July 11, DeLong Islands to Cone Point

One of my less comfortable days, at least for a couple of hours.  

After a very nice night in the DeLong Islands, got a mid-morning start, first with very little wind, then with a bit of a Southerly tailwind.  

Very smoothly made the first couple of miles, past Kah Shakes Cove and Boca de Quadra.  As I approached the big-ish crossing of Behm Canal (or rather, the first crossing), rain started to fall on and off, and some foggy patches that had been off in the distance started to move in.  One strategy might have been to work my way a few miles up Behm Canal to a place where the crossing to Revillagigedo Island was a little shorter, but I felt like I had a pretty good compass read on where I was heading, and conditions were very good; I decided to go for it and make the crossing, starting just North of Black Island.  For those of you not carefully following along with a nautical chart in hand, this means that my crossing was probably something in the order of five nautical miles--not the biggest one I've done, by any means, but no trivial distance, either.

In general, the crossing went fine, but as I progressed towards Revilla, the Southerly wind started to pick up, really moving me along at a pretty good pace, and at the same time, the fog started shifting in, blocking my view of Point Alava, my target.  As I worked my way across, the wind waves coming up the channel got bigger and bigger--at times probably approaching five feet, well over my head, and as I neared the shore, I started to feel the effects of waves reflecting and refracting off the shore, which is quite rocky through that stretch.  These were no Cape Caution swells, but these steep wind waves were tiring!

Pulling out in the DeLong Islands

By the time I was within striking distance of land, I was starting to get a little nervous, was definitely in need of a break, and wind waves were starting to break around me as they met and interacted with waves bouncing back off the shore.  Trouble was, the shoreline was too rocky to land under those conditions, and because of the wind and fog, I wasn't exactly sure where I was along the Revillagigedo shoreline.  I rounded several rocky points, each time hoping for a gravel or sandy beach to pull out on around the other side, but each time, no luck.

Several hours after I started my crossing, I found myself in a location where I thought I might be able to squeeze between a sheer headland and a rocky islet to get into what appeared to be more protected waters beyond, but by this time, the number of whitecaps made it difficult to tell if the passage was safe or would be lined with kayak-wrecking, shallowly submerged rocks.  By this time, I was getting a little desperate for a stop and a pee.  After a minute of watching, I decided that I could make it, and shot my way through into clearer waters.  And not a moment too soon!  The dropping tide was about to uncover a sandbar that would have very shortly made it difficult for me to get through.

After a moment with the chart and the GPS, I confirmed that I was in Lucky Cove.  Lucky for me!  The cove was well protected from the Southeast, and very calm.  It also had a creek where I could find water and several excellent campsites.  I considered stopping for the night, but despite my jangly nerves, it was still relatively early and I could pack in a few more miles before finishing fairly easily.  I filtered several liters of water, and looked out at Revillagigedo Channel, wondering if things looked a little calmer out there, and examined some bear scat, wondering whether that suggested that I should be moving on.  

Ultimately, I decided that I should paddle out towards the Western end of the cove and out into the channel to see if it was more practicable.  If not, I could turn around and come back, or stop at another campsite, should a good one appear along the way.  When I got out into the channel, however, things were much better, and I was able to progress several miles further without much trouble, to a known campsite near Cone Point, just East of Thorne Arm.  The site is a peninsula except at very high tides, when it becomes an island, and has a lovely gravel landing beach and level, soft tent sites.  It also has a number of culturally modified trees, which always make me feel like I'm in a very old place.  

By this time, it was quite late, and I made dinner in the dark.  There was also a little bear sign in the site--none very recent--but I made sure I was well armed with my various anti-bear implements, and turned in for a very restful night of sleep.