Wayfinding

Amidst the west coast fogs of August and smoke from burning forests throughout this province, I paddled with a group for 12 days this past month. The coastal wilderness we travelled through remains one of my favourite places around this island - magical, ethereal, filled with changing light and oceanic textures. 10 years ago I paddled this same section of coast for the first time. At that time, fairly new to a sea kayak, I felt at the mercy of swell and wind and coastal bathymetry; I had moments of terror on that first trip that I have rarely or ever experienced before or since in any wild landscape. Coming from a river environment, I was used to dynamic water, understanding the way that a boat can get pushed around by waves and current, and how to respond, but the verticality and sheer power and volume of the ocean was intimidating. All things moved on multiple axes, the scope so large that it caused me to lose my bearings. There were currents which were invisible to me, so large and influential that I could not perceive them, waves emanating from sources tens or hundreds of miles away, and from below. Fog drifted in white walls that obliterated visibility as we inched up the coastline. My paddling partner kept disappearing behind mountains of swell, dipping dramatically in and out of sight as we rounded each jutting headland. My normally loose hips (save ships) were tight. In those moments of blindness I felt very alone, exposed and small - a tiny speck of cork bobbing on a monstrous sea.

But in the past decade the ocean and I have become friends, and while she owns my respect, she no longer feels so threatening. Even in those moments when she challenges me, as she rolls and blows and pushes in thick with foggy blankness, I trust her. And I trust myself and the tools I have garnered over the years before and since my first introduction to this Pacific creature. The rivers will always have my heart, but so does she. And she is full of ideas, living metaphors for this journey that I am on.

This past month I had the fortune to circumnavigate these same islands, one of many wild homeplaces I have been lucky enough to inhabit and love. It was an extended time to explore corners I had not yet or rarely had the time to see on shorter trips. The 'outside' or west facing coasts of these islands are known for their exposure to wind, swell and fog, and on some days these forces can conspire to complicate or prohibit passage by kayak. On the day we paddled around the most exposed bit of coastline the forecast predicted some manageable but significant swell and light winds, and a promise of lifting fog that seemed to be manifesting as we rounded the first headland. But soon the only thing that became clear in the rolling sea was the white wall that shrouded our progress and remained stuck in, thick and pernicious. I responded to the conditions by consulting my quiver of tools; the simultaneous use of compass bearings, watch, calculations speed over distance, the minutest details of the coastline features matched between chart and barely observable reality. Even my ears were pulled into the game as I listened for the sounds of waves crashing on rocky shelf to gauge distance from the shore in different spots. I chatted to those closest to me, mostly about navigation, shoulder checking every few moments for those just behind, our group tightly packed, my staff partner shepherding the back of the group, a couple of whom were feeling sea sick in the poor vis. It was fun, absorbing, and engaging technical work which did not allow for a moments' lapse in attention. At each rest stop I checked and rechecked landmarks, noted and counted visible points and backstops, tracked our drift forward or back, took into account time or distance lost.

A few hours in we stopped again, this time on the home stretch, but with a boat in need of a tow I unlocked my focus from wayfinding for just a few moments. After a few minutes I realized I had lost our exact location, and scrambled to pinpoint it as we passed a few tightly spaced headlands. But towards these last few miles a sound had begun to come to us through the fog, the whistle of a navigational marker known to lie about a mile southeast of our final destination.

At some point someone asked me how I was keeping a fix on our location and what slipped out of my mouth was 'by feel'. I laughed and quickly corrected myself by explaining the myriad of concrete tools at my disposal, but the truth of that first thought hit home. This is just it, all these tools, the skills I have learned over time are the gifts of 'feel', an intuition that is made up of faith, skill and a focused and expanded awareness. There are components of this that are 'technical' - speed over time, magnetic bearings, navigational aids and markers.  And then there are things my gut and body tells me. Even when external reality seems to deny them, they garner a kernel of truth that can be counted on. I am good at recognizing and following my instincts and trusting my skills on the water, but in the past few years have lost faith in myself in other ways.

This past month the ocean reminded me that I have done the best that I can, given the complications and challenges I have faced in the parts of my life that are most tender. And my best has been pretty good - I cannot be faulted for a lack of self examination. I am worthy of my own trust, despite having wandered off course at times. This has not been a squandered life, because amidst this foggy section of the journey I still have myself and all the things I have learned and know. I am allowed to be happy, to find myself in the right place at the right time, if only by navigating the uncomfortable blindness by the handrails and landmarks that show me I am on the right track. And not losing faith when I seem to have drifted.


What I know is this - I must pay attention to the minutest details of this coastline, listen in for the sound of surf  and watch for the rocks and headlands as they emerge from the fog. I will stay present to what is directly in front of my hull, and keep my senses tuned to the magnetic bearing of my heart. Keeping my eyes open to the reality of the emerging landscape I will find my way home. I will try to remember that sometimes in the lee of the most formidable rock gardens there is shelter for a safe landing.