Adventures: A Woman's Solo Journey

Oct0ber-November 1995

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

by Irene Skyriver

After 21 years of motherhood, and most of that time a single parent of three, Irene Skyriver of Lopez Island, decided it was time for some adventure. She chose to paddle solo by kayak from Ketchikan, Alaska, down the coast of British Columbia to her island home in Washington. Here are some of the first pages from her journal of the trip.

June 24th

My first hard-learned lesson came at about 10:45 last night when I awoke suddenly from a deep sleep. I had probably been asleep since 3:00 in the afternoon. I was disoriented and believed it to be dawn of the next day. I looked out of my tent and was disturbed to see a reflection right at my tent's door. The tide!

Part of me wanted just to lay back down and pretend it wasn't so-surely the tide had reached it's maximum height. I had pitched my tent on the only available spot which I reasoned was high enough because of the grass growing on it. Now, my more practical side snapped into action and, as I moved about, quickly cramming loose gear into stuff sacks (the stuff sacks and my beach shoes were literally floating outside my tent), I noticed that it was getting darker, which brought about an entirely different new, grim reality of having to paddle in the dark, to a new location.

One fact making this prediciment less threatening was that the wind, which had been blowing menacingly all day, had stopped and all was still. Embarrassingly, my kayak floated serenely in about four feet of water, tethered to a rusty chain also down under four feet of water. My thought had been that it would be harmless for my kayak to float in the night rather than to have to completely empty it so that it could be dragged to higher ground.

Now I had to completely strip in order to wade into the water and grab my bowline. Luckily, I was able to tug hard enough to drag the rusty chain closer to shore. If I would have had to dive uder to untie the knot, I might have chosen to huddle on the rocks all night. I decided to view this entire situation with a sense of humour. I imagined how comical it would have appeared to a casual onlooker.

Good fortune was truly with me because the skies had chosen not to rain on me as further insult to my dilemma (Alaska receives about 12 feet of rain annually). I decided it was not a crazy idea to paddle off into the dark in this unfamiliar land. It was now 11:45 pm and I was heading out of my small, inhospitible cove to skirt the shore for about four miles and then make a two mile crossing of an inlet.

Irene Skyriver paddled at least 20 miles a day for two months to complete her trip.

The silhouettes of the land masses around me corresponded with my charts. That, along with the magic and charm of ribbons of phosphorescence streaming back from my bow wake-green lights bursting with each paddle stroke-made this midnight leg of my journey quite enjoyable. Except for the actual crossing where I had to sit up and paddle more powerfully, the lack of wind continued to be a comforting element.

With sun-rise at 3:oo am, I knew that I had wisely spent my homeless hours and that soon I could seek a real campsite. I paddled into a small, rocky cove and tied my bowline to an over-hanging tree snag. I pulled a nylon tarp out and draped it over my head for now the rain had come again. I let my head hang as I bobbed in my boat and cat napped until it was light enough to look for a new "home". This being within the first 28 hours of my predicted ninety-day journey made me wonder what lies ahead.

Later the same day. Because of the events, it was probably around 5:00 am when I found camp and finally I was pleased to see that it had all of the right amenities, such as some sand, high enough ground to escape the tide, firewood, and shelter from the southerly wind (will it ever blow from the north so I can sail?). I pitched my tent in a steady rain and was thoroughly soggy by the time I crawled into my sleeping bag to get warm. I heard my little hummingbird spirit guide buzz my tent to let me know it was still with me. (Just before I left on my journey, a pure white humming bird had visited me and I took that as a sign of spirit guidance.) I fell quickly into a deep sleep.

The rain came down loud enough a few times to wake me. When it had finished, I decided, half heartedly, to try to make a fire. I was pretty pessimistic about the results because I've never known beachwood to be so continuously rained upon. Knowing this to be the case, I had brought some paraffin fire-starting sticks to Ketchican. I felt some guilt when deciding to buy them because there's something about it that feels like "cheating", but even now, with them, I couldn't imagine being successful.

Surprisingly, with a little coaxing, I had a fire peppy enough to cook my first hot meal and cup of tea! I kept the fire burning big and hot all day because I was fairly certain that a downpour would come again and in this way I might be able to resurrect it for an evening dinner. With some luck, there might even be some coals to start a morning fire.

Later, I decided to give fishing a try with my new pole. I attached my buzz bomb wire and paddled about fifty feet from the beach, and dropped it into a deep hole. It hadn't had time to touch bottom when I had a fish on it. I brought it in and released it because it was a pretty small bass. Each consecutive time my line went down, I immediately had another bass on it. I kept the largest two and returned to my fire for my first wild food. They tasted wonderful and it was so gratifying to see that fishing might be this easy.

Irene would like to thank her sponsors:

Kestrel Tool
Eddyline Kayaks
Kokatat
Primex of California
ACR Electronics
Fantastic Foods
Primo Nut Co.
Westpac Marine
L.F.S. marine Supply
The Business Colibri Corp.
Golden Temple Bakery
Blossom Natural Foods
Management by Intuition
My Lopez Tribe
Mom.