I have respect for the wind, especially on the water. With respect also comes an understanding, a friendship if you will. When friends like this get together, you just never know what’s going to happen. You know how it is- you get together not planning to “get in trouble”- but you just can’t help yourselves.
Lummi Island had been calling my name for a couple weeks (I had cancelled a trip two weeks earlier due to wind/weather forecasts). The forecast looked favorable- some rain, but no wind (yet). After work, I loaded up and headed to Larrabee State Park.
Friday, March 14th.
Put in at Wildcat Cove and headed west toward Lummi Island. The sun was already dipping behind the silhouette of Lummi in the distance. I have made this crossing multiple times at this point in the evening and know by the profile of the island where my destination lies. As I headed across the bay, the wind picked up a bit- enough to blow my hat off my head before I even reached Eliza Island en route. This was a harbinger of things to come.
The lingering light outlined the ridgeline, so I could navigate to my destination. I landed safely in the darkness of night on the shores of Lummi at the DNR campsite. Mission Accomplished. So far. I enjoyed the solitude of being completely alone on what felt like a desolate island- my own private campground for the night.
Saturday, March 14th
I enjoyed a cup of coffee and breakfast and then did some trail maintenance to clear the way for the next party to show up on the shores. There was a lot of blowndown trees as the result of the snow and wind we had in the previous month. It was also a way to gather some wood for the evening. I ventured around the campground doing an assessment of how big of a party we could bring out (next time). Looking out over the bay, it looked like it would be a relatively nice day. I was anxious to get out on the water for my day trip to Clark Island. But first, I had to take a selfie!
Looking to the south, the weather looked favorable (with some wind, but not much- so it seemed). Time to get on with the program.
I got ready to make my way out for the day- as I prepared to make some hot soup to take along, my stove decided it wouldn’t cooperate. Bummer #1. I had a float plan in place, that I communicated with key (read that caring) people. Fortunately, I had cell reception and sent a text to my buddy Al- informing him of my next steps. He replied with a wind warning on the horizon.
That changed my plans entirely. I had been planning on a day trip to Clark, with another night on Lummi. Without a working stove and known weather to be coming in, I shifted my energy to packing up camp and heading home. At least that was the plan. As the time passed, the southerly wind became more prevalent. It was time to get the show on the road- or should I say water!
Fortunately, I have the gear and experience to paddle in big water and actually enjoy the challenge. Geared up and ready to go, I headed out, ready to retrace my route back to the shore on “the mainland”.
As I made my way out into the open water, it was evident that this would be a journey. The black line on the chart below designates the route that I took from Larrabee to the northern tip of Eliza and on to Lummi. This was supposed to be my return route. Supposed to be! I was able to paddle with the growing waves rising and sinking below me. As they crashed over my shoulder and spilled over my deck, the exhilaration of the combination of wind and waves was pumping through my blood.
It was difficult to stay on course, with the waves coming at me “on the beam” (aka- the side of my boat). In order to do so, I had to rotate at my hips to continuously TRY to point the boat where I wanted it to go. I was able to maintain my heading toward the north tip of Eliza- until I got nearer and then the SSE (South by South East) wind and waves became too much to continue this seemingly futile exercise.
While I was enjoying the conditions, I knew that this was not a sustainable path. The blue dots on the chart below show the my course change and the story evolves from there. The decision to go with the wind and surf with the following seas was welcomed with great applause my arms and shoulders (and my twisted torso).
Surfing downwind, the waves pushed me towards Portage Island. My new bearing- with the intent not being to actually land there, but skirt the shore and make my way to the Lummi Peninsula. I enjoyed the wind at my back and bobbed up and down with the massive waves moving beneath my boat. One element interesting about being in a kayak, so low to the water, is that when the swells are large enough, the horizon disappears and all that is visible is, yup- you guessed it- WATER.
The dots on the chart give it away, but the story must be told. As I came close to the shores of Portage, the surf gained in height and pushed me sideways to the beach. It is a unique sensation of doing a high brace- essentially laying on the breaking surf with your body- as your paddle provides the leverage to keep you from tipping over. The surf pushed me close to shore and I sat in the shallows, waiting for the right moment to paddle back out into the surf to continue my journey.
My intent was NOT to land on Portage Island- it is a sacred Lummi Tribe site. Unfortunately, this was not going to be the case. While sitting in the shallows, the waves receded and left the stern of my fully loaded hull perched on a rock. The consequence- a BROKEN hull! After a couple choice words, I hauled out on the beach and took my gear out of the boat to begin the rest of my journey.
I would have to shuttle my gear down the beach (see red dots on chart above) to make for easier retrieval the following day. It took me a couple trips, using a piece of driftwood as a yoke to carry the load. At the northern tip of Portage, I left my gear in a pile, as the rain started to fall from the sky. I had told Al that I would be heading home and that I’d update him when I arrived ashore (planning to be a Larrabee, instead). When I called, he was surprised (maybe not) to hear my location. As a good buddy, he’ agreed to come pick me up.
The plan was for him to meet me on the Lummi Peninsula where, at low tide, it is possible to walk (and even drive) from the mainland to the island (if you’re a tribal member). We knew the tide was coming in and that I would be getting a bit wet on my crossing. As I got closer to our meeting place, the tide was at the apex for the day- leaving little room for me to walk the shore and I found myself wading much of the time. When I reached the end of the spit, I covered myself in my trusty red “emergency” blanket and waited for the sight of my good friend.
To help with my footing, I grabbed a large walking stick and started my walk INTO the water. There was no Moses event happening here. I could follow the shallows, as designated by the small waves lapping over the hidden walkway below. As I crossed the channel, the water rose up past my knees, to my waist and I eventually ditched the stick to start swim-walking to help propel my body forward. My strokes became more relevant as my feet lost the feel of the land beneath me and I was forced to swim for a minute (0r so). Soon enough, my feet gained traction and my swim-walk commenced as I emerged out of the deep. Arms raised in triumph and shouts of Hooray! filled the air. Al was there to welcome me and shake his head, followed by a chuckle. “Let’s go get some pizza,” I exclaimed.
The next day, I woke up sore and tired- knowing that I had to head back out to go get my stuff! I called Kurt to borrow a paddle, since both of mine were still out on the island. He offered to join me in the rescue mission (shown in green dots on the chart) to get the gear. We went back to the crossing point to take note of my crossing- here’s what it looks like at low tide (yes, that’s a truck OUT THERE).
Our short rescue mission, we paddled across Portage Bay (shown below) and enjoyed the company of Bald Eagles, Hooded Mergansers and other shorebirds. We spent as little time on shore as possible out of respect for the sacred native land.
Be SAFE + Have FUN + Show RESPECT.
Note: Upon return home, I called the Coast Guard to let them know my boat was stored out there and that I was home safe. I asked if in the future they’d like to know if I (or anybody) is out on the water. They said the best thing to do is carry a handheld VHF and call them on Ch. 16 (or 22A). Now we know.
