Miriam Webster defines a crux as “an essential point requiring resolution or resolving an outcome.” For a sea paddler a crux is tricky place on the route. If you can’t safely navigate it, then you can’t make the trip. I identified 3 major cruxes for my Vancouver expedition. Two well known “graveyards of the Pacific” on the west coast, Cape Scott and the Brooks Peninsula. There will be more about those to come. The first crux that I would face would be Seymour Narrows.
Seymour Narrows is a constriction in Discovery Passage connecting the Strait of Georgia with Johnstone Strait. A little less than a half mile-wide, the Narrows has strong currents, no safe landings, and one more thing; I would be sharing it with heavy commercial vessels like barges and log booms with restricted maneuverability. Currents can reach 15 knots and the flood would be 12.3 knots that I might have to paddle against if I misjudged my timing. My next couple of days were devoted to getting the timing right.
After my rest day, I paddled 19 nautical miles To Miracle Beach Provincial Park. Most of the land on the East side of Vancouver is private, so the parks offered the best camping options. My campsite at Miracle was well off the beach, so I tried to take only minimal gear to camp. I wanted an early start, the next day, so I could ride the ebb as far north as possible to Seymour Narrows.
After an early wakeup, I struck my tent as quietly as possible. I didn’t want to disturb other campers at 5:00 AM. I hauled my gear to my kayak, loaded it and ate a few swallows of trail mix. I pushed off ant set my course northward to the Narrows.
I arrived at Cape Mudge, the South entrance to the Narrows, about an hour before slack and continued to work my way northward looking for a spot to wait out the flood. The shore was developed or covered with log booms, so I continued to look until I found a small rocky island. I dragged my boat up on the rocks. The rocks were way too steep to move my boat far, so I tied it up with my tow belt and resigned myself to vigilance. Each time the rising water started to lap at my boat, I would drag it a little further. The two-layer keel strip I applied before the trip would earn its keep.
When I wasn’t hauling my boat above the rising tide, I called my wife and some friends updating them on my progress. I got a jump on my navigation planning for my next day’s paddle and I wrote in my journal. The island was pleasant and the day’s mix of sun and clouds kept me nicely warmed. I tried to rest; but the parade of ships, barges, and boats moving Southward with the flood kept me a bit on edge. When the tide turned, I would be sharing the water with the largest and least maneuverable of these.
Time passed quickly. I pulled on my drysuit just before slack and headed for the Narrows. I felt the current begin to build as I continued northward. By the time I reached the Narrows it was strong and getting stronger.
In my imagination, I anticipated that after I cleared the tightest portion of the Narrows, the building current would push me along, and I would have an easy current assisted paddle to my campsite seven miles further. Fantasies like that rarely materialize – at least not the way you imagine them.
My passage was easy. I hugged the right side far enough into the current to take advantage of it’s assist, but close enough to the rocks, so I could catch an eddy and get out of the way of something big if I needed. That part worked flawlessly, but as soon as I cleared the constriction, I was greeted by near gale force winds funneled from Johnstone Strait. When the current and wind collided, they formed standing waves that made for a spicy paddle. It was fun, but not the easy squirt to camp that I had hoped for. In spite of the unanticipated texture in the water, I made camp at 7:30PM. It was a good day with the first crux cleared.
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