My Personal Challenge

February-March 2006

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 Hayley Shephard

The Queen Charlotte Islands (Haida Gwaii) in British Columbia are a geographical treasure with haunting scenic vistas and challenges, offering a magical journey to the center of your soul. Everything you read alerts you to an unforgettable experience where your skills and your personal comfort level—physical, emotional, perhaps even spiritual—will be challenged like never before by the dangers of venturing into this unique, dramatic and unpredictable region.

My solo journey by kayak around Haida Gwaii was all that and much more.

This triangular archipelago is made up of more than 150 islands, most of them uninhabited, which have been shaped by glaciers and volcanic activity over two million years. Snow-topped mountains, valleys, fjords that plunge into the sea, riverbeds and beaches are the evidence of mother nature’s power.

The waters surrounding Haida Gwaii are known for their dramatic and sometimes drastic interaction with the notorious bad weather that frequents this region and can change without warning.

The total area of Haida Gwaii is nearly 10,000 square kilometers, about 250 kilometers north to south. On the east lies Hecate Strait, a shallow marine valley that has been classified as one of the world’s worst bodies of water to cross. And on the west, less than five km off shore, is the continental shelf that plummets 2000 meters down into the immense depths of the vast open Pacific Ocean.

Gwaii Haanas, the southern part of Haida Gwaii, is considered one of the most precious places on our planet, a place of value to the entire world. It has no roads, few facilities and is teeming with wildlife. An estimated 1.5 million sea birds nest along the shoreline from May to August. The ocean is alive with fish, mollusks, migrating whales and numerous other species. Mist enshrouded forests contain ancient trees that can reach up to 95 meters, some as old as 1000 years. At the base of these giants are rich and luscious thickets of bright green mosses, ferns and berry bushes. If you look close enough, you can see the remains of old long house pits and fallen totem poles camouflaged by the natural layers of forest growth.

Self-portrait from Hayley’s bow-mounted camera.

Many people are drawn to journey along the east coast of South Moresby Island where many village sites exist. One in particular, SGang Gwaay (Ninstints) on Anthony Island, has original, still-standing totem poles. They stand, facing out to the picturesque scene of scattered islands which lead to the open sea. It is like no other place on the planet, and it feels sacred.

This is what drew me, but on the wild and unpredictable coastline of Graham Island I encountered the scariest and definitely the most challenging paddling I had ever done. For the first time in my sea kayaking career I felt convinced that if I accidentally capsized, I would be unable to save myself.

Every point and every headland I was aiming for seemed to take hours to reach and finally pass. I tried to paddle faster, but the motion of the sea was far too confused and sporadic, my boat was heavily laden with gear and my wrists tender. It was a sluggish ride. Without a doubt I was also taking on water through my ‘watertight’ hatches. I felt like a snail trudging along at a tormenting speed and it frustrated me. I cursed at the slowness of my boat and the pain in my swollen wrists, at the wind and the intimidating seas. I wanted so badly to be around the dreadful Kindakin Point and for the first time ever in my relationship with the sea, I disliked it.

Thick, gray, soot-like clouds hovered like a curse. Two to three meter seas rose and fell beneath me, with wind roughing up my ride. The forecast had been for two meter seas and wind coming from the NW at 10 to 20 knots.

Explosive storm rolling in.

Upon reaching the point, I could smell a scent that comforted me like I would never have imagined. Cigarette smoke! Thank goodness, I thought—boats, fishermen, people, safety. I aimed for the nearest boat, a small sport fishing vessel I glimpsed from high on the crest of a significant wave. As I approached, the three men looked at me, then each other, perhaps confused as to why a paddler would be out here.

One of the men, I assumed it was the guide, told me the revised forecast predicted seas building to 4 meters and 30 knot winds, rising to gale force by noon. It was 10:45 am. I thought to myself, all I have to do is paddle the rest of this headland into Carew Bay, my protected sanctuary where a beach lay waiting. Turning back was not an option; the wind would be against me and the distance further. After this brief human encounter I moved on quickly, saying farewell, thanking them for the info and calling out, half in jest, “Keep an eye on me would ya?”

Within minutes, it was as though the weather knew I had just heard its plan, and wanted to show me it meant business.

Clouds congregated, black as night and dense, laden with water bursting to get out. The ocean was a deep charcoal, the entire scene was frowning, furious and giving me its meanest, darkest look. With every second stroke I had to brace as the waves kicked and bucked beneath my hull, the seas literally building right before my eyes. Two thousand meter high mountains on the land disappeared as the peaks of the rising swell grew higher and higher. I still had a very long way to go. I could taste anxiety in my mouth. I looked behind and noticed a few fishing boats also struggling in the building seas. One by one they slowly, unsteadily motored away towards the inlet I wanted so badly to reach. They, too, had had enough and were getting out of this now treacherous place.

I was soon alone once again. I shouted out into the wind, apologizing to my family for putting them through the loss of me to the arms of the heartless sea. There was no other choice but to keep going, but I was uncertain I could paddle in these conditions without capsizing. Then what? Sure, I can roll. Of course I can get back in my boat in most conditions—but in seas like this? And if not, could I swim to the rocks? I didn’t think so, not with huge, curling, cresting waves crashing over the jagged reefs. I paddled hard and forcefully, and although I had little hope, there was nothing else to do but try.

Hayley plots out her next moves.

Finally, exhausted after a treacherous five hour paddle, I landed, absolutely drenched from waves breaking over my bow, each hitting me with a wall of water. The clouds finally released their tension and the rain came down. Both hatches were full of water, the back hatch dangerously deep. Both wrists were puffed up as though I had a plum tucked beneath the skin. I could hardly open my dry bags. I was exhausted and sore, but safe.

My circumnavigation of Graham Island took 19 days, but I was forced to forfeit my goal of kayaking around both main islands of Haida Gwaii in one summer. Damage to my boat and my injured wrists meant my original plan had to be broken into two trips over successive summers. So in 2005 I returned to circumnavigate South Morseby in 25 days. There was an added challenge to that journey because only three weeks prior, I had gone through a separation after a seven year relationship. Even though these two trips were relatively short compared to my previous 62 day journey around much larger Vancouver Island, they took me far further mentally, emotionally and physically, leaving me with vital lessons and experiences one rarely has the chance to encounter. John Muir sums it up rather well:

The poles at SGang Gwaay (Ninstints), a World Heritage Site.

“A journey is a person in itself, no two are alike, and all plans, safeguards, policies and coercions are fruitless. We find after years of struggle, we don’t take a journey, a journey takes us.”

In my earlier journey around Vancouver Island, everything seemed to go as planned, and that experience set my expectations for my journey around Haida Gwaii. But how different it was, right from the word go. I had fewer encounters with people and marine mammals, my gear broke, my body failed and my timing was off. The conditions were far tougher, the seas bigger, the weather more trying and my intense focus was simply to travel these waters safely. I began to accept that this journey was ultimately about experiencing fear and uncertainty, and revealing how I responded to them.

During the journey around South Morseby, I was sensitive, vulnerable and emotional due to my recent relationship separation. These heightened states of emotion added to the struggle and fear I sometimes had to face. However, it also caused me to dig deeper, like never before, to search for the courage within myself to face my fears and deal with the situation.

I gained even more respect for the power of the sea but also came to see it as a neutral force, not out to harm me or cause suffering. When we venture onto the sea, it just does what it does.

The romantic relationship I once shared with the sea has now simmered into a far more realistic, practical affair with all the ups, downs and uncertainties that exist in any relationship. The sea scared me, I faced it, we had serious confrontations, but we always made up.

Finally, my two-summer journey around Haida Gwaii enforced the values I hold in living a life using fewer resources and causing less impact. One can travel lightly on this earth and still remain well fed, comfortable and sheltered. One can be entertained simply by indulging in the divine delight of nature and the wild. With this intimate time with nature, I gained a far deeper understanding of its needs and how it operates, which has enlightened me to the role I can play in helping to preserve our precious planet.

© Hayley was born and raised in New Zealand, and has been a kayak guide for almost ten years in British Columbia, Baja, New Zealand and Antarctica.