Day three of ten days. I am scared deep within myself. Not only of what lies ahead of me on this paddling trip, but scared of the unknown that dwells within me. Even though I am safely camped, I have to keep my jaws tightly clenched, so as not to scream out, why am I here, alone? I would not be where I am on this journey by kayak, my neighbour the indifferent Pacific, if I hadn’t chosen to be here. My choice, the ocean does not care. Do I know this for sure?
Perhaps that is what terrifies me the most. The fact that I am so insignificant, and it is only with the ocean’s benign benevolence that I will safely pass through this place. Tofino, and the people that I know, seem so far away at this moment. There is only this moment.
The whispered caress of the surf washing the sandy shoreline trickles through my consciousness, a gentle tugging at my primal instincts. The call of the oyster catcher as she watches over her young. The cries of the eagles as they feed on the carcass of a decomposing seal, a hundred feet away from me. Life goes on all around me. With a casualness that does not include me. I have no significance in this moment, other than I am an intrusion, a disturbance. As a species, I have chosen to not be a part of this mosaic. This tapestry of life energy. This reality.
The dawn of day seven, and the apex of my trip. Estevan Point. A meeting of liquid viscosity, and rigid protrudence. A dance that has been played out repeatedly through the ages of time. Rigid versus yielding. Soft versus hard. Jutting and defying rock, at times, furious sea. Dominance and submission. Place of balance. A place of tragic human history. Reminders the scattered corpses of ships, preserved along the ocean’s floor. A place of wildlife and solitude.
Languid and undulating kelp, swaying to the melody of the moment. A remote windswept place. A place where every tree speaks a story with its gnarled and twisted trunk. The anger and the fury of every storm imprinted in its bark and stunted limbs. A place of wisdom, clarity and truth. Human beings do not live here, they only pass through, quickly, fearful. The ocean reigns master, we can only respond to her moods. We have chosen not to. Our only defiance, the blinking of a solitary light, from the lighthouse, warning others to stay away.
I slept badly, fading in and out of consciousness, with no real rest. Disturbed. Anxious. I walked up to the rock outcropping, by the eagle’s nest and scanned the waters ahead for my trip; the skies were dark, the clouds full, and a little intimidating.