Many years ago, I paddled past Jedediah Island without stopping during a crossing from the Ballenas Islands to Smuggler Cove. I’d been stormbound on the Ballenas for the previous thirty-six hours, so once the weather cleared, I was eager to cross the strait as quickly as possible, which meant skipping Jedediah. I promised myself I’d return someday for a make-up visit.
Google Maps claimed the drive from Seattle to the marina at Secret Cove would take less than five hours. What Google Maps failed to account for were the half-hour wait at the border, the half-hour wait for the ferry, and the hour I wasted driving aimlessly through downtown Vancouver, having exited Highway 91 too early. It was midnight when I arrived at the marina and after one in the morning by the time I finally got on the water.
Route map. I probably should have launched at Brooks Cove and parked for free up the road at Smuggler Cove Provincial Park. The route from Brooks Cove would have been even more scenic than the one from Secret Cove.
Luckily, the moon was in its waxing gibbous phase, so at 1:00 AM it was large, bright, and high in the sky. There was plenty of moonlight to illuminate my way to the beach on Thormanby Island.
When I arrived at the island, I was so tired from my long day I just lay out on the sand rather than set up a tent. I draped a rainfly over myself like a blanket to keep off the dew and beseeched the rain gods to grant me a dry night.
The rain gods rebuffed my entreaties. When I woke up, the sun had already climbed halfway up the sky, and I discovered it had been drizzling on me for the past several hours. Because of the cold, I was wearing two hats, which had kept me warm at the cost of preventing me from noticing that the upper portions of my sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and pillow were all soaked.
Currents in Malaspina Strait were only moderate for the most part, which suited me fine since I hadn’t bothered to consult tide tables or current charts. The eleven-mile paddle from Thormanby took about three hours.
Drinking tea at Buccaneer Bay, Thormanby Island. The drysuit was necessary only because of drizzle, not wind.
Trumpeter swans over Thormanby Island. Swans fly so high they are often audible before they become visible.
Crossing Malaspina Strait. The ebbing tide seemed to provide a slight westward pull in addition to its more pronounced southward flow.
White-winged scoter in Malaspina Strait. This species usually forages farther from shore than the more common surf scoter.
Marbled murrelets in Malaspina Strait. These were the most numerous alcid on this trip.
Lopsided float near Upwood Point. “Ocean buoy reports it’s raining sideways out there!”
At Upwood Point, the southernmost tip of Texada Island, I rounded a corner and encountered a small group of male sea lions, both California and Steller, dozing on the rocks.
Usually, sea lions hurtle into the water at the first sign of a kayaker, sometimes to flee in terror, other times to confront the intruder. But these guys at Upwood Point were so relaxed they just lay on the rocks and stared at me sleepily for a while before letting me off with a warning: as I paddled away to avoid disturbing them, the California sea lions began barking at me and the Steller sea lions began roaring, but I could tell their hearts weren’t in it.
California and Steller sea lions. Out of the water, it’s easy to see the size difference between these species. California sea lions are large but Steller sea lions are really large.
California sea lion at Upwood Point. Only the males of this species are found in our waters.
Sleeping sea lion. This one was too tired even to look up as I passed.
Home Bay on Jedediah Island was one of the best campsites I’ve ever stayed. The islands and headlands in the bay created a miniature water-world maze, at the end of which was a perfect landing beach, plenty of grassy sites for a tent, and several decent hiking trails. Best of all, I had the whole island to myself, except for approximately ten billion feral sheep left over from the farming days.
Normally, I dislike introduced species for the ecological harm they cause—and indeed, these sheep had trampled the meadows of Jedediah Island into mud pits—but even I had to admit there was a cool cultural or historical value to seeing these animals. They are relics from a bygone way of life, somewhat akin to the shell midden at the landing beach.
Inside the water maze of Home Bay. The entrance to this maze was difficult to discern from the outside.
Sandy beach at Home Bay. At low tide, the bay dries to a considerable distance.
Sheep on Jedediah Island. About a quarter of the sheep were ewes, all born at the same time.
View of Home Bay. One of the most picturesque coves on the coast.
Old Foote residence. In the 1880s, the government gave away Jedediah Island for free as a crown grant. Ownership of the island passed through a chain of half a dozen private owners until the government finally repurchased the island in the 1990s at a cost of millions of dollars. Next time, maybe we can eliminate the middlemen and keep public lands in public hands.
Conjoined western redcedar and Douglas-fir. Competitors? Symbionts? Lovers?
Sunrise at Upwood Point. There’s no better feeling than watching the dawn break from a kayak.
Early morning in Malaspina Strait. How tempting just to paddle off into the wilderness forever.
Rain showers came and went throughout the afternoon and during the night. This time, I slept cozy and dry in the tent. At dawn the next morning, the ebbing tide was moderately adverse for a return to Secret Cove, but I still managed the twelve-mile return in four hours.
Jedediah Island fully lived up to my expectations. For scenery, wildlife, isolation, and comfort, Home Bay can’t be beat. I would place it among the top ten campsites in the Strait of Georgia.
—Alex Sidles