Discovery Islands

Summer 2008

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

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Kayaking off the radar

by Lyn Hancock

I first battled the rips and rapids of the various Discovery Islands between Vancouver Island and the Mainland—Seymour Narrows, Yuculta Rapids, Arran Rapids, Dent Rapids, Hole in the Wall and Surge Narrows—over 40 years ago in a 15 foot rubber boat powered by a 45 hp outboard motor.

Unlike kayakers, my husband chose to do this at peak flood for more exciting film footage. I recall enormous logs being gobbled down like matchsticks through gaping holes in the swirling water and killer whales spouting beside us, cleaving the same whirlpools. It was nerve wracking to think our motor could stop and we would be sucked down into the vortex of those treacherous waters.

So it was with some trepidation that I joined a group of Nanaimo Paddlers—Glenn Lewis, Jean Graham, Ron and Claire Surgenor—to do these waters in a double kayak with my paddling mate Reale Emond.

John Kimantas, author of The Wild Coast trilogy of paddling guides, described our route around Quadra, Sonora, Maurelle and Read Islands as “well off the kayakers’ radar” and with good cause.

Glenn Lewis, our experienced leader, assuaged our fears somewhat by assuring us that we would be paddling the rapids during the neap tides of June, just after the first and third quarters of the moon when there is the least difference between high and low water. He planned our itinerary to transit the rapids around slack tide. Once on the water, he pointed out further safety options. Wherever feasible, we avoided the main current, we chose calmer waters close to the shore and we utilized back eddies. He emphasized staying together as a group.

The big event of the first day after we launched from the Walcan Road Cannery on the west coast of Quadra Island was Seymour Narrows in Discovery Passage. In the late 1700s, Captain George Vancouver called this “one of the vilest stretches of water in the world.” The two peaks of Ripple Rock that reached within a few metres of the surface had sunk or damaged 119 vessels and killed almost as many people. The rocks were removed in 1958, but the waves and whirlpools remain.

To my amazement, I actually missed this famous area of turbulence. I must have been day dreaming, gawking at the line of yachts and power boats making their run through the narrows on the Vancouver Island side while we in kayaks, also one behind the other, sneaked along the edge of Quadra Island on the other side of the passage. We were slapped around when the wake of the big boats reached us but I was expecting some of the dangers I remembered from my first trip. I did warn Reale who was steering our double to stay closer to shore.

“I am compromising,” she countered. “I don’t want to go too close to the rocks, neither do I want to edge too much into the main current.”

Current? Thanks to our leader’s plan of avoidance, I had scarcely noticed there was one.

Glenn was waiting ahead. “Well, you just did Seymour Narrows,” he said with a smile when we caught up with him. I scarcely believed him.

Two days later, we had rounded Sonora Island, camped without incident in prime bear country, managed to keep our tents above high tide line with bunkers of rocks and logs, and were planning our strategy for Dent and Yuculta Rapids. This waterway included a dangerous tidal whirlpool appropriately named Devil’s Hole.

Timing is crucial for safe transit of rapids, and with only 45 minutes to travel between Dent and Yuculta, we could not be in both places at the same opportune time. Instead, we would have to compromise and try the second set of rapids at the beginning of the flood tide.

With jocularity masking our apprehension, we took the precautions of rising well before dawn, donning wet suits, doing without a hot breakfast, and clearing the decks of our kayaks for safer rescues if necessary. We left our camp under the dour shadow of Estero Peak and paddled through the tranquility of dawn towards waters described as “perilous” by John Kimantas.

When we got to Dent we found it more picturesque than perilous. Seals were everywhere bobbing about in the current. Seabirds were riding the waves. Eagles were making passes over the water. All were attracted to the abundant fish, which were in turn attracted by the upwelling currents of the changing tides. We decided to play safe and bypass Dent Rapids by using Tugboat Passage between Dent and Little Dent Island. It was still thrilling, especially for our lighter singles, to paddle through the playful waters and feel their power—manageable power at the time we arrived.

But Yuculta Rapids opposite Stuart Island were still ahead and it would be the beginning of the flood tide by the time we got there. “Coming up, your next chance to die,” said Glenn flippantly as he passed me with a smile. “I don’t mind losing one paddler per trip, no more.”

A few moments later while I was ogling the mountains behind Big Bay on Stuart Island for photo-ops, he quipped,” Well, how did you like those whirlpools back there?”

“Whirlpools? Where?” I asked innocently. Not again!

“You just came through them,” he laughed. Again, Glenn’s good planning had avoided the dangers of the more infamous rapids.

Later that day, having decided to leave the Rendezvous Islands in Calm Channel to another trip, we avoided the strong currents at the west entrance of the Hole in the Wall between Sonora and Maurelle Islands by waiting till slack tide. Some of us spent several hours dozing on the comfortably smooth rocks of Florence Cove.

Finally, we left the cove and paddled past the lighthouse under Elephant Mountain towards the exit of the passage. We hugged the southern shoreline as closely as possible, constantly checking the strength of the current. The waters were still too turbulent. We stopped and waited again, after finding temporary harbors for our craft among the slippery rocks. Finally Glenn motioned that it was safe enough to make the turn into Okisollo Channel. I was thankful for his leadership and Reale’s competent steering.

Ironically, we ran into trouble on the day that four of us left the group while we were camping on exquisite Francisco Island close to Maurelle Island in Okisollo Channel. Glenn and Jean decided to relax at our campsite handily situated on a narrow neck of land so that our kitchen area faced Maurelle on one side and our haulout beach and a couple of our tents faced Quadra and the Octopus Islands Marine Park on the other side.

It was the only hot, sunny day of the trip and Ron and Claire, Reale and I were keen to explore every nook and cranny of the beautiful Octopus archipelago. Several huge mud flats made it inconvenient at low tide to land kayaks but there was one usable beach, lots of clams, sand dollars and moon snails to lend interest, and even a river in which to wash. If I get back I will camp there in the grass by the big white stone that from a distance looked like a house, but close-up was a plaque acknowledging the private gift to the park of a dozen hectares in 2005.

If the ease of riding the rapids of the past days had made us nonchalant, the comparative difficulty of returning to our camp on Francisco Island kept us humble. Unlike Glenn, we hadn’t done enough homework. We hadn’t foreseen the power of the flooding tide that hurtled past our island home once we left the protection of the Octopus Islands to begin the paddle across the channel. It had been calm on the way over. Currents and counter currents made it turbulent on the way back.

“Let’s head for a point further north than our island,” advised Ron, “otherwise the current will push us right past the bay where we want to go.”

Easier said than done. We didn’t get as far north as we needed. It looked as if we’d miss the island entirely and never make it back to camp till the tide changed again.

We thought of heading for the back side of Francisco Island where it cuddled into Maurelle, perhaps the water would be calmer there. A good thing we didn’t, as Glenn and Jean told us later that the water was even faster on the other side. They had watched branches whizzing around the same whirlpool for hours. That could have been us.

“Let’s see if we can reach the little bay at the northern end of the island where we can regroup, hug the shore and creep through the kelp to our camp site,” I suggested when we got close enough to communicate.

Suddenly we were in the middle of the tidal stream and it was every kayak for itself.

“What huge whirlpools!” I heard Claire yell. I turned my head to catch a glimpse of her little kayak bouncing around in the white-crested waves.

“She’s having problems. Let’s go help,” said Reale instantly as she began the turnabout.

We were caught between helping our companion who seemed to be having problems, the risk of turning over in the tumultuous waters in order to reach her, and the improbability of doing a rescue if anybody fell out. I didn’t know what to say.

“What should we do?” asked Reale anxiously. “We have to make up our minds.”

“Ron’s closer to her. All I know to stay safe is to paddle as hard as we can across the current and get to shore. No help if four kayaks bump into each other in the current and all capsize.” Still, I felt guilty.

Our double Seaward with its four-arm power definitely had the advantage in these waters. Reale and I reached the northernmost beach of Francisco Island with little difficulty, followed almost immediately by Ron and the irrepressible Claire who insisted that she really wasn’t in trouble and that she enjoyed the challenge of the whirlpools. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not. One thing for sure, all of us learned not to take anything for granted.

Our last rapids before the end of our trip at Rebecca Spit was Surge Narrows in Okisollo Channel at the southern end of Maurelle Island. The sea had not yet finished its teaching.

There are several routes through Surge Narrows. Powerboats use the wider Beazley Passage between Sturt Island and Peck Island. We had been advised against this for kayaks because Beazley is the centre of the strongest rapids and also has competing traffic. Kayakers prefer the less turbulent southern channel between Peck and Quadra or the northern channel between Sturt and Maurelle.

Planning from secondary sources is not always a substitute for first hand experience and even a structured trip should remain flexible. We took one look at fast foaming water being hurled above a big rock island in the middle of the southern channel and knew we could not run that passage. We looked left but the water was still running too fast for us on the other side of the rocky divide as well. Perhaps the northern channel between Sturt and Maurelle was calmer but it took more time to get there.

Keeping the northern option open, we heeded Ron’s observation that Beazley in the middle didn’t look as bad as our southern option so we lined up behind Glenn and paddled briskly to its entrance. Midstream, Glenn took a look and agreed with Ron. “Let’s give it a try.” It was half an hour after the low slack and the current was running about 6 knots.

The entrance into Beazley was surprisingly calm but as soon as we exited the narrow channel between the islands, we slammed into the turbulence. The sea became a stage for whirling dervishes as streams of water from all the channels joined in the dance.

“Keep going,” screamed Jean to Glenn, “or I’ll bash into you.” There was little that Glenn could do to avoid her. At the mercy of the eddies, his kayak swung around and faced hers head on. Jean slipped past in time to avert collision. Meanwhile, Claire’s kayak was turning circles. I didn’t see Ron. “Go right,” I shouted to Reale, “let’s get out of here.”

In calmer waters we regrouped for the five hour run in the fog and rain down Hoskyn Channel to Rebecca Spit on Quadra Island and so completed our circuit of the Discovery Islands.

“We haven’t lost anyone!” Glenn announced facetiously at roll call. Yes, due to his detailed planning and our ability to change plans in the light of personal experience.

Lyn Hancock is an adventurous Aussie Canuck, an author of 19 books and multitudinous articles, a photographer, teacher and presenter based in Nanoose Bay. She calls her kayak Lyn's Ark and readers of her books such as There's a Seal in my Sleeping Bag and Tabasco the Saucy Raccoon will know why. Visit her at www.lynhancock.com and lynhancock@shaw.ca.