Desolation Sound

During my day in Monroe in May, I thought of some of the places on the westcoast that I'd that I'd hoped to kayak: the Broken Islands, Haida Gwaii, Bowron Lakes, Desolation Sound. Was I going to get to any of these, or just dither around? Plans to kayak with other people were not materializing, so I decided to make a trip on my own. From Seattle, Desolation Sound seemed the most accessible destination.

Desolation Sound is located at the north end of the Sunshine Coast near Lund, B.C. Because of its sheltered location, there is very little current in the Sound, and the water is remarkably warm for the west coast. I had been hearing about the Sound for a couple decades, initially from my aunt and uncle who often sailed there for summer vacations.

After some research, I called a Lund kayak rental shop, hoping to join a multi-day tour or at least a daylong guided excursion, but they had no midweek offerings this early in the season, and those were the only times I was available to go. I only had a few weeks left on the westcoast. I liked the idea of doing a solo trip, and it seemed scary, too. My kayaking experience to date had been either on lakes, English Bay, or the Burrard Inlet -- relatively safe and well-traveled waters.

Initially, I wasn't sure how I would even get to Lund. I found bus schedules, a local hotel (the only one in town, apparently). The trip was looking expensive and complicated. Then I thought about buying a vehicle. If I found something that would tow my stuff across Canada, it would save me the cost of renting a truck. A friend was working on buying a newer Jeep, and we started talking about me buying his 1994 Cherokee provided the timing was right. He generously agreed to at least lend it to me for the week. Then a few days before my trip he found the Jeep that he was looking for. His old one was mine; I just needed to come to Vancouver early to get it transferred and insured.

The weather forecast for the week of the trip showed nothing but grey cloud raindrop icons. I scanned and compared forecasts, trying to plan my trip for the most promising days. Thursday seemed the one most likely to have sunshine, so I centred my plans around that. I kept hearing wariness and concern when I talked to the people at the kayak rental shop and some of my friends and family about kayaking on my own. Honestly, I felt some trepidation, too, but also a great need to prove to myself that I was up for the adventure.

The day of my departure for Lund was as forecast: thoroughly wet and grey. I caught the ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Langdale, and then toodled up the south section of the Sunshine Coast to the next ferry terminal, stopping to walk a couple of the beaches, umbrella in hand. On the second ferry from Earl's Cove to Saltery Bay, I was lured out onto the rainy deck to watch a pod of porpoises dancing beside us. In Powell River while looking for a hardware store I found a Vietnamese / Thai restaurant tucked away in a deserted mall with cars huddling around the entrance -- a delicious local secret. Late in the wet evening, I finally neared my destination.

The Pan-American Highway (Highway 101) at 15,020 km is the longest highway in the world, running along the entire Pacific coast from Lund, B.C. to Castro, Chile. As I reached Lund and the highway's Mile 0, the rain stopped and the clouds lifted. I drove out onto the government dock to be greeted by a beautiful ocean evening.

Lund is a very tiny town, and it took little time to stroll around its harbour. The Jeep and I then made our way to the Dinner Rock Forestry Services site just out of town. The campsites were all empty. I parked in one overlooking the water, played some guitar, and then snuggled into my bed in the back of the Jeep for the night.

The next morning was sunny and warm. After breakfast, I wended my way over to Okeover Inlet, where the kayak rental shack was located. I'm sure I was their only customer that entire day. The young woman at the counter expressed surprise at how dry the weather was, and helped me get my gear ready.

It was a glorious day. The water was calm, breezes were mild, the scenery was spectacular. All day I saw only a dozen boats at most -- sailboats, motor boats, fishing boats, but no other kayaks or canoes. Where the water was shallow, there were gardens of sea stars, urchins, anemones, and cucumbers.

As I paddled, I recalled a computer career aptitude test I had taken in my first years of university when computer technology was relatively young. After answering a slew of questions, I received only one career suggestion: oyster farmer. At the time, I dismissed the idea out of hand. Now, passing summer cottages and oyster farms, I wondered why I hadn't given it more thought. Studying marine biology and then living somewhere like this seemed pretty wonderful.

Eventually even the few signs of human residence disappeared and I entered the Desolation Sound Marine Park. I paddled across a channel to reach Kinghorn Island, where I pulled my boat ashore for lunch, sunshine, and rest. I felt proud to have gotten so far; the guide had suggested much closer destinations. My P90X workouts had paid off!

The next morning at my forestry campsite I breakfasted on the rocks overlooking the water. Swallows dashed by, chasing insects. A pair of mating eagles danced together across the sky. I could hear, and occasionally see, seals barking on the rocks below me. After breakfast, I did a few yoga poses. A light sprinkle of rain began, so I tied up the sleeping bag, packed up my clothes, and drove away. I love my Jeep!

The drive back south was as rainy, grey, and wet as the drive north had been. I reached the last ferry terminal early, so stopped at Saltery Bay Provincial Park to explore. I clambered up a rock mound to sit and watch the ocean for a while. Throughout the trip, I was very conscious of being careful while walking and climbing on rocks. They seemed more dangerous than kayaking. If I slipped and hurt myself, there was no one around to help. Despite my care, when I got up to return to the Jeep I slipped and fell onto my left arm, scraping it and stubbing my fingers. It wasn't a serious fall, but I felt shaken by it. Then I reflected on how badly I could have been hurt, and how little I was. Really, the Sunshine Coast had just given me a love bite.

Later in the evening, the ring finger on my left hand puffed up, and has remained swollen for weeks after. I feel reluctant for it to completely heal.


Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.