A Family Affair

A sunny Tuesday. Well, it's supposed to be. But there's some fog at our launch point at Cadboro Bay.


We've got a big group on the water today. Louise and I were joined by my sister Brenda who is hosting my great-nephew Michael who is honeymooning here with his new bride Gwylan. Michael is the grandson of my sister Ann who lived back east but passed away last winter, and he and I have never met. We had a great dinner at Brenda's last night trading stories about Ann, although it was kind of weird hearing one of my sisters referred to as "Grandma."
Thanks to Paula, who also joined us on the water today, we were able to get ourselves as well as Brenda, Michael and Gwylan on the water for a nice gentle paddle from Cadboro Bay to Cattle Point. Paula used her Eliza, and lent us her Pamlico and two inflatables, setting a personal record for having four of her kayaks on the water at once.


I showed off the amazingly scenic Juan de Fuca Strait!

Okay, you'll have to trust me on that.

The fog came and went and came and went, but eventually went. The geese didn't care one way or the other.


Apart from the geese, we didn't see much in the way of wildlife at first, something we've noticed on other foggy days. Sometimes I think all the animals just sleep in on foggy days. Can't say I blame them.


Eventually we did see a few seals tanning on a rock...

...and after a quick crossing to Flower Island...

...we saw a few more.



Awesome day on the water with awesome people -- that's how you spend a Tuesday!


Trip length: 6.20 km
YTD: 41.66 km
More pictures are here.

Seal of Disapproval

There's no question that our kayaking mojo has been absent this year. We've just gone through the driest and most sunshiniest month ever recorded in these parts and we only kayaked twice. Part of the problem is we spent the earlier part of the year nursing minor aches and pains, and dealt with some energy-sapping family matters. But those are winding down now, and we're feeling relatively healthy, so we're trying to get back in to the paddling swing again. And although it was overcast when we arrived at Cadboro Bay beach, the weatherman promised that it would burnoff and the sun would out soon.
And the weatherman always keeps his promises, right?


Paula joined Louise and myself and we headed out hoping that the weatherman would indeed keep his promises. And it looked like he just might. As we paddled along the north side of the by, the thin cloud layer began to abate.


This heron was enjoying the morning almost as much as we were.


We reached Flower Island and paddled around the far side of the island where a pair of eagles were resting.

One flew off to sit in a tree....

...while one seemed quite content to sit in the sun.


While I drifted away checking out the eagles, Louise was having a close encounter of her own.

A seal had taken an interest in her and was following close behind her, diving and swimming under her boat.

Louise reported that it was swimming up to her, diving, turning upside down and looking up here. She spent a few minutes mesmerized as it swan and performed in the underwater sunlit rays.

From Flower, we crossed to Jemmy Jones Island with the intention of paddling around it, but as we closed in, we could hear seals barking and we could see young seals at both ends of the island. We decided to forgo paddling around and leave the young ones in peace.


Instead, we paddled towards the end of Ten Mile Point and played around in a cove that only exists at low tide. Normally, this would be a series of small to medium-sized channels, but not today. We spent a few minutes floating around checking out the sponges and seaweed.


After a while, a mother seal and her baby entered the channel.

They seemed calm at first, but clearly baby seal was interested in us and kept trying to get closer. Mother seal kept swimming in front of the baby and nudging it away from us.

Finally, she popped up right in front of me, and with an exasperated splash let us know that we were no longer welcome.

Even though we were in the cove first, we weren't going to argue the point and quickly moved away.
Afterwards, we discussed whether the seal was being overtly aggressive or not. We concluded that the seals must have been somewhat curious as they had clearly approached us -- made a straight line for me at one point -- but mom had obviously determined that we had overstayed in their area and gave a polite but firm warning.

So we took the hint and headed back, past Flower Island, where the eagle was still in the tree.


Trip length: 6.43 km
YTD: 35.46 km
More pictures are here.

Know Your Boat

It's terrific getting out on the water on a spring morning when there aren't too many people on the beach and the water is still pretty clear from winter cold. Even the same old stretch of shoreline seems new when the tide is unexpectedly low (yeah, yeah, I could look at bigwavedave.ca and plan ahead). What I like is knowing this shoreline and knowing my kayak.
When I can see that iron loop above the water, I know the rock it's bolted into is just below the surface. I can get close enough to the corroded iron to tap it with my paddle, but not touch it with my hand, not before the skeg of my kayak drags on the underwater rock a little.
Knowing my boat at that moment is a good thing. I know the rigid rubbery skeg is a little lower than the rest of the hull, so that if I'm careful getting away from the rock, the barnacles won't scrape the hull of my inflatable. The hull is tough, but let's not take foolish chances with wear-and-tear!
I'm not the only one who knows my boat. Mama Seal came by -- or another speckled Harbour Seal that looks like her -- and nodded at me before ducking down after a fish. There must have been a school of fish that I couldn't see. The only one I saw was in the beak of a seagull, who landed on a rock and flipped the little fish so that it could be swallowed head-first.
I scooted around Flower Island, blooming now with the camas that gave it the name, enjoying all the starfish cuddled into wet cracks. There are a lot more starfish around the bay now than five years ago! Maybe this is a sign of an improving environment.
Then, back along the shoreline to the beach, and putting away the little inflatable. The tarp I pull over the other kayaks in the yard has been moved by wind. The wrinkles are never the same from one day to the next.
It's a darned good idea to know your boat in the water, and on land, too. When a child goes missing in Edmonton in winter, the call goes out on radio for everyone to look in their yards and garages and behind the shed, in case the missing child is shivering in some out-of-the way place. If your boat is on land, keep familiar with it in different ways from when you're on the water. If there's a tarp covering it that's got dust and leaves sifted into the folds and creases, I won't tease you! But you should be familiar enough with your boat and its cover to know if it's been moved by somebody. One day it might save somebody's life.

Getting Better All The Time

Got to admit, the weather is getting better for paddling comfortably. It's cool enough that there aren't swimmers everywhere, the water is still pretty clear, and wearing my wetsuit is still comfortable. I like this weather!
Plus, a beautiful fogbank blew in while I was paddling on Good Friday. As I came back to the shore at Cadboro Bay's Gyro Park beach, two people walking came up to me. Pam and Caroline both enthused about how they watched me approaching the shore, bringing the mists behind me.
Then, of course, they had to enthuse about my little inflatable kayak... several minutes were spent here praising the merits of kayaks in general, and this model or its big brothers in particular. I never even got a chance to tell them what I'd seen on this paddle outing -- three invertebrates that I rarely see, and one that along this shore isn't usually nearly this big!
Invertebrates sounds so cool... I nearly named this post after them, but thought better of it. Four sluggy creepy beasts sounds soooooo less technical and interesting than four invertebrates. But there you have it. Plain language doesn't always have the zip and pizzazz of highfaluting precise language. So here goes for descriptions of the three sluggy and one prickly friends I saw while drifting on the water. (And for those who don't speak highfalutin', invertebrate means "animal with no backbone" which includes a whole range of kinds of animal from bugs to slugs and sea stars.)

The first invertebrate I saw was a sea cucumber, which had stuffed itself between a couple of rocks on Evans Rock, right about where I saw the gray whale two summers ago. We've seen only one sea cucumber before while out paddling, and that was about half a mile away from Evans Rock in the Chain Islets. During one low tide back in 2007, a group of us paddled to the Chains and Bernie found a large orange sea cucumber, grazing on kelp, which John photographed. The little sea cucumber I saw this time was similarly orange, but short and very bright in colour, with a flare of gills showing like a frilly flower.

photo from Wikipedia

The second invertebrate -- and the prickly one -- was a sea star. Most starfish we see here along the shore of Cadboro Bay are the kind that our fellow paddler Alison Sinclair identified as ochre stars, or Pisaster ochraeous, bright orange or purple, up to the size of a big man's hand. Once a year or two a giant sunstar, pink or pale orange and about two feet across, can be seen creeping along a rock shelf on the bottom near Flower Island. This time what I saw as I paddled around Flower Island was a purple sea star that was over a foot across. Wow! It was clinging to a rock exposed at low tide, unconcerned when I came by and petted its rough back.

yup, another photo from Wiki

The third invertebrate was a sea slug, or nudibranch, about as long as my hand, clinging to the eelgrass growing in the channel between Flower Island and the point. Oh yeah! I drifted past it, spun round and went back to get another look at it, some three or four feet down. I've seen only one or two of them before -- one was a bright red slug the size of my thumbnail, in a tidal pool at Botanical Beach on the west coast. We've seen the eggs of nudibranchs while paddling in Portage Inlet, but the actual sluggy creatures have been harder to see. This one was a little different from the local land slugs and the red one I saw thirty years ago: it was not smooth-backed, but looked almost like an African pygmy hedgehog, if a hedgehog could be squoodgy like a slug. Apparently it was a type of nudibranch called an Aeolidia papillosa, based on what I read at Wikipedia.

The fourth invertebrate was actually one of several sea anemones ... I lost count at five or six. They were ten or more feet down. These were the big white anemones with fronds like heads of cauliflower, and each anemone was about a foot long, from its base to its open fronds. When I do see an anemone like this in the bay, it's six or eight feet down even at low tide, and usually alone. It was great to see the group of anemones about two feet apart, with their fronds open and waving.

So, even though it was a pleasant cool day, with coots and hooded mergansers and a merganser, a cormorant, a pair of oystercatchers and a pair of soaring eagles, the best part for me was that there was plenty to see going by under my kayak as well as flying past. It was a surprise to hear the foghorn grunting, and see the fogbank coming my way from the Chathams. It's so good to think about more living things in the bay than we've ever seen before. It looks like the waters of the bay are more suitable for more invertebrates now than even five years ago! Perhaps the water is cleaner, or perhaps the river otters are eating enough sea urchins that more kelp is growing to support the web of sea life.

Lila and Yves

The seasons are changing, the proof being in the gloomy skies and cool air. As Louise and I waited on the Cadboro Bay beach for our co-paddlers, the sun was hidden behind puffy grey clouds. We could see off-shore showers on the horizon, and a soft by cool breeze foreshadowed the stronger winds predicted to come later in the day.


But we weren't planning a long paddle today. In fact today's would be rather short and safe. We were being joined by Paula, as well as her daughter Lila and her new husband Yves who are visiting from Edmonton. Neither are experienced kayakers, in fact this was Yves' first time in a kayak and he is not a good swimmer, so we were going to stick close to shore. Also, we didn't have a lot of time to paddle as Yves wanted to attend pirate school later in the day.


And off we went. Paula put her herself and Yves into her inflatable....

....while Lila went out in the Pamlico.


Louise and I in our Delta sea kayaks kept the lead, usually without even trying. Seals were popping up here and there, but they were very shy and unapproachable.


I managed to sneak off and take and watch some cormorants.


And after a quick trip to the point and back, we were done.


Trip Length: 3.90 km
YTD: 207.04 km
More pictures are here.

Great Day With Mink and Eagles!

A fabulous day on the water, once again. We seem to have a lot of them. But then, get on the water in small boats on a bunch of days and odds are, some of the days will be fabulous.

This day the tide and currents conspired to make possible a crossing to the Chathams and Discovery Island. The weather was on our side, too! Sunny without being too hot, a slight breeze but not enough to keep us from going.

We set out at nine this morning, and kept closer to the shore of Cadboro Bay than we might have. The middle of the bay had several little sail boats, and it's good to give them lots of room. Yacht owners and power boaters have a special nickname for kayaks: speedbumps. There's even an approved safety tip for what to do when being run over by a powerboat or yacht... as it's about to hit your kayak, roll over, away from the approaching boat. The bigger, faster boat will strike your hull instead of your head. Possibly it will cut your kayak in half, but at least it's apparently less likely to hurt you. I'm not anxious to try the technique. We try to stay out of the way of bigger boats.

Along the shore, John spotted an animal running along the rocks. It was too quick to be photographed, and too small for a river otter. It looked like a mink to me... or maybe a very young otter. Quick as a wink!

The crossing went well. At Chatham and Strongtide, there was just a bit of swirling eddy from the slight flood tide. We wandered around Chatham and checked out the long inlet to see if we could reach the little islet that Rich and Mike Jackson call Cactus Island.

Nope! There wasn't enough water to get in to the basin still surrounding the islet. We landed and walked up the gravel, past the trickle of water still flowing out, to look around. Crossing the trickle of water was a row of rocks like a little dam about ankle-high, reminding me of the rock walls made in the past by First Nations as a fish weir or clam bed. This one could have been just a little dam made by someone playing, but still, nice to see.

Out the little inlet, past kingfishers. around rocks and viewing eagles. John got some terrific photos! I'll leave the great story of the eagle meal to him to tell.

We ended up going around Discovery -- the mild weather made this a great day. At the campground we took a moment to check out a boat that brought a load of tourists to the park. Looks like a fun idea, but we were very glad to be able to take our own boats out under our own power on this wonderful day.

On the way back, we passed Jemmy Jones Island and Flower. Otters were out again, diving near Flower. Just one more beautiful thing to see! A great trip and still great when we got back to shore. I got back to the Beach House just in time for the lunch Bernie made, and then to Olive Olio's to meet John & Louise, who had found Rich and his Mom. They had come to the Cadboro Bay Village on their Vespa-style scooters to meet us after paddling. (Yes, Victoria is the kind of place where a guy just might go zooming around on a scooter with his mom!) Great day, great friends.

Spring?

Yes, it's spring. There are flowers everywhere, not just snowdrops. Many of the blooming cherry trees are letting their petals fall. So why, when I was out on the water this morning, was it so cold? I had to wear a sweater over my shortie wetsuit. As I paddled past the little rock garden and out along the shore, I had to pull on my cold weather cap, a neoprene cap lined with thin fleece. Most of the time it's clipped inside my PFD, but at times like this morning's cold outing, it's wonderful to be able to pull it on. Sure, it makes my head look like a black egg. Or if I don't buckle the strap and the cap poufs up on top of my head (like most toques do, ya hoser) then I look like Bob or Doug McKenzie. Nevertheless, I prize my cold weather cap for (duh) cold weather. Besides, maybe the otters and seals think it makes me look more like them... I can't count on that idea, though. The first otter I saw this morning as I came around a little jut of land was diving into the water. This one I smelled before I saw it: a distinct scent of "used fish" common along this shore when the otters have climbing around on the rocks. The scent is distinct from that of cormorant droppings, which can also be described as "used fish" but with a definite note of "bird." The seal I saw took a moment to stare at me before dipping underwater, out in the channel between Flower Island and the main shore. I think this seal is the same one that I've often seen around here. She's been away for a couple of months, near as I can tell. It'll be neat to watch for her over the spring. Maybe this June she'll have another pup. By the time I saw Mama Seal, the stiff breeze blowing in off the strait had brought clouds to cover the sky. The chill wasn't so bad when I turned my back to the breeze and let the little waves push my inflatable back towards the beach. I found out a few minutes later, back at the Beach House, that there was snow this morning on the Malahat. Yep, it was April, but it was as cool this morning as some days we had in February.

The Best Part of My Day

Kayaking really is the best part of any day. A good day, a bad day, a busy day or a slow one -- any kind of day is better when I can get on the water.
Good evening and welcome to Day 4 of the migraine; not a "pain" migraine, but a "stupid" migraine. Though my coordination is the pits at this kind of time, that's not a problem with the nice wide stable inflatable kayak I use most days. Ya gotta lean waaaayyy over to tip this puppy.
Sleeping late, lounging around like a day with the 'flu, and a nice warm bath after kayaking equals feeling pretty good. Can't do everything, but doing what I can is good. And I can still paddle 4 klicks an hour even on a foggy head day. No real fog on the water, though. The overcast came down to the ridge full of big Douglas fir trees at the top of Mystic Vale, and it looked foggy there, caught in the trees. A slow ebb current kept things changing at the shoreline, even though the ocean and sky looked static and gray. My boat was the only colour from the beach out to Flower Island and back, till I saw an arbutus and a kingfisher.

A Happy New Year

It was great to get out on the water this morning. That tickling cough woke me several times last night. Bernie's cough was much worse than that. This morning he sensibly changed his plans for a swim -- he'll go another day soon, when the cold immersion is less likely to turn his cough into pneumonia. The decision was understood by John and Louise, who had brought cameras and John's kayak. They'll have to immortalize the Polar Bear swim another day. Louise had her camera, but no boat, as she has a cough of her own.
Instead, John in his 18' Delta and I in my 8'4" Dragonfly went out on the water for an hour. There is a considerable discrepancy between these boats for cruising speed. His kayak is, after all, nearly ten feet longer than mine. I set out quickly while he was still arranging gear on his deck. Even though I was nearly at the Buddha before he was launched, he caught up with me at Sheep's Cove. Twice the speed is twice the speed.
The mismatched boats made for a relaxing paddle for John. He set a moderate pace, and by keeping the cadence of my paddle strokes about twice his rate, I was able to keep up most of the time.
This was another two-volcano day! Mt Rainier was visible in the low-angled sunlight, but fading as the sun rose higher. And when we got out past Flower, there was Mt Baker as well. John went out near Jemmy Jones for a moment to feel the current and breeze, while I hung around Evans Rock.
Not wanting to surprise any visiting elephant seals, I sang to make some noise, but must have been more quiet than I thought. When John came towards Evans Rock, I asked him to get his camera ready. There were two otters sitting on the other side of Evans Rock!
He actually saw at least three otters, and seemed to get several photos. The one problem with taking photos of otters and other seashore animals is that the static photo usually just shows a dark vague shape. It's the movement of that shape that makes watching otters so much fun. They bring their paws to their mouths, or flick their tails, and every movement is quick and smooth enough to make a housecat look clumsy.
We went wide around Evans Rock, and the otters slipped into the water between our kayaks. I think they knew we were there -- big, noisy, bright-coloured things -- but they didn't disappear just because we came past.
At any rate, it was a quick hour on the water, with a birdwatcher's collection of waterbirds of various kinds speckling the water and shoreline around us. May the new year be as good as today -- a good paddle outing, with Mike Jackson and his friend launching as we landed, and the anticipation of improving health for those of us with colds.

Why I Don't Usually Carry a Camera

Everyone who freaked out at the actual winter weather this week woke up this morning and looked out the window with relief. Most of the snow was gone -- certainly here in Cadboro Bay it was. The weather was great for walking from the library back to the bay... I stopped at St George's Christmas Fair and saw Steph's family trooping out from the tearoom.
Down to the beach then with my little inflatable. This time I brought along the waterproof camera John handed down a couple months ago. I got some shots while paddling my usual route along the shore to Flower Island.
Well, I tried to get some shots. You might notice that there are no photos displayed on this post. That's because so far all the photos I take are kind of tippy, with interesting things in the distance or just flying out of frame. Like the photo I took on the far side of Flower of a beautiful Great Blue Heron.
Sure, the heron was beautifully posed as I came around the little island. But by the time I back-paddled, pulled out the camera, found and pushed the ON button (which chimes MUCH LOUDER on the water than it does onshore) the heron startled, glared at my yellow-and-blue inflatable, and started flapping its wings. Eventually I pushed the shutter hard enough not just to make the picture freeze, but to take a photo. I think it may show one heron foot dangling down into view.
I'm not anti-camera. Lord knows, I like the photos that other people take and post on Kayak Yak. I may even take photos while paddling and post some someday. But not today!
Even with some sucky quality photos, the real focus of the time on the water was the weather. Nicely chill, slight breeze. As long as I kept paddling, I didn't feel cold. There were several little sailboats out for lessons again, but many more birds.
Birds! The Canada geese were sitting on rocks looking like they were reconsidering the decision not to migrate. Sure, this week's snow had melted, but would there be any more snow? There were floating gangs of bufflehead ducks, and some loons, and little black coots, and pipers checking out the shoreline rocks.
Best of all (I thought) were the oystercatchers. Bright bright red beaks and eyes, standing out sharply against their black feathers. Drab little legs poking out like pallid sticks. Loud squeaking clearly audible as I paddled away. Not as loud, though, as the two birds that were even more striking -- two kingfishers darting and scolding each other.
I like paddling in winter. The water's so clear, even though it's cold. And the beach is less crowded. Bring on winter! And soon in December, we'll have an evening paddle on the Gorge to look at Christmas lights.

WHALE!!

Yes, I saw a whale! Yes, from a kayak, not from a zodiac with the Straitwatch biologist listening to the VHF radio to hear where whales had been sighted. I just went out and happened to see a whale.
When I put the kayak on my shoulder Thursday morning, I was just heading out for another mid-day paddle in my home waters. Same old same old, out to Flower Island and back. It was a pretty good moment for an ordinary outing, I gotta say. Clear blue sky, warm but not hot, no wind. Tide was out and heading lower.
By the time I got to Stein Island, the whale-watching boats were roaring in with roostertails of wake flaring behind them. Sonofagun. They were stopping right off Flower.
There's been this gray whale hanging around the Oak Bay area. The Times-Colonist newspaper wrote about people spotting it from Ten Mile Point to Trial Islands over the last two weeks. There's a great little news report from A Channel on YouTube here. If you have no idea what a gray whale is, it's a good idea to go see that three-minute video. The biologist who gets interviewed says this whale looks young and healthy. There's another YouTube video of this whale well worth seeing here, which shows what you might see from shore or a whale-watching boat.
There were eight whale-watching boats in all, floating between Cadboro Point and Jemmy Jones Island, off Smuggler's Cove. They turned off their engines like good, conscientious nature watchers.
Mama Seal was floating in the little channel between Flower Island and Evans Rock. She glared at me, as if to say "You humans are WAY too noisy today!" I pulled up against the steep rocky shore of Flower, looking at the whale-watching boats to see if they knew where the whale was. I pulled into first one nook and then another. Tucked in among the rocks like this, inside the kelp at low tide, I was in barely enough water to float my kayak. The flexible, tough bottom of my boat rasped on the rocks and barnacles, but I didn't move offshore.
Gray whales feed in shallow water. Bernie has seen them right next to a cliff. Kathy saw this one just barely offshore at Turkey Head, browsing up food from the muddy shallow bottom. I was betting that the whale might even come between Flower and Evan. I had to be in a place that a whale absolutely couldn't need to go. These narrow rocky nooks wouldn't have stopped a transient orca hunting a seal, but a gray wouldn't want to roll on its tummy on a rock.
I heard it first. The whale came up to breathe, just off Evans Rock, and dipped down. Three breaths and a long pause under water, maybe six minutes or so.

The boats were really close -- probably too close for the rules, but the whale seemed patient with us. I knew we were supposed to stay 100 metres away from a whale. But when the whale came closer than that, we boaters did the only thing we could: they shut down their motors and I huddled into the rocks.

Here's where I was when I saw it. See Flower Island, off the big headland? See the rock just offshore? That's where I was, at low tide, tucked in with rocks all around and under my kayak.

And here's what I was paddling. John took this photo a few weeks ago, at the rally against the proposed Marina in the Inner Harbour.

Yep, the good ol' Dragonfly, my reliable inflatable kayak from Advanced Elements. (The new version of this 8' 4" model is called the Lagoon, and it is even better.) Not the boat most whale-watchers use, admittedly. But that gray whale was getting followed rather too close for comfort, followed by four zodiacs and four big powerful howling boats full of whale-watchers. I was glad to be in something small and almost silent. And no other boat I have is both small and tough enough to sit on that wet rock shelf, just barely out of the whale's way. I am in awe of this kayak's outer shell. The material of the lower deck has some new scratches on it from today's adventure, as I shuffled my butt across a couple of barnacled rocks. The scratches are barely deep enough to see and feel -- mere cosmetic damage.
The whale appears to have a few scrapes on its back, but no visible cuts or injuries. Apparently gray whales got that name from those mottled marks that look like scrapes or scars. And it's big! This is a young one? Good grief, how big are the mature ones? How big is this one compared to the really big whales? The sound of its breath is bigger and deeper than any animal I've heard, bigger than orcas and elephant seals. OMG.