wanted to stay out far enough that I didn't find the randomly scattered car-sized boulders that litter the shoreline below the packed sand and mud cliffs. Seeing Protection Island at dawn's break was a treat. The orange light coming over the cliffs beside me and lighting the Olympics. My first view of them... the snow on their craggy peaks gleaming in the soft light. Two eagles just up with the dawn soared in lazy circles above me while I drifted and munched on my breakfast of deck snacks. By the way they moved in the air I could tell that there was nothiong much happening in the air this morning yet. Hard to see the big picture sometimes when in the shadow of cliffs.



I ducked across the mouth of Discovery Bay, behind Protection Island. Nothing but the open strait out there. I kept paddling and paddling until I was around the next point, and into the mouth of Sequim Bay a ways. Not much here in the way of good beaches with the sea-swell dumping on softball-sized and bigger stones. Just steep cliffs and beaches that close out at high-tide. I dragged my kayak up on driftwood skids, ate a quick snack while shivering in my wet gear. Felt really cold today, a change into my dry's hel;ped a bit but I had a pretty serious chill. Back to the water where the movement would warm me up.



Forgot to re-stock the deck snacks, a mistake that would punish me later. Crossing the bay to the base of Dungeness Spit I came across Mike from the Olympic Penninsula Paddlers and chatted a bit with him about kayaks and such. He mentioned it was a long way around the spit, I had no idea how long though.



I paddled, and paddled, and paddled until I saw a couple of white specks in the distance, and then I paddled and paddled and paddled for hours until they were white spots... It was worth the looooooong slog out there though as the view from the end of Dungeness Spit was spectacular. I couldn't land so I drifted in my kayak and took it all in... I could see everywhere I'd been and everywhere I'm going from out here. Vancouver Island, the Gulf Islands (the Canadian San Juans), the San Juans, Whidby Island, the crossing that almost ate me at Pt. Wilson. It all was a big circle around me from here. How much time would it have taken me to paddle straight here from Pt. Partridge I half-wondered. I layed myself onto the water and did a few blissful balance braces, and a soothing roll, floating slowly to the surface before rising up on my paddle. The tip of the spit was a completely different animal,  a strong rip and flood current formed off here, and forced me into the rough shore-break to stay out of it. A lot of work as much of the time I was being slid sideways towards the beach. On the outside a four foot swell was dumping on a steep gravel beach. No place to land and a whole lot more paddling before I could get out of my kayak and stretch my aching legs. I played in the waves, punching through them, and getting facefuls of water, before getting down to the task of paddling. There wasn't a single place I could get off the water for the rest of the day until I reached Rocky Point. No food either... remember not topping up the deck snacks Daniel?



I found a flotsam line and got myself into a counter-current and raced full out for the better part of ten miles to until I arrived. Not much to see along this shore anyways... mud cliffs. Once I landed first thing out was the bag that contained Peanut Butter and a block of chees, both of which I ate by the mouthful and gulped down... sooooo hungry... I was spent, hadn't eaten in eight hours, and had been paddling since well before dawn.

R&R

Met Tom today, a fellow skin-boater from Port Townsend. He came back later with photos of his pretty little retrieval kayak, remarkable job he's done on her design, and the red-dyed accents really bring out the charm of her.

Bill the caretaker and ranger here has a great story, he bought and is restoring the old 38' fishing boat he worked on in his younger years. It was one of the first fibreglass hulls to come out of Port Townsend. He's just finished refurbishing the Isuzu diesels and put then back in a week ago. I'd love to see her...



'The Boiler Room' is a great little coffee-shop and youth lounge in PT. Smoke-free, drug-free, and alcohol free, coffee's pretty damn good too! The place is run by kids and reminds me of a hostel from Kathmandu I loved. Worth checking out for the youthful energy and vibe - makes me feel young. Had another drawing come out of me here. It was the scene of me struggling off the lighthouse at the mouth of Puget Sound... I left iut there at the shop. Everyone that sees my pieces says the same thing - "great use of shading". I'll admit they are dark, but it seems they are becoming my emotional releases. Someday maybe they'll all re-appear in my life - I tend to just leave them behind for others as the need is in the act of drawing not the finished product.

He met me... and I met myself.

Came from Deception Pass.

Point Wilson Lighthouse, Port Townsend, WA, USA

Packed and left Deception Pass at 0800 (by the finger clock), arrived Point Wilson 1400, but off the water at 1630 - story behind this...



Battled 15-20 knot headwinds, or more like trudged uphill, all day. Later 30+ knots - off my scale. Was forced to take a deep-water route, way off-shore to stay out of restricted zones, Whidby Island. Pretty damn snarky out there. 20 knot winds and three foot broaching waves and chop. This was the story for most of the paddle along Whidby Island, lumpy bumpy, and mile after mile of mud cliffs, which did provide a respite from the wind from time to time.



Partridge Point... has good surf.



The next big crossing...

On the last half hour or so of rounding Point Partridge, the winds dropped off. Nice, calm, pleasant - nothing but gentle ocean swell. I floated there, looking across the mouth of Puget Sound, to Point Wilson, debating whether to cross. Weather to cross. Good weather has been rare, and there have been afternoon respites where the wind stopped it's SE blow, and then went flat for a couple of hours before taking on a SW blow. I decided to go, a sound decision, and a long, but do-able paddle. Never assume...

The first quarter was pleasant, 3-4 foot swell... the other three were and are the most intense challenges I've yet faced in a kayak.

The wind whipped up fast and hard - 20 to 25 knots - the sea just kept getting bigger as I paddled on, with the flood tide coming on fast returning wasn't an option so I was committed. 3-4 foot wind waves cresting, tops blown into spray in my eyes. Then 4-6 feet, then 6-8 feet choppy cresting wind waves against current, white crests everywhere, and over a big swell. Combined seas must have been over 10 feet at the worst of times, I'm sitting here in a chair looking up at the ceiling above me and they were higher than this. I was taking them on the side and front quarter... they were my worst nightmare. This is a long crossing on a good day. Nice thing about waves this big is that when I was in a gulley I could get a few solid strokes in while I was out of the wind. The tops were... wow... I used my moments of air-time to get myself turned back on course-ish. Stay calm Daniel... stay loose... let the kayak roll and pitch... concentrate on a good stroke... Holy Shit. Holy Shit. Holyyyyyyyyy SHIT!

I slogged along for hours, talking to myself and telling Persephone how proud I am of her - she's an incredible beast, and seems to live for this stuff. I believed in her, and will continue to believe in her. That means a lot.

Two thirds across and I'm struggling across the inbound shipping lane... a freighter appears on the horizon... funny the things a guy thinks... I was wondering what they were thinking seeing me out way there... in conditions that swamp and sink boats. She was big, blue and passed me within seeing distance. I waved to the crew - thought it was kind of funny as a few moments earlier I was wondering how many hours were left on my VHF radio's batteries.

The Point Wilson Lighthouse is there - right there within my sight. Sadly unmanned and automated... I laughed at the irony... if something went wrong-er the buzzing and clicking solenoids that run her couldn't care less. They wouldn't see me, or hear me, or really care. That's what it came down to... I'm truly on my own. A tide race forms off Point Wilson, did you know that? I'd hoped by going into the lee of the point I could get some protection from the long fetch. I did, and now I got a powerful tide race, pushing up four foot standing waves, which the wind was pushing me into and worse, out to sea on. Horrendous off-shore winds... standing waves... thirty plus knots... land within reach but not able to turn my kayak upwind to get there... I was being taken off-shore and out into a hell that was even more furious than what I'd already experienced... As I was being blown past the red can that I had been staring at for hours I yelled NO!!!!!! YOU FUCKER!!! You're not getting me!!!

I paddled backwards as hard as I could to hold postion while I thought of options, searched for an option I had missed... nothing I can use to my advantage ahead... tricks... A drogue? Didn't have one... a line to the can? Couldn't get to it... Ride the wind? Not likely... It's getting stronger still... Can't turn around... The standing waves are getting four feet and cresting over me... wait a sec... back out of it? Backwards? BACKWARDS! I'll paddle this bitch (sorry dear) backwards upwind until I get nearer to the lighthouse on the point, maybe find a way out of this tide race so that I'm only dealing with wind, and possibly finding a place the flood tide is carrying me in... So I layed back on my deck to reduce my exposure to the wind and paddled... hard... and slowly I started to move... ever so slowly but I was moving... and in the right direction.

Took me half an hour to move a hundred feet - using every last bit of my precious strength... no reserve... give it everything or give up... I found a rythum in the waves, and started letting the cresting waves broach me, and when my bow came up, falling on my side into the sea and doing a huge backwards extended paddle sweep stroke to get me pointed towards the spit, a few degrees before the wind straightened me out again. I crabbed backwards towards the spit, a little here, a little there, until finally, FINALLY, I felt the waves soften just a hair. My chance! I bought myself a chance! I spun around on my best extended bow rudder - like a flag in the wind - just like Karl showed me - and gave it everything! No second chances, I had to do it. I was now able to keep my bow pointed upwind as I crawled closer... closer... closer... and then I could sustaing a few degrees to the port of the wind... towards the spit... and then a few more... I bought myself a ferry angle out of that tide race... degree by bloody degree.

Until I was out, out and heading towards a beach.

Point Wilson Lighthouse

I did it. I did it. I had no idea I was enough. I did it. For hours and hours and hours, at the end of a long day of paddling... I did it.

I'll remember this moment forever. That lighthouse. This feeling, sick, exhausted. No pride. Nothing. Empty.



Tonight I sleep. I learned about myself and my resolve, and my images of my end today.



Tonight I sleep... on land...



~d