June 12, Weather Day

On the 11th, we were aware that it was likely that we would be stopped or slowed by strong Northwesterly winds blowing against us, as those winds would be channeled by Johnstone Strait to the West and other narrow passages. From our vantage point at Solitary Mountain, though, the water looked okay as we departed, and we hoped to make it through our final set of tidal rapids--Whirlpool rapids--several miles away before getting hit by the wind, and were holding out hope that we might make it as far as Yorke Island on Johnstone Strait--an old Second World War fortress--that night.

The weather was not with us, however. As we headed out, it quickly became apparent that the wind was stronger than we had realized, and we pulled out of the wind to confer. We decided that the best case scenario was a long struggle against contrary winds to gain relatively few miles. Worst case scenario was a bath in cold water, or worse. We decided to turn around, and headed back to the Solitary Mountain site. As we neared the campsite, we saw a kayaker moving fast towards us; it turned out to be a strong long-distance paddler also hoping to make it through Whirlpool. He was less worried about the wind, but also wasn't concerned about distance, so although he continued on, we saw him coming back again, shortly after we arrived back at the campsite.

That afternoon, made some repairs to my boat, which was experiencing some wear on the keel line, and took a hike up the mountainside to see if we could find a cell signal. A difficult bushwhack through an old clear cut took us to a beautiful logging road, which we followed up and around the shoulder of Solitary Mountain, to a point where we were able to get a good signal. Both Carl and I were able to call home, and we were able to confirm that our decision to turn around had been a good one--we could see wind tearing up the channel to the West.

The evening before, we had received a visit from a mink in camp. No mink on the 11th, but some interesting birds and a little (unproductive) fishing; nothing but a few sculpins from the beach.