Although I’d paddled throughout most of British Columbia over the years, I’d always avoided the open coast on the west side of Vancouver Island. The stories of pounding swell and howling wind were too intimidating for me.
In my early years of kayaking, I only paddled folding kayaks, so rolls, surf landings, and other such extremities were not wise ideas for me. I was a conservative paddler who would rather take a relaxing weather day on the beach than face a whitecapped, exposed crossing.
But I was aware I’d been missing out. The photos and trip reports of the “wild west coast” had always been tremendously exciting to me, and my hikes along the beaches of Washington and Oregon had taught me the beauty of the ocean coastal landscape.
With fall weather closing in, I decided that my last multiday trip of the 2013 season should be to the west coast of VI. I would need a place that offered a balance between wild, coastal ruggedness and calm, safe paddling. The Broken Group of Barkley Sound fit the bill perfectly.
Route map. I camped at every one of the campground islands except Gibraltar, which I only visited.
Heated discussions on the West Coast Paddler forum gave me pause as I considered where to launch. The Vancouver Island Health Authority had closed the former launch site at Toquart Bay for environmental review of a defunct mine, leaving kayakers uncertain as to where to launch.
I had all but decided to use Bamfield, despite the rough logging road and exposed channel crossing, when I saw another post on West Coast Paddler about a new, temporary launch site at Macoah. The ten-dollar daily parking fee was a bit steep for my eight-day trip, but I decided it was for a good cause. I support landowners’ making money off kayaking and other forms of ecotourism. It’s either that or reopen the mine, right?
The drive from Seattle to Macoah took me a solid twelve hours. To Seattleites, I strongly recommend driving to Vancouver, taking the Tsawwassen ferry to Nanaimo, and then driving to Macoah. My alternative, which I now think was worse, was to take the Seattle–Bainbridge ferry, then drive to Port Angeles, take the Port Angeles-Victoria ferry, and then drive to Macoah. That route was a real hike!
I camped at the kayak launch, and boy, was I glad to finally get out on the sound the next day.
Kayaking south down Macoah Passage. The crossing from the mainland to the Brokens can be rough, but the weather gods smiled upon me this time.
Islets of Macoah Passage. All the minor islands except the Stopper Islands are now off-limits to visitors as Toquaht land, per the Maa-nulth Treaty, Appendix B-3.
Calm crossing of Loudon Channel. Ahead, the Broken Group Islands are spread out like dishes on a banquet table.
Arriving at Hand Island, Broken Group Islands. Hand was one of the most attractive of the Brokens.
Scene from Hand Island beach. If serenity were embodied in a physical location, Hand Island would be it.
Hand Island environs. The beauty of the BC coast has inspired some of my favorite landscape painters, such as Stewart Marshall.
Small islet dense with trees. The climate here is so temperate life abounds in even the thinnest soils.
Hand Island sunset. On the coast, the most spectacular moment of a sunset is generally a few minutes before the sun dips below the horizon or a few minutes after.
The Broken Group gave me everything I wanted. The first few days around Hand, Dodd, and Turret Islands, I paddled glass-flat waters under warm, sunny skies. The campsites were comfortable and dry, and the kayaking slow and relaxed. The next few days, I visited the outer islands of Clarke, Benson, Wouwer, and Howell. The weather became colder and foggier, adding to the wild coastal feeling of these islands.
Morning fog. In some areas, fog was so thick I navigated using only the angle the swell formed with my bow.
Fog burns off to reveal summer skies. September is the best month for outdoor recreation in this part of the world.
Navigating a watery maze. This kind of dense, close archipelago makes for the most fun kind of kayaking.
Marine air in the morning. Some people find marine layers gloomy, but they always remind me how vigorously alive our planet is.
Sunny tropic scenes. In shallow bays, the sun-heated water was warm enough for swimming.
The outer islands were exposed to ocean swells, and it was here that I saw most of the interesting seabird species: common and red-throated loons, the four major alcid species, eight different species of gull, all three cormorants, rock sandpipers, black turnstones, surfbirds, and wandering tattlers.
I was hoping for some of the truly pelagic alcids: puffins, Cassin’s auklets, and maybe some early arriving ancient murrelets, but no luck on that front. There were also reports of jaegers in the area, but I didn’t see any of those, either. I did manage to get quite a few migratory shorebirds, including western and least sandpipers and numerous greater yellowlegs.
Hiking in the magnificent old-growth forests also yielded good birds, and I finished the trip with sixty-two species—not bad for an eight-day trip to a single habitat type. I also got ten different mammal species, but unfortunately no whales this time.
Exploring around Turret Island. Turret Island would make an excellent basecamp from which to explore the entire archipelago.
Ancient Sitka spruce. Finding an old giant like this is always such a treat.
Sunset from Turret Island. A mink joined me here on the beach to watch the passing of another perfect day.
Approaching outer Broken Group Islands in fog. Beyond these islands, swell strength increased notably.
Comfortable camp on Clarke Island. My fancy tarp setup did not survive the winds overnight.
Misty morning on Clarke Island. These trees were hopping with kinglets, all of them squeaking as with delight at the beauty of the morning.
I wrapped up the trip with a relaxing tour back through the protected islands on the east side of the sound. Gilbert, Effingham, Jarvis and Jacques, and Gibraltar all proved to be very quiet, restful areas, perfect for winding down the last couple days of the trip.
I encountered people at every campsite of the trip, and although I normally prefer solitude when kayak camping, everyone was so friendly that I just couldn’t complain. On various occasions throughout the trip, other people gave me beer, wine, whiskey, champagne, water, stove fuel, toilet paper, wedding cake(!), prunes, muffins, and crackers. I almost think a solo kayaker could survive in the Brokens just off what other paddlers came over to offer him. Luckily, I was able to repay a little of the groups’ kindnesses by giving a woman some aquaseal to patch a leaking sleeping pad.
Passing beneath a sea arch. It was a little shallow in there, but I could afford to be intrepid—the hulls of folding kayaks are easily repaired.
Mountains bathed in sunset. One of the delights of coastal kayaking is looking east at mountains instead of west.
Eastern Broken Group Islands. The weather on the return was every bit as accommodating as on the way in.
Old-growth grove on Vancouver Island. These pockets of untouched forest are precious beyond measure.
Barkley Sound was the perfect place to spend a week. It offered the slow, drifting paddling that I enjoy the most but also ample exposure to the rougher, windier conditions of the open coast that I had been curious about for so many years. I’m glad I finally took the time to visit this special place.
—Alex Sidles