Quinoot to Soulsby Camp: Sept 9-10, 2018

When we woke at 6:30 it was still rough and rainy out in Joassa Channel. We decided to get ready to head out anyway, but wait until there was a sign of conditions improving. By 9:15 there was blue sky to the south, and we launched by 9:30. Some headwinds but generally friendly seas to Raymond Passage, where Queens Sound threw some rough water at us through Codfish Passage. This was enough to make us think it was going to be easier travelling over the north side of Piddington Island and sneaking around through the back channels as much as we could.We saw some porpoises just outside Hochstader Basin. It's a measure of how beaten we were that we found great amusement in the idea of a non-extreme version of the Tsunami Rangers, but instead of seeking extreme waves and rock gardens, they would instead seek out the flattest, calmest water — a kind of kayaking version of the ASMR laundry-folding videos. They'd be called the Lagoon Squad. Their motto? "Chasin' the basins."

Crossing Peter Bay we got a big wet squall, and then intermittent sunsqualls. The channels north of Piddington are very pretty, very pleasant kayaking. Caught a great group of pictographs here.

We had intermittent wind and rain but generally friendly seas all the way to Safe Passage (ha!) where we got hit with crosswaves and a fair bit of current.We had lunch at high-high tide just after noon in a little notch bay on Campbell Island. We agreed that if these conditions prevailed, we should push for Cultus Sound.

At Dodwell Island, though, the water was tempestuous. Lots of currents and the kind of crazy waves you would expect with high wind against the tide — steep-sided whitecaps going at least 3 different directions. No thanks, we'll pass. The little crossing to Latta Island was a raging deathtrap. Discretion being the better part of staying alive, we abandoned the idea of crossing into Hakai Luxvbalis park today and instead struck out for Island 145 aka Soulsby Camp. This was a tough enough leg! East of Dodwell we felt very exposed as we hightailed it for the north side of 145 and the wind and waves battered us: You shall not pass! Turning the corner the headwind coming up Hunter Channel was absolutely brutal, but we knew our destination was only minutes away. 

"The most perfect clamshell beach on the west coast" (although we might make a case against Kimantas on this point in favour of Klaoitsis), Soulsby Camp was a welcome refuge. It's a cute site and advantageously situated, but in itself it wouldn't be a must-stay destination. There's a general lack of featurettes from which to hang gear or upon which to sit. There are a couple of gloomy areas semi-sheltered by fallen logs, which make a handy kitchen and reading nook in the rain. The tent sites are only OK: the flat one is too small, the large one is too sloped, and others are either lumpy or concave. We bemoaned the lack of an accessible rocky promontory upon which to eat and enjoy a sunset view. And the place was absolutely infested — with chickadees*. But Soulsby Camp does have a lot going for it. If it were situated anywhere but the Central Coast, it would likely be considered the best in its area — it's just that compared with Dallas, McMullin, or Islet 48 it paled a bit.

The kitchen grotto

Quinoot to Soulsby, Sept 9, 2018: 25 km

September 10: Another stormy, tempestuous night. Wind and rain in spades. Our sweet tarp skills kept us dry, but the wind was still raging by 6:00, so back to sleep again. Stormy nights and mornings make for very short paddling days. 

I see seas of grey

Caps of white

'Cause a sou'wester blew

All through the night

And I think to myself

"What the fuck have I done?"

I spent some time this morning watching a mink beachcombing. He'd swim out to the rock in front of the beach, then back with something in his mouth. Also spent some time watching a little woodland bird — a wren, maybe? — pecking at the seaweed on the edge of the rising tide. Funny how everything adapts to its environment.

Hunter Channel was largely whitecapped all day, and the area where Hunter Channel meets Queens Sound was a horrorshow of confused seas and whitecaps. Intermittent rain all morning, and winds driving low, black clouds up the channel. We were dispirited enough that we'd probably have just made for Bella Bella, except that the forecast looked better. Gale warnings were in effect all day, then winds 5-15kt tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday, and light on Friday. Seas were supposed to subside from 3m tonight to 1m by noon on Tuesday. We still had a chance to catch a bit of Hakai, if we got a little lucky.

Mid-morning brought a brief bout of milder weather, including a couple minutes of sunshine. This brief period of sun gave us the hubris that we might dry some things. Then, with the wet clothes hung and all our gear spread out on the beach, a steady solid rain socked in.

I spent a couple hours reading in the "solo shelter", a perfectly dry nook under a fallen cedar, with a springy branch seat. Jon hit the tent for a nap. We had lunch and a cup of blessed coffee near high tide, watching a squabbling flock of seagulls diving for herring (?).

We were going a little squirrely waiting around for the weather to turn.

I realized we hadn't seen a boat or a plane or any other person since Seaforth Channel — this was day six as the last people on earth. This trip was a very different feel than the others we've been on. No defined weather pattern from day to day, including some really rancid early-morning weather, makes for tough decisions on launching times — or, more often, a go/no-go decision. I missed the transcendent feeling of following and achieving a defined route, also. If there had been any campsites between here and Cultus Sound, we would probably have taken our chances during the afternoon to try our luck paddling south into the wind, but we didn't fancy getting out there and finding we had to go all the way in terrible conditions. As it turns out, the evening brightened right up and the wind died down. Cultus Sound is closer than I imagined it was (about 2 hours' paddle in good conditions) and we could easily have made it. Ah, hindsight.

Where's me pot o' gold?

Tomorrow beckons: looking south into the McNaughton Group

*This was actually a cute and welcome feature.