Back in 2011, an Inside Passage solo took me through the Broughton Archipelago off the north coast of Vancouver Island. Not having a guidebook with me, and using only a topographic map to navigate, I struggled to find good campsites among these rocky islands.
I was so early in the season that no one else was kayaking the Broughtons, so I was on my own for finding sites. Each afternoon, I would begin hunting for suitable a site for the evening, but it would take so long to find one that I would end up traveling many miles farther than I’d intended.
As a result, I made it through the entire Broughtons in two days, and my overall impression of the place was that it was rocky and desolate and not much fun.
Trip reports from other kayakers on WCP convinced me to give the Broughtons another try, and I’m so glad I did. This time, I brought along John Kimantas’s excellent atlas, which completely solved the campsite-finding problem, and I spent a lovely week wandering around the islands. With no fixed itinerary, I wended my way through the watery mazes, enjoying the magnificent bird and animal life.
Route map. There are a thousand possible trips through the Broughton Archipelago.
My seven campsites were: Hanson Island, White Cliff Islets, Fox Islands, Crease Island, Flower Island, Pig Ranch, and a pebble beach on Vancouver Island.
The sites at the White Cliffs and on Flower Island were top-notch, and Crease Island and Pig Ranch were also very good. Hanson Island was poor, and the Fox Islands site was mediocre, but I may have that impression only because those were the two sites at which other kayakers were present.
Unlike my previous visit, this time, there were lots of other people in the islands. Still, camping alone five nights out of seven is pretty good, and I did get two 24-hour periods of not talking to anyone else at all.
Loading at Telegraph Cove. This is the best and cheapest launching option for the Broughtons.
Crossing foggy Johnstone Strait. Johnstone can funnel winds both from the northwest and southeast, the two prevailing directions.
Pearse Islands setting sun. In a place like this,, rainy skies somehow feel more appropriate than sun.
The water mazes were beautiful, but the real attraction was the wildlife. Altogether, I saw ten species of mammal: Steller sea lion, harbor seal, harbor porpoise, Dall’s porpoise, orca, humpback whale, American black bear, Douglas squirrel, red squirrel, and mink.
I also saw fifty-three species of bird, of which the highlights were a fork-tailed storm-petrel, four black-legged kittiwakes, and approximately ten thousand red-necked phalaropes! There were also an extraordinary number of common murres, perhaps around three thousand or so.
Humpback whale and common murres at Hanson Island. I believe the whale and the birds may both have been feeding on herring.
Harbor seals in the Plumper Islands. These animals are sensitive to disturbance, so I always try to give them a wide berth.
Harbor seal, black turnstones, and California gulls. Each creature finds its own way to thrive in this environment.
Kayaking through the Plumper Islands. Currents can be strong in the narrow channels between islands.
The storm-petrel was especially delightful: on Blackfish Sound, it came winging in out of a fog so dense I couldn’t see a hundred meters in any direction. The storm-petrel must not have seen me either, because as it whipped past my bow, it goggled at me in surprise. We made a moment’s eye contact, and then it disappeared into the endless mist.
Rhinoceros auklet in Blackfish Sound. This is my favorite of the Big Four alcids, and one of my favorites of any kind of seabird.
Common murres in Blackfish Sound. The murres gathered in such numbers their groans and croaks carried for miles across the water.
Westbound in Queen Charlotte Strait. On a day this calm, you could paddle straight to Cape Caution, over the horizon.
Approaching the White Cliff Islets. Were it not for Kimantas’s atlas, I would not have thought to camp in this unexpectedly lovely spot.
Setting up camp in the White Cliff Islets. The landing was a smooth, sloping rock, not any kind of beach.
Red-necked phalaropes. Huge numbers of these swimming shorebirds were passing through the Broughtons in early September.
Paddling around Mars Island. I believe this may have been one of Kayak Bill’s early habitats.
Many of the campsites in the Broughtons seemed to be tucked into the woods. I preferred the more open ones, right on the beach if I could get it, immediately adjacent if not.
Crease Island, Flower Island, and Pig Ranch all offered beach camping or adjacent, and I recommend any of those places. The White Cliff Islets are also not to be missed: you sit on a tiny rock on the eastern edge of Queen Charlotte Strait, and it’s as if you and the animals are the only living things in the world.
Sheltering under a tree in Trainer Passage. I stayed here a while, protected from the drizzle.
Trainer Passage narrows. Away from Johnstone Strait and Knight Inlet, currents were much gentler, even in narrow passages like this.
Approaching Fox Islands. Campsites can be hard to find here without a guidebook.
Paddling southbound down Retreat Passage. Fog tended to be thick in the mornings then dissipate over the course of the day.
Old house posts at Meemquamleese. It’s rare to find an old longhouse in such good condition.
Beach on Crease Island. Gravel is one of the best camping surfaces: flat, yielding, and with excellent drainage.
Morning mist at Crease Island. The seawater was still warm from the summer, but the air had already cooled as autumn arrived.
There were several families of orcas in Blackney Passage and in Johnstone Strait east to Robson Bight. At one point, I was sitting in Blackney Passage in dense fog, watching a small pod of orcas and hoping a cruise ship wouldn’t run me over in the meantime, when a humpback whale’s mighty head burst out of the water next to me and let loose an explosive, whooshing breath.
I’d had no idea a humpback was even in the vicinity. Usually, you can hear them coming a long way off, but this one was a sneaker. It’s wonderful to be so close to such powerful animals.
Red squirrel at Flower Island. This handsome species closely resembles the Douglas squirrel familiar to Washington State outdoorsmen.
Cooking dinner on Flower Island. Sitka spruce and salal in background.
Common murres. These have already mostly transitioned to their winter plumage.
Humpback whale surfaces in Blackney Passage. Its breath was so loud it sounded like an engine.
Humpback whale diving in Blackney Passage. This is the most commonly seen whale in our waters, but each sighting is still a thrill.
Orcas in Johnstone Strait. This is the most reliable place in the world for orcas.
Seven days was exactly the right amount of time to explore the Broughtons. Toward the end of the trip, I was paddling a little slower and spending more time ashore to avoid rushing through the archipelago too quickly. The place feels large, because there are so many twisty passages and hidden bays, but in reality, it’s quite small. I had plenty of time for shore-based adventures, like visiting the ruins at Meequamleese and hiking from Pig Ranch to Boat Bay through an old-growth forest on West Cracroft.
Even in the busy season, there were enough opportunities for solitude and wildlife viewing that the Broughtons felt like a real wilderness. I’m glad to have revised my opinion of this area, and I now think it’s one of the best places on the coast.
—Alex Sidles