Wind, Fog & Boomers: Challenge of the Brooks
submitted to SKABC (Sea Kayak Association of BC) Paddle Newsletter 2006
Heather Kirk and I enjoyed 8 remarkable days paddling from Winter Harbour to the Brooks Peninsula last August. Paddling with just one other person along a rugged, exposed coastline was a challenging and invaluable experience. A joint effort was required in making the important decisions; I could no longer simply follow the group leader. Our safety depended on constant consultation to assess the paddling conditions and our comfort zone, e.g. is the day useable for paddling given the weather forecast and our skill level? Do we proceed in the fog? How do we negotiate the myriad of rocks offshore? I also became more comfortable paddling in 2-3 m seas among the unsuspected boomers (submerged rocks which occasionally cause waves to break over them). Other than a lone sailboat the first day out of Winter Harbour, we did not encounter a single soul. The beautiful sand and pebble beaches, the abundant marine and intertidal life and the crashing waves and sea spray were ours alone to enjoy.
We set off from Winter Harbour under partly sunny skies and relatively calm seas, ecstatic to be leaving. We’d pitched our tents in a noisy RV park in town, because the regional campsite felt unwelcome: deserted, littered with empty beer bottles and far from town. Furthermore, a mother bear and cub were reported to be frequenting the site. Our launch from town was equally miserable. We struggled to keep from falling on the slippery ground littered with rotting fish carcasses; we couldn‘t set anything on the ground nor let anything drop into the water we were convinced contained sewage outfall. For future trips, it is possible to camp on one of the beaches we passed in Forward Inlet just outside Winter Harbour.
The paddle to Kwakiutl Point was pleasant with light rain, manageable seas, lifting of the distant fog and dolphin and sea otter sightings. It should be noted that access to our campsite was hampered by a series of barely submerged stacks directly in front of the beach. We arrived just in time before the skies opened, and spent much of the remainder of the day huddled under Heather’s tarp in a torrential downpour. Fortunately, we awoke to clearing skies, and were cheered by the serene morning glow transforming the water to icy blue and silhouetting the rocky bluffs. There was a frenzy of activity in the intertidal. Hemigrapsus shore crabs were scurrying around in such large numbers that I had to watch my step. They quickly moved into defence stance, standing up on their back legs and holding their front claws out in front of them. As always, I was fascinated by the intertidal life, and thankful for the low tides we were experiencing. By late afternoon, we found ourselves reclining in our camp chairs, wine glasses in hand, and looking out onto the seaweed-strewn sandy beach. The waves crashed onto shore, the only audible sound. I was tempted to test the water with a swim, but the north wind was ever so chilling. Earlier we’d paddled a short distance out to the islet off the point and been driven back by daunting whitecaps; the strong northwest winds had arrived in late morning, as forecast. We’d made the right decision to rest from the long drive and noisy night at Winter Harbour, and stay in camp another day. The trip back to our campsite, largely protected from the brunt of the storm, in modest swell, was just enough of a thrill for us.
The paddle to Kwakiutl Point was pleasant with light rain, manageable seas, lifting of the distant fog and dolphin and sea otter sightings. It should be noted that access to our campsite was hampered by a series of barely submerged stacks directly in front of the beach. We arrived just in time before the skies opened, and spent much of the remainder of the day huddled under Heather’s tarp in a torrential downpour. Fortunately, we awoke to clearing skies, and were cheered by the serene morning glow transforming the water to icy blue and silhouetting the rocky bluffs. There was a frenzy of activity in the intertidal. Hemigrapsus shore crabs were scurrying around in such large numbers that I had to watch my step. They quickly moved into defence stance, standing up on their back legs and holding their front claws out in front of them. As always, I was fascinated by the intertidal life, and thankful for the low tides we were experiencing. By late afternoon, we found ourselves reclining in our camp chairs, wine glasses in hand, and looking out onto the seaweed-strewn sandy beach. The waves crashed onto shore, the only audible sound. I was tempted to test the water with a swim, but the north wind was ever so chilling. Earlier we’d paddled a short distance out to the islet off the point and been driven back by daunting whitecaps; the strong northwest winds had arrived in late morning, as forecast. We’d made the right decision to rest from the long drive and noisy night at Winter Harbour, and stay in camp another day. The trip back to our campsite, largely protected from the brunt of the storm, in modest swell, was just enough of a thrill for us.
Day 3 called for an early start due to moderate/strong afternoon winds forecast again. We set the alarm for 5:30 am. It was still dark and cold as we donned our damp wet suits inside our tents. We had breakfast, packed and launched by 7 am. It was another spectacular morning. The water in our bay was as smooth as glass, and the massive kelps exposed by the very low tide swayed gently. But as we left our sheltered bay, the exposed ocean revealed big swell and crashing waves. We eased out into it tentatively, taking care to stay well away from the waves breaking on the reef and keeping an eye out for lurking boomers. The sun was just coming up behind the hills and lit up the large masses of sea foam. It was like kayaking through undulating fields of sparkling snow! And an exhilarating sensation! As we continued to proceed cautiously, fog began to surround us. Aware that ocean swell and fog are a dangerous combination, especially when negotiating a minefield of rocks, we decided to stop paddling, hopeful of the fog lifting. It did not. It got thicker. Enveloped in fog in 3 m seas, among shallow rocks, with the headland starting to slip from sight, there was no question of returning to Kwakiutl. Heather checked her compass bearing.
Cautiously, we retraced our tracks, and successfully landed on the islet off Kwakiutl to consider our options. Clearly, getting an early start had not been to our advantage with this part of the coast, but the day before we had seen what would likely happen if caught out in the open any time later than noon.
Cautiously, we retraced our tracks, and successfully landed on the islet off Kwakiutl to consider our options. Clearly, getting an early start had not been to our advantage with this part of the coast, but the day before we had seen what would likely happen if caught out in the open any time later than noon.
Hoping for a window between the fog and the wind, one hour later, at approximately 9:30 am, we made our second attempt to get beyond Lawn Point. Fortunately, both swell and fog seemed to have lessened. We moved cautiously through the reef, constantly scanning the horizon for boomers or excessive swell; sometimes we had to paddle far away from shore to avoid being caught between boomers. Heather and I stayed close enough to each other to discuss the path we would negotiate, and to check that we were both comfortable with the conditions. When we finally rounded Lawn Point, a beautiful grassy outcrop in the sun, and tucked in beyond the point, the waters were calmer at last. We had the reef behind us.
Rafting up together, and enjoying a bit of a break, we listened to the marine forecast: moderate afternoon to lighter evening winds. We didn’t think twice about continuing on to Heater Point, where a beautiful pebble beach and little islets surrounded by shallow, shimmering green waters awaited us. It reminded me a little of the Ross Islets in the Deer Group. Except for the scars on the surrounding hills from clear-cuts, it was a paradise! Relaxing in the sun (the only fog still present was far to the south, in the Brooks) after lunch, it was difficult to imagine leaving here. We’d already paddled 10 miles under strenuous conditions, and yet, this might be our only chance to get to the Brooks given our expected return date. After much deliberation, we dragged ourselves off that beautiful sunny beach. Leaving the sheltered bay we encountered a stiff breeze and moderate following seas. Travel was fast and exhilarating and just within our comfort zone. Sea stacks and caves and inaccessible beaches one after another sped by us as the current pushed us along. It would be impossible in these conditions to land anywhere along this rugged coast. Fortunately, the seas did subside in the late afternoon, as forecast, and, although tired, we had no doubt that we would make it to the Brooks Peninsula. Many sea otters appeared; in fact, they seemed as numerous as the seals in the Pasley Islands.
Rafting up together, and enjoying a bit of a break, we listened to the marine forecast: moderate afternoon to lighter evening winds. We didn’t think twice about continuing on to Heater Point, where a beautiful pebble beach and little islets surrounded by shallow, shimmering green waters awaited us. It reminded me a little of the Ross Islets in the Deer Group. Except for the scars on the surrounding hills from clear-cuts, it was a paradise! Relaxing in the sun (the only fog still present was far to the south, in the Brooks) after lunch, it was difficult to imagine leaving here. We’d already paddled 10 miles under strenuous conditions, and yet, this might be our only chance to get to the Brooks given our expected return date. After much deliberation, we dragged ourselves off that beautiful sunny beach. Leaving the sheltered bay we encountered a stiff breeze and moderate following seas. Travel was fast and exhilarating and just within our comfort zone. Sea stacks and caves and inaccessible beaches one after another sped by us as the current pushed us along. It would be impossible in these conditions to land anywhere along this rugged coast. Fortunately, the seas did subside in the late afternoon, as forecast, and, although tired, we had no doubt that we would make it to the Brooks Peninsula. Many sea otters appeared; in fact, they seemed as numerous as the seals in the Pasley Islands.
Around 5 pm we headed to shore south of Orchard Point, observing where the surf was minimal, and carefully timing the landing between breaking waves. We had four spectacular sandy beaches to choose from to set up camp! Although tired, the sun and sand beckoned us to explore. After a swim I felt rejuvenated and walked the beaches and explored the tide pools among the picturesque rocky islets. It was paradise. Little did we know that things would look very different tomorrow, and that here we would spend the next 2 days. We scrambled to get the tents up before dark, and then sat up watching the waves come ever closer. The extreme low tides were great for observing intertidal life, but that also meant extreme high tides, and these occur very late in the evening in the summer. We built rudimentary dykes around our tents with sand and wood, and finally got to bed just after midnight and 20 miles of paddling. It had been a truly amazing day!
Slept in – 7am! I was eager for more tide pool exploring, and today was the lowest tide yet. Surfbirds and sandpipers were running little marathons on the beach, and loons called from offshore. After a leisurely breakfast, the warning of strong afternoon winds on both north and south Brooks encouraged us to stay put. We’d planned, as our final destination, to paddle to and around Solander Island, but only if the sea conditions warranted it (this is due to the unforgiving exposure at the tip of the Brooks). Remaining at this site afforded us the opportunity of walking a beautiful trail through a bonsai forest and bog to yet another sandy beach. We topped up our water supply at the stream, and returned to camp to erect a tarp just before the rain set in.
It rained the rest of the day, and the next, rarely abating for very long. The following day extremely thick fog rolled in as well, and the ocean swell and surf on our beach were building with the wind. Strong winds to the north and the south; there was no question of a departure today either! After we’d breakfasted on granola bars, we headed back into our tents where we stayed for the next 4 hours reading and dozing. We’d both woken at around 2 am listening to the pounding surf creep ever higher outside our doorsteps. My heart pounded as I anticipated a wave crashing over my tent any minute! Later that day, we were grateful that Heather’s new tarp held, and that we were able to stay reasonably dry and warm under the kitchen shelter we’d erected. I thanked God for quick dry pants, my wool hat, Patagonia fleece and fleece socks. It was, however, getting to be a little tough keeping wet sand from getting on everything. That evening, before heading for bed, we listened to the radio: extensive fog forecast. This was worrisome. We had to get off this beach soon if we had any hope of returning to Winter Harbour by our expected return date.
It rained the rest of the day, and the next, rarely abating for very long. The following day extremely thick fog rolled in as well, and the ocean swell and surf on our beach were building with the wind. Strong winds to the north and the south; there was no question of a departure today either! After we’d breakfasted on granola bars, we headed back into our tents where we stayed for the next 4 hours reading and dozing. We’d both woken at around 2 am listening to the pounding surf creep ever higher outside our doorsteps. My heart pounded as I anticipated a wave crashing over my tent any minute! Later that day, we were grateful that Heather’s new tarp held, and that we were able to stay reasonably dry and warm under the kitchen shelter we’d erected. I thanked God for quick dry pants, my wool hat, Patagonia fleece and fleece socks. It was, however, getting to be a little tough keeping wet sand from getting on everything. That evening, before heading for bed, we listened to the radio: extensive fog forecast. This was worrisome. We had to get off this beach soon if we had any hope of returning to Winter Harbour by our expected return date.
I awoke to a torrential downpour. My spirits sank. Yet, the forecast was calling for clearing in the early afternoon and moderate swell. We agreed to start packing up, and to assess the paddling conditions again once our boats were loaded, i.e. was there evidence of the skies clearing? We also agreed that if fog persisted we could paddle from point to point around the back end of Brooks Bay/Klaskish Inlet, following compass bearings island to island. Our departure was not without a twinge of anxiety, since I knew that once we crossed the Klaskish, we were most likely committed to reaching Heater Point, and the last stretch of coastline offered virtually no chance of a takeout. Despite having to bail water and seaweed from our cockpits, our surf beach launches were successful, and, to our relief, fog and clouds began to steadily clear. I felt pure joy as I watched the fog lift into the hills and the sun light up islands and glint off the water. At Heater Point Heather attempted to catch a fish (but lost a lure), I had a swim, and after dinner we hiked a trail to a wild, steep pebble beach with highly polished stones, facing southwest towards where we’d come from.
The sunrise on Day 7 was incredible, hinting at a sunny day. I cooked salal compote for breakfast from berries picked the previous evening – I highly recommend it, though a blue mouth is unavoidable! – but we did not linger over breakfast in order to get an early start. This section of the trip through reefs was the most challenging, and strong afternoon winds were always a threat. Fortunately, the strong winds did not transpire (as had been the case on other days), and we had a relatively relaxed paddle. We began to change our tactic of negotiating the boomers. Rather than always paddling around the farthest boomer from shore (often a lot of extra paddling!), we began to hone our observation skills, and occasionally paddled between boomers that seemed non- threatening. Very exhilarating! Heather called it boomer practice. We often asked ourselves if our intrepid paddling buddies, Harald Riffel, Roger Pilkington or André Lapointe would dare to paddle among this or that rock garden. Later, as we camped on the islet off Kwakiutl Point, sheltered from the wind among rock walls, we relaxed and took pictures, confident of our timely arrival back to Winter Harbour.
A cool north wind blew all the next day, feeling like a blustery, sunny, fall day. I felt invigorated, and paddled close to the rocky bluffs, revelling in the sea spray glistening in the sun, confident and enjoying the swell from the rebounding waves and the thrill of being propelled forward on a wave. We decided on a more direct route back to Winter Harbour, and embarked on a 5- mile crossing of Quatsino Sound, from near Gooding Cove to the entrance of Forward Inlet. The wind was brisk (10- 12 knots), and a flurry of whitecaps were scattered here and there. We maintained a good pace to avoid getting caught out in the open in stronger winds. And then suddenly, a spout of spray went up just off the bow of my boat. I held my breath as I watched a humpback whale surface before me. I was ecstatic and energized! I certainly needed this energy to battle the increased wind the last mile or two. Both Heather and I were exhausted when we arrived in Winter Harbour, but we were also emotionally charged and looking forward to a cold beer at the Scarlet Iris in Holberg. What an adventure!
A cool north wind blew all the next day, feeling like a blustery, sunny, fall day. I felt invigorated, and paddled close to the rocky bluffs, revelling in the sea spray glistening in the sun, confident and enjoying the swell from the rebounding waves and the thrill of being propelled forward on a wave. We decided on a more direct route back to Winter Harbour, and embarked on a 5- mile crossing of Quatsino Sound, from near Gooding Cove to the entrance of Forward Inlet. The wind was brisk (10- 12 knots), and a flurry of whitecaps were scattered here and there. We maintained a good pace to avoid getting caught out in the open in stronger winds. And then suddenly, a spout of spray went up just off the bow of my boat. I held my breath as I watched a humpback whale surface before me. I was ecstatic and energized! I certainly needed this energy to battle the increased wind the last mile or two. Both Heather and I were exhausted when we arrived in Winter Harbour, but we were also emotionally charged and looking forward to a cold beer at the Scarlet Iris in Holberg. What an adventure!