To be or not to be? That was the question lingering in our minds until just 24 hours before we finally embarked on our long-anticipated sea kayaking trip to the Kyuquot Sound area. Nestled on the northwest coast of Vancouver Island in British Columbia, this remote region is famed for its stunning natural beauty and rich cultural heritage. With its maze of inlets, islands, and coastal landscapes, Kyuquot Sound offers a rugged wilderness that appeals to nature lovers, adventurers, and cultural enthusiasts alike. It’s also the site where sea otters were reintroduced in the late 1960s and early 70s after being extirpated in British Columbia in 1929 (Cowan and Guiguet 1960).
For years, I had dreamed of exploring this area hearing only stories from fellow paddlers who described its raw beauty and challenges. Yet, a series of setbacks forced us to shorten our original two-week plan to just eight days. While that might seem ample to most, for me, extended time in the wilderness allows for a chance to settle into a simpler rhythm, bringing greater ease to both body and mind. Out there, I feel like I’m coming home to myself and reconnecting with what truly matters. This process however takes time and therefore, committing to extended away-time is essential for the regulatory process to settle into the bones.
With our well-worn yellow Seaward double kayak strapped to the roof of our Honda Fit, we eagerly set off on the four-hour journey toward the tiny coastal community of Fair Harbour. Greeted with a high tide and easy packing conditions, we promptly found ourselves on the water.
In the stern seat, I focused on the chart spread before me, navigating our way along shorelines, across open waters, and through the occasional chop. As we ventured toward Rugged Point, located on the exposed west coast, I could feel my body recalibrating. Paddling in a kayak, with only your own strength propelling you over the water, demands presence, an awareness that is both humbling and exhilarating. Some days, the ocean lies calm and peaceful; other times, it becomes a force to contend with. Reading, assessing, and re-assessing the conditions fosters an intimacy with the environment that simply doesn’t exist when caught in the humdrum of urban life.
But sea kayaking isn’t just about paddling; it’s also about the less glamorous task of schlepping. Our kayak is so heavy when fully loaded that each time we stop for the night, we have to unpack completely to haul it above the high tide line. It’s my least favorite part, followed closely by dealing with sandy beaches, where grains of sand find their way into the tiniest crevices…yes, those ones too. [wink]
Once everything is unloaded and piled onto our temporary plot for the night, we set up our bright pink tent and begin making ourselves at home. Darren, as he always does, eagerly begins scavenging along the beach to construct our kitchen. Like a child in a candy store, he finds pure joy in sourcing flat surfaces and driftwood, piecing together a makeshift cooking area. Although I enjoy the beach kitchen challenge too, his enthusiasm outmatches mine, so I usually pull out our chairs, settle down with a book, or slip away for a much-needed catnap in the shade.
Being out here also means keeping a close eye on the weather. Deciphering marine weather reports, understanding how to translate them to real-time conditions, and factoring in how geography affects weather and water flow are all crucial. The risks are real, and the consequences can be significant, so you have to stay vigilant.
Our favorite campsite was, without a doubt, on Spring Island. Tucked into a secluded spot overlooking the open ocean, we had the place to ourselves. We spotted wolves, shot some hoops, and explored nearby sea stacks and caves. The beauty of it all was simply breathtaking.
After two nights on Spring Island, we headed north. Navigating through reefs and away from the shoreline, I encountered a new challenge: peeing into a bottle using a Shewee. After some practice in the shower before the trip, I managed to make it work, executing the maneuver with acrobatic finesse within the cockpit of my boat. I was relieved (no pun intended) to have only oystercatchers and cormorants as spectators. There’s something to be said for the initiation into the male urinating experience.
Seeking freshwater to refill our dromedaries, we explored a river system first by boat, then by foot. These side-missions often lead to unexpected adventures and therefore tend to become a tripping highlight. As we made our way up the watershed, we spotted bear prints along the sandy banks. Moments later, we encountered the bears themselves—three, to be exact. Watching them run off, we couldn’t help but smile at the incredible gift of seeing them in the wild.
The last half of our trip brought us into rougher waters, the winds picking up as part of the inlet outflow and shifting weather conditions. These moments test your knowledge and skill, especially as the crossings become longer and more challenging. There are times when you’re paddling with all your strength, advancing only by inches, confirmed as you track your progress against the distant shoreline. Your shoulders ache, hip flexors cramp, and hands go numb from the cold—but you can’t stop. You have to push on, around the next point, to reach the calmer lee of the land and its promise of respite.
And when you finally get there, the relief is profound. Sometimes, this relief is mixed with a quiet gratitude for narrowly avoiding a situation that could have ended in a cold swim or worse. These intense moments, while not exactly enjoyable, hold immense value as reminders of the ocean’s power. They are also part of what draws people to high-risk activities—the thrill of facing nature’s forces and pushing our limits.
As we approached the end of our trip, we paddled slowly past the Kyuquot & Houpsitas 6 community, imagining what life might be like here. The physical beauty of the area was undeniable—a place we would love to revisit. Watching a sea otter swim on its back among the kelp beds was a heartwarming final encounter, a reminder of the interconnectedness of these waters and their inhabitants.
Our journey through Kyuquot Sound was a blend of peaceful moments, thrilling challenges, and awe-inspiring encounters with nature. As we loaded up the kayak one last time and headed home, we felt fulfilled. The adventure had been everything we’d hoped for and more, a reminder of the beauty, wildness, and resilience of both the natural world and ourselves.
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