Pacific Rim Paradise

By Matt Jackson

updated 6:44 p.m. ET July 20, 2005

Paddlers find ocean swells, boisterous sea lions, and mischief-encouraging phosphorescence on Canada’s west coast.

Sea fog was still raking its fingers across the mountains surrounding Toquart Bay as we pushed off from our launch site, kayak noses pointed like compass needles toward the first island, a half-mile offshore. It was almost noon, and the water was silk-smooth. With every stroke of my paddle I could feel a tangible serenity spreading through me, but for one gnawing question: How does a paddler compel a 1,000-pound sea lion to get off his kayak after it’s used it as a haul-out rock?

I had heard the story from one of our guides. “You don’t want to get too close to sea lions because you never know what they’re going to do,” Robert warned me. “Those particular paddlers had to be rescued after the sea lion tipped their kayak over.” Yes, paddlers may be enamored of these charismatic sea creatures, but apparently the feeling is not always reciprocated. I guess when several hundred pounds of barking blubber is concerned, it pays to keep your distance.

There were 10 of us in the group, from places as far away as Scotland, the Netherlands, and Switzerland. This was the first day of a four-day trip into the heart of the Broken Group Islands, a shattered jigsaw puzzle of rocky islands and islets that sits adrift between Bamfield and Ucluelet on the west coast of Canada’s Vancouver Island. The Broken Group are part of Pacific Rim National Park, which is perhaps best known for the West Coast Trail, a multi-day backpacking trail that runs along the coastline south of Bamfield. Long Beach is the most famous surfing beach in Canada and is located just north of Ucluelet.

The Broken Group are something of a paddling mecca, so kayakers shouldn’t expect to find complete solitude. I counted two dozen kayaks departing from Toquart Bay as we were preparing to leave. Still, that shouldn’t dissuade paddlers from visiting, for there is nothing else quite like it on the West Coast.

Matt Jackson

There are dozens of narrow passageways and tidal lagoons to explore where bat stars and sea cucumbers, purple urchins and teal-colored anemones congregate. We found a sunflower star the size of a large frying pan, with 21 arms and thousands of tiny tentacles, propelling itself at warp speed (for a sea star) across the ocean floor. Tallina, one of our guides, spotted a giant moon snail oozing along in four feet of water. After trying to extricate it with her paddle for our viewing pleasure, she succeeded first in demonstrating the effective use of her holy-crap strap. The holy-crap strap is reserved for those occasions when you find yourself suddenly upside down in the water, staring at the back end of a moon snail trying to make its escape.

We pitched camp at Dodd Island late that first afternoon, and when we rose on our second day the sea fog had returned, blanketing the campsite. We launched mid-morning, and as we slid between Walsh and Chalk Islands, pin-drop silence embraced us. We approached the Tiny Group, a medley of islets arranged like broken pieces of a plate dropped on the floor, and it was only then that the shriek of an eaglet cut through the mesmeric calm. The mist parted, and at the top of a large tree we could see the nest, the eaglet staring down at us.

For the rest of the morning we zigzagged through a series of narrow passageways adjacent to Jarvis Island and into Jaques Lagoon. At low tide the lagoon is a potpourri of sea life, but it was high tide when we arrived, so we contented ourselves with exploring a large fish trap that the Nuu-chah-nulth people used for centuries. West Coast natives erected these traps in the intertidal zone and chased fish into them during high tide. When the tide dropped, the fish were stranded.

We didn’t have to worry about trapping our dinner because our guides had bought fresh seafood at the Ucluelet fish market. When we returned to camp we feasted on stir-fried prawns and Asian noodle salad. Our tummies appeased, we set off on a hike around the perimeter of Dodd Island; short detours inland produced some fine old-growth specimens, primarily Sitka spruce and western red cedar. We finally reached a small rocky spit and watched as the last vestiges of sun disappeared behind the coastal mountains.

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