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But ever since, the Cape had haunted my imagination.
So last summer, longtime expedition partner Norm Hann and I set out from Port Hardy- -a quiet fishing community in the north of the island- -with seven days of food and gear lashed to our boards. We weren't aware of 'anyone previously rounding Cape Scott by SUP, but that was beside the point. We both love exploring wild landscapes, and together pushing the limits of what seems possible aboard a SUP.
Afternoon gales were building by the time we finally departed the busy harbor, and we soon had tucked into a draft, scratching our way along a rocky coast, darting from headland to headland with waves crashing over our bows. It took three hours to reach Songhees Creek, a sheltered beach tucked beneath towering Sitka spruce. A pair of curious seals watched as we cooked a quick dinner. Later, while lying in the tent, the haunting cry of a bald eagle echoed over the dark waters. Already, modernity had slipped far behind us, and we'd entered a wilder and more primal world.
The next morning, we faced our first major obstacle: Goletas Channel. This narrow waterway funnels the prevailing northeast winds and tidal currents. Lined by a sheer rock offering no chance for respite, paddlers must run the entire 24-kilometer gauntlet in a single shot.
On the water before dawn, we raced over glass waters, a gentle ebb tide carrying us on.Three hours later, sweaty but happy, we emerged on the far side. Beyond, we passed Tatinall Reefs (where waves and current pile up) and Cape Sutil (the most northerly point on Vancouver Island), before camping amid dunes at Shuttleworth Bight, where crashing knee- high surf eased us to sleep, .
Another day of paddling, past increasingly rugged beaches and windswept forests, over dark sparkling with herring and feeding humpbacks, brought us to Experiment Bight the last pullout before the notorious Cape.
Following a muddy trail out towards the distant headlands, we emerged from old-growth forest to a , scene unlike anything I'd witnessed before. Lines of dark swell heaved on the horizon, breaking a kilo- meter or more offshore, Closer in, foam and waves exploded from a maze of rocks and islets. Unbeknownst to us (on the protected north coast), a strong southerly wind had been blowing for days, leaving the ocean in turmoil. For some time, neither of us said a word. Clearly, we weren't going around the Cape any time soon, On a deeper level, we both felt humbled. And intimidated.
Thirty hours later, the storm finally began to ease. That night, the weather radio announced northwest gales would build the following morning, It was a typical West Coast weather pattern, but it meant the only possible window Was a slack tide near dawn. After that, the ocean would again be a mess.
