My two Teva clad feet poked above the water, framing the view of the mouth of the cove opening into the broad channel that wrapped around us. The silhouettes of several tree-covered islands and mountains overlapped in different shades of pastel and receded in the distance across the channel. I was floating on my back in the waters of coastal British Columbia. Not exactly the Caribbean – no palm trees, no rum drinks with paper umbrellas, and the water temperature was more than a tad or two colder. But the water was warm enough for a late afternoon swim, the scenery was more dramatic, and there was no one else to be seen other than my four sea kayaking companions relaxing after a long day of paddling in the warm bright sunshine of the aptly named Sunshine Coast.

The Sunshine Coast is just a relatively short drive and an even shorter flight northwest of Vancouver (about 3 hours by car but most of that time is spent on two ferries; about 30 minutes by plane). It’s easily accessible but still feels somewhat remote — most of the coast above Powell River, the “urban” center of the region, can only be reached by boat or float plane. Like almost all of the BC coast, it is strikingly beautiful — islands of all sizes covered in Douglas fir, hemlock, cedar and madrone; narrow inlets and fjords indenting the rugged coastline; and jagged snow capped mountains in the distance framing long views across wide sounds. But unlike most of the BC coast, the Sunshine Coast is in the rain shadow of the low mountains of Vancouver Island to the west across the Georgia Strait, so the weather is usually sunny, dry and warm, sometimes very warm. The convergence of two ocean currents, one from the north and the other from the south, also keep the waters warm enough for swimming, especially for the hardy Canadians who frequent the coast and the occasional American, kiwi, and European willing to explore beyond the immediate vicinity of Vancouver.

I was here because it was easily accessible and, therefore, relatively inexpensive, not an unimportant concern in this era of bursting economic bubbles and fiscal uncertainty. The trip that lured me here was the seven day “Into the Majestic Mountains” kayaking trip offered by Powell River Sea Kayak Ltd. (PRSK). There were five of us on this trip, our guide Jaime, Kathy and Tracy, a 50ish couple from the San Francisco Bay area, Tania, a 36 year old woman from New Zealand, and I.

The opportunity to paddle a single kayak was another reason why I chose this trip for my annual kayak adventure. I have taken many sea kayak trips over the years, but have rarely had the chance to paddle a single kayak for any length of time. Most trip operators use doubles because they are more stable, not an unimportant consideration when there are relatively inexperienced kayakers on the trip, as there usually are, or when the waters are rough and cold — challenging and potentially dangerous conditions for even experienced paddlers. The warm, protected waters of the Sunshine Coast create ideal conditions for relatively inexperienced kayakers to try out single kayaks. The four of us, not including Jaime, rotated among two singles and one double so we all had ample opportunity to paddle the more maneuverable singles and go off on our own – but not too far off – to explore the rocky shores or to spend a few minutes in thoughtful silence.

But don’t let the phrase, “warm protected waters” fool you. This trip was no piece of cake. We paddled 10-16 miles a day, probably closer to the upper reaches of that range on most days. In addition, the steep, rocky beaches presented their own challenges, requiring both agility and muscle to shlep camping equipment, food, and other supplies to and from the kayaks and our campsites which were often back in the trees or high on the beaches, well above the tide line. On many days, the kayaks also had to be hauled up at day’s end, and back down to the water the next morning. So, despite the seductive ease of the weather, it was a fairly demanding trip. We ate well, sometimes very well (see shortly), but I still managed to lose a few pounds.

SEVEN DAYS OF SUNSHINE AND SERENITY

At the top of the Sunshine Coast is Desolation Sound, one of the most popular boating destinations in the world. Despite the name, the Sound is anything but “desolate.” It was named by Capt. George Vancouver, one of the first Europeans to discover the Sound, who had the misfortune to arrive on a damp, foggy, ergo “desolate” day.

This is not a wilderness but a wild area, an area where humans have worked and lived since the earliest years of the First Nations people who first inhabited the region. Signs of humans, past and present, are all over – oyster farms, vacation homes, boats (both power and sail), and logging. This is all part of the historical, cultural and visual fabric of the area. But the wildness of the place is also easy to see in the scenery and in the wildlife — bald eagles, loons, ducks, seals, orange and purple sea stars, and the occasional porpoise, as well as in the wildlife that we didn’t see but are there, nonetheless — black bears, grizzlies further up the remote inlets, and cougars, though from what I hear, you don’t see actually the cougars until it’s too late.

We crossed the Sound the first day of the trip and spent most of the second day putting some distance between us and the boat traffic in and around the Sound, especially the big power boats and the yahoos on deck. But with each day that passed, the scenery grew more beautiful and dramatic, and we felt more remote from civilization. By the third day we were into a semblance of wilderness, a wild, scenic, and serene landscape with few signs of civilization other than the occasional boat, vacation house, or distant patch of logged and partially re-grown forest.

We set up our tents on a high, mossy rocky point jutting out into the water and went for a swim in the warm shallow waters of the cove below.

Our fourth day was sheer ecstasy. It was a layover day so we didn’t have to pack up camp and had time for a leisurely breakfast of eggs Benedict with smoked salmon made by PSRK’s owner, Adam Vallance, from locally caught wild salmon. The plan for the day was to poke around and explore the nearby islands and channels. It was overcast at first, and the water was like glass. Everything was hushed. It was one of those magic paddles – a couple of hours of muted light and sound as we glided past rocky banks on the lookout for seals poking their heads above the water and eagles diving for fish.

The sun peeked out, then burst out in full as we pulled onto the beach for lunch. This spot was even more magnificent than our camp site. Beyond the small grove of trees behind the oyster- and mussel-strewn beach was a high point almost surrounded by water on all sides. Stretched before us was a vast expanse of water broken up only by islands and mountains in the distance. This is where we ate our lunch, in reverent silence accompanied by the occasional squawk of birds. After lunch we dug for clams and gathered as many of the oysters and mussels as we could carry to the kayaks and paddled leisurely back to camp in time for another swim before dinner.

The next day we paddled to our last destination, Toba Inlet, a long fjord that cuts deep into the coastal mountains which had been only a distant backdrop for our trip until now. It was another great day of paddling, but the highlight was dinner. Jaime, ably assisted by Tania, cooked the oysters, mussels and clams we had gathered the day before. He steamed the oysters and mussels in garlic and butter and chopped up the clams in the veggie chili. I am a big fan of oysters – raw, steamed, pan fried, whatever – and I eat them whenever I can. I consider myself a bit of a connoisseur, so I don’t think that this is just a case of camping-compromised taste — where everything tastes good, even the freeze dried crap we would never consider eating at home — when I say these were some of the best oysters I have ever had! Realizing that we were nearing the end of our trip, we spent the rest of the evening sitting on the beach looking silently at the mountains growing dark across the inlet.

The last full day rivaled Day 4 for highlights. The plan was to paddle deep into the inlet, then return to our campsite for our last night. The first highlight was the waterfall only a quarter mile or so from our camp. Everyone had the opportunity to paddle their kayaks under the waterfall for our only shower of the trip. It was cold but the air was warm so it really didn’t matter. Then after a couple of miles of paddling, we rafted all four kayaks together, hooked two corners of a spare rain fly to the two outside kayaks and rigged the other two corners to paddles held vertical on the decks of the outside kayaks. With this improvised sail, we sailed briskly down the inlet. It was a wild ride with Jaime and Tracy holding the paddles upright, me in the stern of the double holding onto the stern of the two kayaks on either side, and Kathy and Tania just holding on.
In what seemed like no time at all we were pulling onto the beach for lunch. It was one of the most beautiful spots of the trip, except for the logging in full operation a quarter mile away on either side, reminding us yet again of the tradeoff between accessibility and intrusiveness – the easier it is to get to the wild, the less wild it will be.

We didn’t linger long. We ate our lunch, took in the scene with enough tunnel vision to block out the sounds and sights of the logging, then headed back, but only after a few minutes of wrong way white water kayaking up the stream that ran by the beach – i.e., paddling upstream against the current through a small rapids just far enough for a brief thrill. The wind that had been at our backs and filled our sail on the way in, was in our face on the way out. I’m sure I burned more calories heading back than were saved by our brief sail in the other direction, but the thrill of sailing in kayaks down the wild, narrow fjord was well worth the extra work.

The next day, we packed up camp and paddled several miles to our pick up point. After an exciting, 45 minute, high speed ride in a Zodiac, I was soon on my way to the airport for my short flight to the Vancouver airport to meet my wife for a long weekend in what is one of the most beautiful and cosmopolitan cities in North America, perhaps the world. I felt as relaxed as I had felt in months and fitter than I had been all year. I  was also as tan as a South American tourist on Venice Beach and as slim as I ever get. Within just a few minutes of landing we were off to one of the many outstanding Chinese restaurants that can be found in this glorious city in a successful attempt to regain some of the weight I had lost during the trip. There is a lot to be said for accessibility, other than its easy to get to.

FURTHER INFORMATION