“A friend of mine circumnavigated about two years ago. It took him 14 days to get around The Brooks Peninsula” This was a few days earlier. I was talking to a guide in Johnstone Strait, but I had been hearing Brooks horror stories almost since my trip began. I’d been hearing them from kayakers and sailors and just about everyone else. It seemed everybody I told about my circumnavigation knew somebody who either barely got around or didn’t get around Brooks.
Brooks Peninsula is about an 8-mile square block on the north west coast of Vancouver. It’s so large that it develops it’s own distinct weather patterns, and it is the second well known “graveyard of the Pacific that lay in my path. I would need to get around Brooks, but Cape Scott would come first.
July 19, I was camped in the shadow of Cape Scott. The swell was 3 to 6 foot with a 2-foot chop when I pushed off. I paddled out keeping alert to any changes in the swell or surface of the water that might cause trouble. I set my course toward the Cape. In short order, I was at Cape Scott. Conditions were manageable, so I continued paddling. I looked down the coast of Vancouver. Leon Somm’e had warned me, “It’s easy to be intimidated when you look down the coast. Just remember: It’s one day paddle after another.” I repeated this mantra to myself. The view was impressive. Cape Scott, crux number 2 was in the bag.
I continued paddling down the coast. About 8 miles beyond Cape Scott, I met another paddler going round the other way. He had launched in Tofino and planned to pull out at Nanaimo. An Englishman on holiday, he seemed a little crazy to me. After all, his clockwise course meant that he had paddled against wind and swell along the exposed Pacific coast. The headwinds that I faced in the relative protection of Johnstone Strait, he battled in the open Pacific.
We traded trip stories and, of course, he had his own Brooks story. He had waited 3 days for a break in the weather and finally decided to go for it. It was blowing 35 knots on Cape Cook, so he paddled a mile further out around Solander Island to assure that he wouldn’t be caught by breaking waves. We wished each other well and continued our respective journeys.
It was kind of weird. I expected to feel a sense of accomplishment at getting round Cape Scott, but instead I felt a kind of melancholy, a near sense of dread. Brooks was only 48 NM. I could be there tomorrow night, but I didn’t feel quite ready for it. There was a long line of gray clouds on the horizon to the south that added to my unease.
I made camp in Grant Bay, and I realized that I did not need to push hard for Brooks. I decided that I would make two days of it. This would also allow me to stop at Keith River, so I could round Brooks with full water bags. I decided to build a fire, and together with my decision to take my time, it warmed my spirits.
At Keith River there was an improvised raft of logs with a small sheet as a sail. I imagined that it’s makers built it in hopes that it would sail to some far and exotic place. As the tide rose and floated the raft I hoped that it would head off for the high seas, but the wind and rising tide kept it pinned on the beach. In the morning it was still there about 50 yards from where I found it. Perhaps, a change of wind and the next tide would fulfill the dreams I, and perhaps its makers, had for the persistent craft.
I easily made Ambrosia Bay, the staging point for my rounding of Brooks. I set up camp and listened to the weather. The forecast for the next day was not good, so I spent the last weather day that I would use on my trip. That night, and most of the next morning, the wind blew so hard that sand was blown through the netting of my tent. I spent the day beach combing and hiking the shores at the base of Brooks.
The next morning, July 23, the winds were calm at my calm at my camp. The forecast called for 6-foot swell and the winds at Cape Cook, on the tip of Brooks were blowing at 19 knots. I decided to go for it and I hastily broke camp. As I paddled out into the swell, toward Cape Cook, I thought: This is too easy, but it will probably get worse.
I reached Cape Cook, and thought to myself: This isn’t bad, but it will probably get worse. I pulled into a small bay at Nordstrom Creek for a quick snack, but didn’t stay long. I kept expecting conditions to change for the worse. I swung wide around Eldridge Rock, and paddled down the south side of Brooks, still expecting things to blow up.
I made the Jacobson Point campsite at 11:00. There was no way that I was going to stop at 11:00, so I made course for the Bunsby Islands. I was around Brooks.