Spirit Journey

June-July 2005

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

by Rob Zacharias

My first kayak trip was in 1991, an eight day adventure with four other men to Hot Springs Cove on the west side of Vancouver Island, BC. I had a wonderful time, so much so that I wasn’t ready to go home at the end of the trip. A kayak seemed the perfect way to experience the magic of the west coast wilderness, and after a week I was just starting to feel strong!

For the next twelve years, the same core group of guys took an annual seven to ten day trip to some remote location on Vancouver Island. Every year the destination was different, but the feeling was the same—at the end of the trip I just wasn’t ready to break the contact with nature in its unspoiled state. I always felt that what I really wanted to do was restock my food and just paddle off somewhere by myself, without a precise destination or timetable. The demands of work and family being what they were, this never happened. What did happen was that after returning from trip #7, an excursion to Robson Bight in 1997, I had a vivid dream. I dreamed that I was circumnavigating Vancouver Island, alone in a kayak called Whalebone. The boat was one I had purchased a couple of years before, but had never named.

In the dream, Whalebone had the skull of a whale on his bow and was more than just a boat. He was an extension of me, an adventurous part of myself. I dreamed the same dream every night for seven nights until I woke up after the seventh and said, “I am really going to do this.” The dream stopped and I started thinking about when I could make it reality. I realized that I would have to wait for my two young daughters to grow up before I could disappear for a summer. A little arithmetic gave me the year 2004, when the girls would be sixteen and nineteen. This also happened to be seven years after the seven dreams, and the year I would turn fifty, on May 7th. All I had to do was wait and plan.

On the 24th of June 2004, I set off from Esquimalt’s Flemming Beach for what would be a fifty-one day encounter with nature—and with myself. Far more happened than I have room to relate, but meetings with creatures of the ocean, air and forest were some of the highlights.

Twelve days out, near the north end of Texada Island, I noticed a large number of small dorsal fins in the distance. Dolphins! Six or eight of them broke off from the group and came right at me, arcing through the water to just off my bow before diving and going under my boat. They surfaced astern and took off. I thought that was the end of it, but four or five turned around and rocketed back at me, diving and surfacing, then going back down, turning under water and disappearing. One surfaced again and came back for a third pass, this time popping up close by and taking a good look at me before rejoining its comrades. Incredible animals! Their speed is amazing and they seemed to be just playing with me. The whole thing was over in a few seconds—not even enough time to get the camera out, but they left me feeling full of joy.

Three days later, camped on the stunningly beautiful Lewis Channel, between West Redonda Island and the northeast tip of Cortes, I was very surprised to hear someone calling my name. I soon realized that it was not a person calling, but Raven, the one the natives call the Trickster. Raven would appear several more times throughout my journey, always in some calm and idyllic spot. He would announce his presence in a variety of voices, circle with hissing wing tips and leave me with a profound sense of peace.

Five days after that, while searching for a place to sleep on West Cracroft Island, I had my first of seven black bear encounters. Bears and humans seem to like similar places—bays and river mouths—for camping and dining. We kept a wary distance in what seemed to be a healthy mutual respect. I kept my bear bangers and bear spray handy, but I grew to enjoy watching them forage, flipping over logs and rocks searching out the tasty morsels beneath.

It was another week, twenty-seven days after leaving home, before my first whale sighting. A pair of humpbacks paced me for about forty-five minutes as I neared Cape Scott, giving me glimpses of their backs and majestic flukes. Their angle to my kayak was always changing so that I never knew where they would surface next. I gave up trying to take a picture and just enjoyed them. I saw whales three more times on this trip: once a grey and twice minkes. Two minkes followed along off my starboard side for two hours one spectacular day as I cruised along, ten kilometers offshore. The whales were awesome creatures. I had a sense of reverence in their presence and a feeling that all was well with me and the world.

But it was a rare encounter with humans which brought all these experiences with wildlife together for me. Camped at Jacobson Point on the south side of the Brooks Peninsula, I shared a beach with other kayakers for the first time on my trip. Larry, Bruce and Randy: alternative school teacher, psychologist, and dream researcher. They fed me wonderful food in exchange for stories of my adventures. They were very interested in the dream that launched this trip. We talked about many things: the significance of dreams, the spiritual and psychological aspects of going on a journey, adventure, self discovery, and the influence of nature on ourselves. Randy wanted to know if I felt I had been influenced by contact with any specific animals. I thought about it and named four: Dolphin, Raven, Bear and Whale.

The men decided to do a drumming meditation for me. They formed a circle, and using native style drums and chants made up on the spot, they called the spirits of my four animals. I just sat in the middle, meditating and allowing my mind to go where it would. When they were done I spoke of what had come to me, what these animals symbolized for me:

Dolphin: Enjoying the moment, playing. Being exactly where I am and letting the tough times go the moment they are done.
Raven: Soul enrichment, feeding my spirit in the beauty and tranquility of the empty wilderness.
Bear: Benign power. The quiet strength to do the things I must do, deal with whatever comes and carry on
Whale: The spirit of adventure. The ability to go where I choose without fear.

Whether or not these animals felt any connection with me I’ll never know, but the strength I drew from their presence helped me immensely, both physically and spiritually.

It was a wonderful evening, and a great way to celebrate rounding the infamous Brooks, leaving the dangerous northwest corner of the island behind.

There were, of course, many other creatures and encounters on a trip of this length. I can briefly share a few: the salmon that fed me in Quatsino Sound; the thousands of dragonflies whirring and dancing over the meadow on Prevost Island; the chirping birds and purple wildflowers of Stewart Island; the pair of mink which raced through my camp on Hanson; and, Raven’s tiny cousin, Humming Bird, who blessed me with her beauty on the shores of San Josef Bay. She told me to let go of my need to be somewhere else that day. She reminded me to enjoy the splendor of where I was.

This is a special place, this magical island we call home. Let us continue to share it with others both great and small. Let us not destroy it with our greed.