I try to make at least one kayaking trip to British Columbia every year. As much as I love our beautiful Washington waters, I must admit BC is the west coast’s true kayaking mecca. I’d go there every day if I could.
Due to family and work obligations, I often wasn’t able to take the kind of week-long or month-long trips that are my preferred mode of travel. For several years, my trips were limited to two- or three-day affairs. The best kayaking spots in BC are at least half a day’s drive from Seattle, which is too far for such short trips.
But what if, instead of merely kayaking in BC, I tried kayaking to BC?
The straight-line distance to Discovery Island, BC from San Juan County Park—the best boat launch on San Juan Island—is only about nine miles (15 km). With good weather and careful attention to currents, I could paddle across Haro Strait and get my trip to Canada without losing half a day each way driving.
Route map. Who needs lines at the border when you have a kayak?
Southern Gulf Islands. These, too, are an enticing destination but out of range of this trip.
Haro Strait is the best place in the San Juans to see orcas, and the Orca Network had reported numerous sightings of J pod within the last couple of days. Regrettably, there were no orcas when I crossed the strait, but a pair of Dall’s porpoises made an excellent consolation prize. One surfaced just ten feet in front of my kayak, gave a kind of started gasp, and plunged back underwater with a splash. Perhaps he didn’t have his sonar on, or maybe he just wanted to play with me.
The ebb tide helpfully pulled me south down Haro Strait at a steady three knots. I was careful to complete the crossing before getting pulled too far south, lest I get sucked out into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
Cadboro Point. Hugging the shore here ensured the helpful currents didn’t help a little too much.
Marbled murrelets in Cadboro Bay. I was hoping for, but did not see, ancient murrelets, which sometimes flock with marbled murrelets in winter.
My first stop was the Royal Victoria Yacht Club in Cadboro Bay. The yacht club was several miles out of my way, but I must clear customs, and the yacht club had the nearest telephone reporting site. The yachties here were so proud of their club, their boats didn’t just claim “Victoria” as their port of registry; they claimed “RVYC Victoria!”
Clearing customs by phone was such a quick process the ebb tide was still running when I exited Cadboro Bay to cross to the Chatham and Discovery Islands. The current in the Baynes Channel narrows was absolutely tearing along, so fast I missed my intended target of Strongtide Island and was nearly carried beyond the Chathams altogether!
Luckily, I managed to reach sheltered waters behind the westernmost cluster of islets, just before being swept out into Juan de Fuca Strait. From there, I was able to crawl my way back up the island chain using back eddies and the occasional frantic sprint against the current to regain Strongtide Island—a name that fits only too well.
Once I entered the heart of the Chathams, the ebbing current’s southward flow was favorable to my plans. I cruised through a lovely watery maze with scarcely any effort.
Pigeon guillemot in Baynes Channel. A lot of alcids, mergansers, cormorants, and loons came to Baynes Channel to intercept fish being swept through.
Channel between Strongtide and Vantreight Islands. These little bays created eddies without which I couldn’t have navigated the Chatham Islands.
Harbor seals in Chatham Islands. The seals here must see a lot of kayakers, because they were singularly uninterested in me.
Greater yellowlegs in Chatham Islands. This is one of our most handsome shorebirds.
South side of Discovery Island. The currents here were markedly weaker than the north side of the island or in the Chathams.
On the US side of the border, I hadn’t seen any kayakers other than myself. Between Cadboro Bay and Discovery Island, however, I encountered half a dozen, confirming my longstanding impression that kayaking is more popular in Canada than the US.
A couple kayakers and even a zodiac crew stopped on Discovery Island for late-afternoon picnics, but they all departed before sunset. Secretly, I was pleased to see them go, for it meant I would have the island all to myself this evening.
Evening reading on Discovery Island. There’s nothing cozier than sitting on the shore of an isolated little bay, watching the sun go down.
Sunset over the Olympic Mountains. The Olympics always look wilder than our other mountain ranges.
I did not encounter Takaya/Staqeya the wolf, although there were signs of his presence all over the island: bright yellow warning signs posted by humans, and other, subtler signs posted by Takaya himself. I stayed up late and woke up early, hoping to catch a glimpse of this handsome fellow, but to no avail.
Sadly, missing Takaya on this trip means I missed him forever. In January 2020, Takaya left Discovery Island after nearly seven years and swam to Vancouver Island, where he was promptly captured and relocated by conservation officers, then shot to death by a hunter in March.
The morning of my return, I faced a navigational challenge to get back to San Juan Island. In his guidebook, John Kimantas warns that Haro Strait off Discovery Island is subject to a countercurrent of enormous proportions that forms during the flood tide. Fisheries and Oceans Canada also confirms the existence of this eddy:
Thomson, R.E. "Oceanography of the British Columbia Coast." Can. Spec. Publ. Fish. Aquat. Sci. 56: 291 (Ottawa: 1981), 196. Information licensed under the Open Government Licence – Canada.
Sure enough, I wasn’t more than four hundred yards off the east side of Discovery Island when the eddy kicked in and began shoving me south and east. The eastward push was helpful, but south was the wrong direction; I needed to be going north.
Having read my Kimantas, I knew it would be foolish to try to fight the southbound current head-on, which is what my GPS kept suggesting I do. (Indeed, when I tried fighting the current as an experiment, my forward speed dropped to just one mile per hour.) Instead, the correct course of action was to paddle east-by-northeast across Haro Strait to escape the eddy’s clutches, then head north on the favorable flood.
Despite Kimantas’s forewarning, I was surprised how large the eddy really was. It wasn’t till I was at least a quarter-mile across the international boundary that it finally released me. Even then, my current troubles were only diminished, not extinguished, because the “favorable” flood actually ran north-west, not due north, so I had to struggle against the westerly trend even as I benefitted from the northerly trend.
Sunrise east end of Discovery Island. The sun rose not over a distant mountain range but over a thick bank of fog.
Kayaking northbound up Haro Strait. A GPS was indispensable for navigating in the fog and amid the constantly shifting currents.
Bulk carrier M/V Global Passion. “Running over kayaks is our passion.”
All told, it took me three hours to make the crossing back to Smallpox Bay. But the time was well spent: I encountered several groups of harbor porpoises (although no more Dall’s), a few Steller sea lions, and a veritable army of harbor seals. At one point, I looked over my shoulder and found twenty of them trailing in my wake, escorting me through their waters.
Harbor seal in Haro Strait. Who knows why they so enjoy following kayaks?
Immature rhinoceros auklet in Haro Strait. This has always been one of my favorite alcids. They have such a great personality.
Coast of San Juan Island. Yet another adverse eddy appeared here close to shore, slowing me to two miles per hour for the last two miles.
I tried clearing US customs using the new phone app for boaters, but there wasn’t cell service in Smallpox Bay. I headed up to Roche Harbor where cell service was better, but I still managed to screw up the app. Instead of a photo of my passport picture page, I uploaded a photo of my own, smiling face. Customs did not accept this as a substitute. Luckily, the Roche Harbor customs office was open for business, so I was able to check-in in person.
Overnighting my vehicle at San Juan County Park was an expensive proposition. Camping on Friday night was $29, and leaving the vehicle over Saturday night was an additional $18. The ferry from Anacortes added another $44 for a round-trip ticket. Still, the steep prices were worth it for such an advantageous launch point and such a beautiful trip. I encountered all the best highlights of late-season kayaking: long, bright sunsets, plentiful seabirds and mammals, and an island campsite all to myself. As always, BC kayaking delivered the goods.
—Alex Sidles