TRAILER
TILTING AT DRAGONS M
y fiancé Pamela introduced me to ocean kayaking on a month- long fishing and camping expedition to the west side of
Vancover Island. We caught so many salmon we built a driftwood smokehouse chinked with seaweed to save them for the days when it was too stormy to fish. Figuring if a little was good more was better, I returned the following
summer to paddle around the biggest island off the west coast of the Americas. It would be an epic 1,000-mile adventure with fishing, solo paddling and a journey into solitude, freedom and self reliance. Just me and the fish. Nevermind that I didn’t know squat about kayaking, that the experts
recommended I become an expert first and, of course, find a buddy to go with. To me, it seemed a whole lot simpler than that. For the first month, I paddled through benign seas along the busy
east shore of the big island, casting to schooling pink salmon off the river mouths, learning the ropes and dodging powerboats. Cape Scott, the northernmost tip of the landmass, was the apex
of my journey. South of the point, the coast was devoid of civilized influence and exposed to large oceanic swells. I would be alone, on my own, man versus nature. The fishing would be awesome. I anticipated schooling coho, chunky black rocks at the edge of the kelp beds and monster ling. As the weeks went by and Cape Scott got closer, my imagination built the climax of the journey into surreal proportions. I was scared
70 KAYAK FISHING || Annual 2015
THE SAD REALIZATION THAT REPORTS OF MY GRANDEUR ARE GREATLY EXAGGERATED
silly half the time and quasi-confident the rest. It took me a hundred miles of paddling to shake off civilization and on August 15, I was sitting in my boat off the Cape, anxiously awaiting the gnashing waves and over-falls off the point to subside and my sphincter to uncramp. As slack tide finally rolled around, I scooted into what looked like the sea from hell. Freight train swells slammed ashore and boomed like Howitzers
against a ton of offshore rock. The ocean was alive with energy and I could feel the fear inside me beginning to morph into awe. I glanced offshore and saw a pair of orcas paralleling my course. Reading into that, I felt blessed. After all the planning and angst and effort and psyching up to tackle the raw wild, I felt, well, heroic. Just as I’d kicked my spurs and tilted my lance, I happened to glance
to my left. There, sitting on a rock at the very tip of the Cape were four people, two men and two women in shorts and hiking boots. They were watching me and eating lunch. One of the guys waved. I was stunned. Like a superhero caught with his pants down. They must have made the long hike out to the lighthouse and down
onto the rocks to where they smugly sat. I turned my head for a second look. The girls were both waving now. Rob Lyon is an adventure writer and guide. He lives on a small island
off the Northwest Coast where fish outnumber people. Check out his work at
www.lyonexpeditions.com.
ILLUSTRATION: LORENZO DEL BIANCO
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