Photo: Gary Luhm

Cape Scott, Day 7: Gooding Cove - Friday
I am up at 5:20am, stumble to the cook area, and fire up the stove for coffee. A tablespoon of Turkish grind coffee goes into my cup. I pour in boiling water, and stir. In a minute, the grounds sink, and I've got great coffee - without filter or machine.

Tim is up now as well, complaining about the early hour. The air is cold. The sky is clear. Dew, not raindrops, cover the tarp, the kayaks, the left-out gear. We're up early because nature doesn't wait. We're up early to explore the intertidal.

We skip breakfast. Camera and tripods go into our kayaks and we launch off the beach. It's 6:30 am. It's an hour before low tide, and, with the new moon, the tide is low indeed. The tidal swing today is 13.5 feet.

We paddle out Gooding Cove, sweep stroke to the west, and in ten minutes we slip into little rock canyons on the surges of the sea. The rock walls are kelp walls. Kelp fronds stream down, glowing where sunlit. Above the kelp - a brilliant color palate: green sea grass, yellow and orange sponges, purple and orange sea stars, green anemones. Tim finds a red blood star. Blue mussel and goose barnacle smother the crowns of rocks eight- or ten feet above us. A black oystercatcher with a long, orange, "gooney-bird" beak sits atop one mussel bed like a king on a throne.

We paddle into a quiet, kelp-choked pool and discover a family of river otter. They are all soaked fur and whiskers. An otter parent barks hoarsely at the kids. They dive under the kelp. I paddle across the pool and pull out a camera. Seconds later, a small, whiskered head surfaces, then a larger one, close to my kayak. The otters are starring at Tim. When they swivel about, and see me, I snap a few pics. They dive again, emerge some distance away, and swim off. We paddle away in another direction. Tim voices some concern about disturbing the otters. They see few people here; judging whether, or how, our presence impacts them is difficult to assess.

We search the rocks for a place to get out of the kayaks, to explore on foot. We paddle by rocks with steep faces, rocks with slippery kelp, rocks facing Quatsino and hammered by swell. Finally, we find a landing. We slide our kayaks over slick sea grass and hop out. We scramble up over slippery kelp and step gingerly up over a blue mussel bed. Mussels dominate the scene, coat the rock shelf like a rough coat of paint. They're indicative of an undisturbed intertidal. The mussels are climax, like cedar in the forest. Remove a patch of mussels and goose barnacles move in, like alder does after a clear-cut.

They say the intertidal holds more animal protein per meter than anywhere else on the planet. It's a fascinating place, made more so by the limited time we can visit.

Cape Scott, Day 8: Gooding Cove - Saturday
I'm up early again. By 6:30am, I've had coffee and breakfast. The kayak is loaded with camera gear and ready for launch.

I head back to my tent, take off my shoes, wool pants, and fleece jacket. I put on my drysuit. The feet go in first, and are the most difficult. Imagine pushing your foot through a 2" diameter rubber hole. After a week, I've lost all my foot hair.

I squeeze in the feet, then stand to do the arms. Finally, my head pushes through the tight neck gasket. I grab the tab on the front zipper. A pull across the chest closes the suit. I slide my fingers into the neck gasket, squat down, and burp out the air. Another morning ritual. Without burping, I look like the Pillsbury doughboy.

I hop in the kayak and slide off the steep beach. I'm headed for the tidepools. I paddle out under a gray fog, but visibility is good. The fog will burn off. The air is still. Tim will join me within an hour.

My drysuit is Gortex. Underneath, I wear polypro long underwear, and a long-sleeve top. I need the underclothing for safety, in case of immersion, but paddling the 55F water, in 60F air, I'm usually too hot. I shed heat by removing my hat and my gloves. I don't have a neck ring.

Tim left his drysuit at home. He paddles in a wetsuit, custom-made, with 4mm in the legs for good warmth if he swims. When we paddle hard, Tim is more comfortable. He sheds his paddling jacket to regulate temperature. Tim calls my drysuit a monkey suit.

The monkey suit shines for launching and landing. No matter how wet the weather, it's dry inside when I put it on. Tim, in contrast, screams in agony when donning his damp wetsuit. When we come ashore to make camp, I always stay warm. In years past, coming ashore wearing a wetsuit, I often got cold. With Gortex, sweat evaporates and passes out through the fabric. It works. I don't hurry to take it off. When I do, the undergarments are dry.

"I come upon a sea otter, draped in the Feather Boa, wrapped like a mummy."

I paddle again into the intertidal maze: layers of life stacked on rock like Neapolitan ice cream. I find a boodle of Ochre sea stars plastered on the rocks, and stop to take pictures. In three-fourths of an hour, Tim arrives, and we set out to the south to explore Restless Bight.

We chose an inside route, protected by reefs. We paddle through acres of brown Feather Boa kelp. Teardrop-shaped polyps attach to the strands, float the kelp on the surface. I come upon a sea otter, draped in the Feather Boa, wrapped like a mummy. His front paws and webbed feet are set vertically, out of the water for warmth. I don't want to disturb him, but he disappears before we're anywhere near. Mostly, we steer around the otters. We try not to force them to dive. In Restless Bight, though, there are lots of them.

We break for lunch near Kwakiutl Point, then choose an outside route to return. The tide is now in; the swell much larger. Paddling the outside of the Bight is like paddling a mine field. Across the rolling sea, boomers explode randomly. Out of nowhere, a breaking wave. The sea pulls back suddenly, frighteningly. I look down on a reef, whitewater clattering, way too close. A wave crashes: Fumff! Fumff! Fumff! "That'll give you a tight sphincter!" Tim yells. We watch, nervously, the trails of white foam that track the explosions.

The swell rolls by. Suddenly, we see a raft of sea otters, floating next to a boomer. Before we get a good look, they're gone. Then, they're floating on the surface again, a little more distant. Then the swell blocks the view. When I see them again, I quickly count 14, including two females with cubs. A healthy clan. Before seeing this group, I thought there were more sea otters south of the Brooks than here to the north. Now, I'm not sure. We give the otters their space, thread the rest of the minefield, and return to camp.

Cape Scott, Day 9: Gilliam Islands to Winter Harbor - Sunday
Quatsino Sound is calm, with low rolling swell, when I rise at 6am. The sky is gray. Yesterday evening a thick fog rolled in, but it's lifted. I'm disappointed to see the fog gone. Paddling thick fog would be a technical challenge, an interesting finish to our trip. I turn on the VHF, check the forecast: very light wind, with fog banks, NW wind building in the afternoon. But I see no fog banks. Visibility is good. We'll be off the water by noon, before the wind picks up. This will be a clear, easy crossing. We're on the water before 9am.

Our last-day route takes us from Gooding Cove to the Gillam Islands, a nesting area for Storm Petrels, then on to the take-out at Winter Harbor. The paddling distance is a short 7 miles.

We paddle through the Gillam's at low tide. There are perhaps a dozen rocks and small islands. Lots of rock faces, no beaches to land, a few islets with green tops and scattered trees. Kelp drapes the intertidal. We see no evidence of Storm Petrels. They fly in and out only at night. Animal life is otherwise abundant - and skittish. Harbor seals splash into the sea as we paddle by. Sea otters motor away, floating on their backs.

"A pair of them (Guillemots) sits on an rock close to the water, their beaks open, screaming."

We see one river otter. Nests of gull and cormorant populate the cliff tops. Pigeon Guillemots - small, black, red-footed sea birds - are everywhere. We can see a few of their nests, on cliffs close to the high-tide line. A pair of them sits on an rock close to the water, their beaks open, screaming. I can see the bright red inside of their mouths, as bright a red as the bright red of their feet. And the scream: so high pitched, you want to cover your ears for fear of breaking your eardrum. Not as loud as the oystercatchers, though, and they're screaming too, but we're closer to the Guillemots.

We paddle on. Tim finds a small flock of Black Turnstones sifting through an intertidal rock full of kelp and algae. They're the first we've seen on this trip, probably in migration.

We leave the Gillam's, and I paddle hard to Montgomery Point for the workout. From there the flood gives us a push, and we cruise up channel to Winter Harbor, the finish.

On the dock we unload the kayaks, then carry kayaks and gear up the pier and ashore. Our car is still at Cape Scott. We solicit a ride, get lucky, and by 4pm we're driving south on Vancouver Island, kayaks on the car top, and rank-smelling gear piled in the trunk and rear seat. We catch the last Nanaimo ferry to Tsawwassen at 10:45pm. We're home in Seattle at 3:30am.

by Gary Luhm, WetDawg Correspondent