Category Archives: Canada

Happily Human

I had a major revelation a few nights ago. Not only did I come to terms with the fact I am human, I finally embraced this seemingly obvious fact with open arms.

Both the accepting and appreciating part has been a challenge for me. I’ve spent thirty-six years being socialised to admire people who achieve super-human feats and listening to constant praise for people who do extraordinary things. There’s no wonder I’ve been striving to join the ranks of these heroes standing high above us mere mortals.

This all became apparent when I sat sobbing on the couch of my counsellor last week about something I felt deeply ashamed of.

“Lean into that feeling,” my counsellor told me in her calm, therapeutic way. “Now what is that emotion trying to tell you? What part of you is it touching?”

I did as I was told, closing my eyes with my legs and bare feet crossed on her comfortable linen sofa, attempting to press right against the emotions and thoughts I was experiencing.

“I’m afraid people won’t love me anymore, or they’ll find me disgusting,” I replied, dabbing at the tears that were rolling down my cheeks.

“Do you want to be seen as perfect?” my counsellor offered, striking yet another chord as I reached for a second tissue.

“Probably,” I chocked, taking a moment to recompose. “I guess I’ve always felt the need to be super-human or better than everyone else to feel worthy.”

“Worthy of what?” my counsellor probed.

“Worthy of love and belonging,” I croaked.

My counsellor allowed these words to settle as I sucked in a deep breath of truth.

“And what if the opposite were true?” she offered gently. “What if being human made you more worthy of these things?”

Thanks to the help of my counsellor, I’ve been learning so much about myself over these past few months. I’ve identified my desperate need for love and connection like every other human on this planet, and when I fear rejection and disconnection the most; I tend to run away and isolate myself.

The best example of this was when I decided to hike the PCT in 2012. I felt particularly unworthy of love and belonging at that juncture in my life, so instead of facing rejection or disconnection from the people I love, I fled to a foreign part of the world to reinvent myself. I was also endeavouring to prove myself worthy again by completing an admirable feat like walking from Mexico to Canada. But when the gratification and ego boost of the achievement wore off, I began my search for worthiness all over again.

I’ve been repeating the same patterns of behaviour throughout the past few years of my life, hiking other trails like a hamster on a wheel, running miles without moving forward emotionally. I’ve grown and changed in other ways of course, but earlier this year, amid one of the greatest shame crises I’ve had since 2012, I moved to a small town in British Columbia and isolated myself again.

All I wanted to do was escape to another trail, and wished I hadn’t already completed the PCT so I could hike it over. But deep down, I knew hiking every trail on this continent wouldn’t make me feel differently about myself. I had to stop running and face the underlying issue, open my closet of demons, and fight those bastards head-on.

This has not been an easy journey. On some days I feel I’m moving forward, and on others more like I’ve regressed. Mental healing isn’t tangible like hiking a trail. There’s no delineation of progress, no mile markers, resupply towns, or border crossings. Advancement is subtle, and sometimes so indistinguishable you might not even detect it. But a few nights ago, while brushing my teeth before bed, I was struck by a change in my perception.

I was examining my face in the mirror as I usually do, studying the bags under my eyes, the wrinkles across my forehead, and the unwanted hair above my upper lip. I also noticed with my hair tied into a ponytail, I was exposing a mole I’ve always hated just under my hairline. I’ve spent years of my life adjusting my hair in an attempt to cover that mole, yet at that moment, I didn’t feel the need to do so. In fact, for a brief second, I felt affection for that raised cluster of cells on the fringe of my forehead because it proves that I am human.

That benign pink mole is a part of who I am – the imperfect, human Rozanne who is worthy of love and connection like everyone else. Accepting such a minor flaw may appear insignificant, but admitting I’m human is a major milestone in my healing.

Our fascination with fame

I’ve started a new casual job in a tasting room at a local brewery, discussing, pouring, and cleaning up after people drinking beer. It’s nine hours on my feet, lifting, squatting, stacking, bending, and pacing. I’m basically getting paid to work out and talk about beer. It’s not exactly working for the Olympics, but it’s a pretty sweet gig.

An interesting thing happened to me at work today. A woman I was serving told me with a hint of scepticism I was the fourth Australian she’d met this week. I responded with equal distaste, telling her I thought all Australians had been detained in Whistler and that I was under the assumption I was the only one who’d escaped. The woman squinted at me through her red-rimmed spectacles, dismissing my joke as she tucked her cherry-coloured bob behind both ears.

“So what brought you to Canada in the first place?” she probed suspiciously.

“The Winter Olympics in Vancouver,” I responded with a sense of pride.

“Oh,” she said, her tone and body language shifting. “Were you an athlete?”

I paused in the glow of her admiration, gaining the attention of both my colleague and the customer behind her.

“No, I only worked on the games,” I responded, leaving out the details of the two and a half years I spent planning the torch relay across Canada.

“Oh,” she said with obvious disappointment. “I was going to ask you to sign this napkin.”

The woman set the napkin down beside her and pulled out a shiny black wallet from her handbag instead, and without another word paid for her beer and left without leaving a tip.

It wasn’t until this evening, sitting on the couch in my quiet little cabin thinking about my unfinished memoir, I wondered what the hell our obsession with fame is. Would being an athlete or an author make me a better person, more deserving of love, respect, and belonging? Was I more deserving of these things when I worked for the Olympics rather than for a brewery? And how about walking the length of three countries, climbing mountains and paddling 715km down a river? Do any of these things make me better than anyone else?

Thankfully, due to my recent weeks of counselling and acute introspection, I have reinforced the notion that what we do is not who we are. Our achievements don’t alter what’s at the core of our being, our characteristics, or our values. It’s just if we’re not standing at the top of a podium, our positive traits often go unpraised. But even if our efforts go unrecognised, it doesn’t make them any less worthy of attention. Much like a tree falling in the forest with no one around to hear it. In my opinion, the tree still makes a sound.

I used to think having a published book would make me more deserving of love, belonging and respect, and that the success of my book would define my worthiness as a human being. I sometimes still believe this because I’m imperfect and I can’t help but attach my worthiness to my achievements. But neither the book nor finishing the PCT or other trails changes who I am as a person. Sure, I would have loved to sign that woman’s napkin at the brewery today as much as I would like to have a published memoir sitting on my bookshelf. But even if I were a best-selling author, I’d still be the exact same person sitting here alone on my couch tapping away at my laptop at eleven p.m. in the evening.

It’s hard to believe what we bring to the world is enough when the people being recognised are the record holders, the prize winners, the first-time creators, or the influencers with thousands of followers. But the real winners are the people who don’t need recognition to feel worthy, or praise to recognise their unique contribution to this planet. Perhaps we need to take away the medals and podiums to have a better chance of believing this, and maybe in addition to banning plastic bags, we should remove all napkins from the workplace as well.

The hurdle of truth

Everything in my life seems to be moving and changing so rapidly at the moment it’s been hard to communicate where I’m at. When people ask how I am, it’s an hour-long conversation minimum and one that requires me to dig into the nitty-gritty and go deep.

I’ve been opening up so much lately, crying over the phone to friends and family, meeting a counsellor each week, and conducting my own emotional analysis, I feel both mentally and physically fatigued. I’m attempting to break through the walls I’ve built up over thirty-six years to uncover the truth, and in the process, emotions are leaking and spilling all over the place. Without my protective shield, I feel about as vulnerable and naked as ever. But I’m convinced to rebuild myself authentically, I have to break down the original foundations first.

Just as my injury slowed me down two months ago, recent events have pulled the mental rug out from under my feet too. I was desperate to secure somewhere to live when I returned to BC and ended up renting a cottage in the woods for the summer despite several red flags. The dream turned sour fast (thanks to the mentally abusive landlords and countless rodents), and eight days later, my friend Dave had to intervene and move me out.

Moving to an isolated cottage was an example of my extreme behaviour, choosing something out of the ordinary like hiking the length of America, paddling wild distances, or hopping from place to place to find or distract myself from whatever’s missing in my life. When I asked my counsellor why crazy shit always happens to me, she told me about people who perpetuate their own shame cycles by putting themselves in unfavourable situations. Oh my god, I thought to myself. I’m one of those people. I’ve been doing this to myself.

This revelation coincided with receiving feedback from my editor Betsy in New York regarding draft five of my manuscript. She had a lot to say, sixteen pages in fact, pointing out not only what was missing from my story, but all of the red flags I’d ignored during my hike along the PCT. It was an expensive counselling session, and although I was horrified by her feedback, she was absolutely right. She’d highlighted everything that was missing from those 300 pages, which I’d been unable or unwilling to admit.

What’s missing from my manuscript is the ‘why’. Why I was on the trail in the first place, why it was so crucial for me to reach the finish, and what motivated my decisions along the way. I know I have a compelling plot, neither Betsy nor anyone who read my blog would argue that. But the external plot isn’t enough. The story lies within the internal struggle, the belief I had going into the trail that was either proved or disproved. I haven’t allowed the reader into my head enough, and it’s because I didn’t know the answers to all of those questions until now.

Once the horror of writing a memoir for five years without a story subsided, I felt little regret. Memoir or not, Betsy’s feedback has allowed me to uncover the whys of not only the trail but the reasons behind so many major decisions in my life that led me to the trail in the first place.

So over the past two weeks, I’ve been reading a book called Story Genius recommended by my friend Sue, immersing myself in Betsy’s feedback, talking to my counsellor, and reading Brené Brown’s book, The Gifts of Imperfection. I’m on an introspective acid trip, rummaging through all sorts of emotional baggage to see things from a different perspective.

What I’ve uncovered has been immensely rewarding, and without the memoir, it might have taken me months or even years of therapy to reveal this much. If I’m going to rewrite my story, I’ve got a long road ahead. But after sifting through the rubble of draft five, I’ll see what I can salvage before deciding if I’m going to return to mile zero and start hiking again from page one.

For those following my writing journey on YouTube (apologies for my recent tardiness), this video captures my initial reaction minutes after reading Betsy’s sixteen-page editorial letter.

Learning to be kind

Since I wrote my last post, I feel like a different person. I was in the midst of a mini breakdown, and until I fully self-destructed, I wasn’t able to identify the turmoil I was in and why I was acting so desperately.

The challenges over the past few weeks have been a blessing. I would never wish to repeat them, but I’ve learned so much about taking care of myself physically and mentally, I’m grateful for all the dark places I’ve been.

I was aware that landing back in Vancouver after a year and a half without a plan was irresponsible to my wellbeing. But I had no idea how cruel I could be or how much pressure I would put on myself until I beat my body into the ground and was forced to stop everything.

Thank goodness my hips revolted the way they did. It brought me to a grinding halt, and there was no way my mind could overpower what was happening. I could barely walk five blocks, so pulling out of the marathon was a given. I wouldn’t have even made it to the start line, which made the decision a little easier to swallow.

I learned a great deal about how we control the way situations affect us. The moment I pulled out of the race was a perfect example. I’d made such a song and dance about it in my head and sat with my mouse poised over the submit button of the form for at least five minutes before I caught myself over-dramatising. I was attributing so many emotions to this action, which had nothing to do with my desire to run a 42km race at all, and upon realising this, I pressed the button and immediately moved on.

I don’t think I ever really wanted to run the marathon, but I needed a focussed distraction and something to boast while determining the aspects of my life I didn’t have answers for. The marathon gave me a concrete response to the dreaded question of ‘what now?’ which I felt I needed because I was ashamed to have nothing I deemed as ‘impressive’ to report. I’ve spent so much of my life overachieving in my career and physical pursuits to quieten that frightened part of me that never feels good enough, I continually forget I don’t need to prove myself to anyone.

It’s taken a while to understand what slowing down means and to stop feeling guilty, worthless, or pathetic for doing so. At the beginning, I was terrified I was simply lazy, and if I allowed myself a week of respite, I’d get so used to doing nothing I’d never want to do anything productive again. These thoughts sound ludicrous when you write them down on paper, but they’re legitimate, and I beat myself up over them constantly.

Thankfully my mother helped me recognise I needed to restore my energy, repair my body, and reduce my anxiety before I could even begin planning for my future. I received so much great advice over the past few weeks through comment and emails, but it wasn’t until I called my mum in a fit of tears that I recognised something had gone wrong and I started to actually listen. She told me there was no way I could make any big decisions in the state I was in, and that my first priority was to find somewhere to live that made me happy and slowly build from there.

All the comments and advice I received gave me the permission I needed to rest. I’ve spent the last few weeks walking slower, noticing details of my environment and people I’ve never paid attention to before. I’ve taken the time to speak to strangers on the bus, in the supermarket, and along the street. I stop at every crosswalk before the light turns red, so I don’t have to race across the road in an unnecessary hurry. I take naps, I journal, I eat good food, I go to bed early, take baths, and admit that I need help.

In the process, I’ve started breaking down the overtly strong, powerful, independent persona I’ve created for myself over the years. No matter what I’ve achieved I’ve always felt there was something fundamental missing, and I think part of the answer is that I’ve disconnected so far from my needs and desires, I’ve been searching for something that was inside me all along.

The kinder I am to myself, the greater my capacity is to be kind to others. I can share and celebrate achievements, support my friends when they seek advice, and be present in conversations with the people I care about. I haven’t fully mastered any of this just yet, but I’ve caught a glimpse of how joyful a life without self-torture can be, and if all I need to do is be a little kinder to myself, I’m excited to explore this new path of self-discovery.

Accepting Defeat

The subject of this post is not something I’m well versed in. Once I’m driven to accomplish a task, the more challenges I face, the more determined I’m likely to become. This can work in my favour in times when I need to dig deep and find the strength to continue. But it can also be detrimental to my health because my mind tends to push my body further than it can or wants to go.

On the PCT, I was so determined to finish the trail I pushed through injury, pain, and weather conditions I’d never face again to cross the border. On the Yukon River Quest, when the foot pedal of my kayak snapped off, and I lost steering for half the race, determination saw me through to the finish line.

My latest challenge has been training to run a marathon, despite the fact I don’t actually like running. The furthest I’ve ever run was 21km when I was at the peak of my fitness in 2016. But after listening to a very inspiring interview with ultra-marathon runner David Goggins, I signed up to run the Vancouver Marathon on May 5th, believing not only could I finish with only two months lead time, but after listening to this powerful podcast, I was confident I could win the race on mind power alone.

This is where reality and my ambition began to collide.

On my first training run, I decided I would go for an hour and push as far as I could. One of Goggin’s quotes that struck me was that people often quit at 40%. So every time I started to feel tired I would ask myself what percentage I was at, and if it weren’t 100%, I’d keep going. Basically, I was convinced if I hadn’t vomited by the end of the run I wasn’t pushing hard enough, a statement that horrified my poor mother!

On that first day I ran 11km, sprinting up the last hill to pass another runner across my make believe finish line. I did almost vomit, but I was elated, grinning triumphantly because I’d successfully pushed past my 40%.

However, the next day I ran, I started to feel pain in my hips. Over the next four days, I continued training, but afterwards, I was struggling to walk and found staircases excruciating. I saw a physio back in Australia who prescribed me orthotics because my left leg is shorter than my right, and according to him, was the cause for throwing my pelvis off balance. He told me to take a week off running, get used to the new insoles and take it from there.

Cut to a week later, after paying an exorbitant amount of money I ran 8km and experienced even worse pain in my hips within the first few minutes. I was crushed, but assuming it might be the last time I would ever run, I ran the full 8km I’d intended, tearing up my feet on the useless orthotics in the process and limping home in defeat.

I spent the next two weeks on an exercise bike attempting to maintain some kind of fitness until I arrived back in Vancouver to visit my trusty chiropractor, Dr. Sam. I essentially went straight from the airport to his practice and after a descent readjustment, he told me to take two days off with no running before seeing him again.

On the second visit a week ago, he gave me the all clear to run, so naturally, I went straight to the gym, signed up with a personal trainer, invested in a concoction of protein powders, supplements, and electrolytes and hit the treadmill.

Kyle my trainer told me what I was attempting was ambitious, to say the least, but for the first few days, I think I had us both fooled. I transformed my diet, went to the gym for at least three hours each day, and walked out with a huge grin knowing I was moving one step closer towards my goal.

Then yesterday I did my first 10km run since my initial training, and within the first few minutes my hips flared up again. Of course, I ran the entire 10km, but I went straight back to my chiropractor who merely shook his head and asked if there was any way I could get a refund for the race.

Somehow I was not prepared for this response and had to hold back tears while Dr. Sam completed his treatment. At the end, he told me to rest for the weekend and see him next week, and by the time I left his practice I was an emotional wreck, crying the entire way back to my friend Sue’s house while biking through Vancouver’s persistent rain.

At that point, I had to question why this race is so important to me.

The truthful answer is something far deeper than my conscience drives me. Whether it comes from a place of fear or insecurity or a desire for attention, I don’t know, but it’s in my nature to follow through on things I say I’m going to do. It’s a part of an identity I pride myself on, and when something goes against the grain, it throws my entire sense of character into chaos.

The other answer is the marathon is the only concrete element in my life right now. I’m homeless, jobless, and have just moved back to a city I’m not even sure I want to make my home in. I want to be self-employed and set up a business in one of the most expensive cities in the world, and in the midst of searching for accommodation, considering living out of a van, and debating part-time dog walking jobs, I’m spending my savings on personal trainers and protein powder, trying to gauge whether I’ve completely lost my mind.

Compared to my other objectives, the marathon is a rather straightforward affair. It has a specific date, a set distance, a defined course, a cut-off time, and I have a nutrition and training plan to follow. It would almost seem ‘easy’ if my body would just cooperate.

So as I sit here with an icepack on my hip having waddled up the staircase of Sue’s apartment, I’m still holding onto a small thread of hope that somehow in twenty-four days I’ll be ready to run 42km. Though it seems unlikely as I can barely scuttle across the road to beat traffic, if I do have to accept defeat on this particular challenge, at least I’ll be satisfied I didn’t quit at 40%.

Having crossed the Salish Sea

I’ve been unpacking, washing and drying out gear for the last 4 hours since I got home, but that’s sea kayaking for you, and all I can say is the effort is well worth the experience we had over the last 8 days.

Arriving into Secret Cove

We arrived in Secret Cove on Saturday afternoon, after paddling 26kms that day and a total of 166kms over the 8 days we were on the water. Despite the wind warnings we managed to stay on schedule, and decided to spend Saturday night at Dave’s sister’s house after our final campsite was full of people enjoying the long weekend on the Sunshine Coast.

Our final campsite (Friday night) in Boom Bay on Jedediah Island

Yesterday we completed our crossing of the Salish Sea, and even though we did it in stages, we still did it! The experience was a lot more enjoyable than doing it in one hit with no island hopping in-between, and even while it was broken up, some of the 8-10km stretches against waves and wind were still a hard slog!

The final reading on my GPS

I’m definitely one to enjoy my alone time, but I have to say I can’t imagine doing a trip like this without companions. Tyson had to leave after day 4, but even with the three of us left (Dave, Amber and myself), we had such a grand time together, respecting everyone’s highs and lows that we inevitably all experience, and functioning like a super star team. A well-oiled machine doesn’t even cut it, we seemed to function just on instinct.

Tyson, Amber, Dave & me at the Dingy Dock Pub opposite Nanaimo

My favourite memories from the trip were the moments of silent belly laughter or contemplation whilst watching the sun set over the horizon. The worst times were carrying our boats through low tide sludge where the mud would suck my shoes from my feet and force me to step on the sharp barnacles beneath. Or the mosquitos that forced me to abandon cowboy camping on Ballenas Island and set up my tent in the wind on a slant, only to wake up to it collapsing on me.

My tent the next day after being resurrected in the middle of the night

But the challenging times make the good ones even more magnificent, and I wouldn’t trade any of them for a second (except for finding Amber’s car broken into when we returned to Horseshoe Bay today 😦 ).

Sunset on Ballenas Island

I feel alive in a way I sometimes forget to feel when I’m deep in the grind. A week or sometimes even a few days away can press that reset button we should all switch on and off from time to time. Those moments when you watch over the ocean and think about how big the world is are just priceless. I never come to any grand conclusions about this insane world we live in, but at least I have time to think about it, and realise just how small I am in the big scheme of things.

Red moon from all the fires in BC

A small hit of nature can do wonders for the soul, and I feel recharged enough to put my head down for the remainder of August and most of September before I do anything like this again. Thanks for coming along for the adventure and for sharing in the experience. Reflecting on these moments allow me to appreciate them for just a little longer.

Dave and I enjoying ‘Good Times Outside’

Onward to Ballenas Island

We made it to Southey Island yesterday despite the wind warnings, and although there were waves and the paddling was tough, it was nothing like the waves coming into Nanaimo thankfully.

Amber paddling through a cave next to Jesse Island

Southy was the first island that wasn’t an official campsite with outhouses and designated areas to sleep. I think that’s why I liked it so much, I finally felt like we were removed from the rest of the world.

Arriving at Maude Island thinking it was Southey

A lot of these islands are just giant rocks poking their heads out of the ocean with trees sprinkled over the tops. We transitioned from smooth sandstone to granite rocks as we’ve headed north, or so my paddling companions tell me, I’m more focussed on the water and the sky and the beauty of having absolutely nothing to do. It’s amazing how quickly I fill up my days at home and leave zero time to even stare out the window.

Tea & ukulele on Southey Island at sunset

Right now I’m lying on the rocky beach of Ballenas Island feeling as close to heaven as I think life can ever be. The waves are slowly creeping towards my feet and my only concern is ensuring that I and my boat don’t float out to sea. Like me, I need to drag my boat a few feet up the beach every half hour.

Beautiful warm rocks on Ballenas Island

As a kid I always wondered what it would be like to be stranded on a desert island. I had no idea that it was even possible to paddle to an island in the middle of the ocean and stay for the night or longer. We weren’t a camping family, I spent holidays on a farm exploring the paddocks and river and sometimes went bush bashing with my sister, but I didn’t develop a real appreciation for nature and the outdoors until I hiked the PCT. I know it always comes back to the trail, but in the same way kids grow up camping or paddling and that lifestyle just becomes engrained into who they are, the trail cemented nature into my veins. It’s like an addiction now. I just can’t live without it.

Watching sunset from Southey Island

We had a half day of paddling today, only going 10km from Southey to Ballenas Island via a marina that was under renovation. It’s been a treat to come across at least one marina on this trip, and it’s not something I ever expected, but when you are expecting it and it’s not there the disappointment can be enourmous. I dreamt of cinemon buns all night but paddled away empty handed.

Reaching the 100km mark yesterday

We’ve paddled a total of 116km and have three more days to go. It’s funny how the first half of a trip you feel like it will last forever, and then once you’re beyond half way you have to conciously keep your mind in the present and not allow it to slip back to all the things you need to do when you get home. Like all good things it’s sad to think of it being over, but at the same time I’m grateful to even feel this way.

View from our campsite on Ballenas Island

Soon it’ll be time to warm up the jetboils and get dinner cooking. We’re hoping to see phosphorescence this evening like we did on Day 2, and hopefully we’ll be able to stay up late enough to swim in them. We’ll be cowboy camping right by the water’s edge tonight so we can literally roll out, dry off and fall asleep. It’ll all depend on the moon, but we’re facing north east so hopefully we’re in for a good show!

At the mercy of the wind

The moon is shining like a spotlight through my tent this evening and it’s not even full. It’s probably also the first night in a while when I’ve camped and it’s been too hot to wear my sleeping bag! I love these nights. It’s the kind of night that I wish I didn’t have a single walled tent!

Sunset at Pirate’s Cove – Day 3

It’s day four, and we’ve had some incredibly eventful days already. Today in particular was quite hairy. We were paddling against 30 knot headwinds (approx 55km) into 5-8 foot waves attempting to reach Nanaimo. If my boat wasn’t fully loaded I’m sure I would have flipped, but instead we were just pelted in the face by salt water as we did our best to stay together during the 4km crossing. I didn’t get any video or photos of the experience. I was hanging onto dear life to my paddle which was being blown out of my hands. It was that kind of exhilarating experience you wish would be over while you’re in it, but you know you’ll look back on and be proud you survived.

Dave’s wind umbrella (would not have been helpful today)
Paddling through a shallow channel – Day 3

There are severe wind warnings in affect tomorrow (like today believe it or not), so having reached our day 4 campsite by the hair of our teeth we’re contemplating what the next few days will look like. We’ve paddled over 80km already, and like Dave continues to remind me, sea kayaking is entirely weather dependant, so we’ll see what tomorrow and the next few days bring. The wind warning is in effect until Thursday afternoon, so it might stop us from crossing Georgia Straight entirely, but whatever, I’ve laughed so hard on this trip my ribs hurt, and the only reason I think any of us are out here is for a chance to escape reality and to have a bit of fun.

Ice cream on Newcastle Island (before a hilarious game of horseshoe)
Red = severe winds (we’re surrounded)

On this trip I’ve learned a lot about island life and boating life in general. Sea kayakers and sailboats/yachts move in similar circles location wise (beaches, marinas, island pubs), but certainly behave very differently when it comes to cooking and sleeping. It’s been fun getting a glimpse into their world and to realise that although their boat costs about a bajillion times more than mine, I’d much prefer to be paddling my boat with my soggy tortillas and hummus in the hatches, than be on their fancy crafts. It’s quite a liberating realisation I must say.

Coming out of our first marina having purchased fresh water and cinnamon buns
Tea on the beach (I cut all my hair off the day before the trip!)
Our boats docked at the Dinghy Dock Pub, Protection Island

We’ve seen some incredible scenery, stunning beaches, beautiful sandstones cliffs with amazing shapes carved into them from the sea. We’ve seen bald eagles swooping down to catch fish, gulls attempting to swallow star fish, racoons surrounding our tents at night, and hoards of spider crabs that brought out the arachnophobe in me.

Groovy patterns in the sandstone
Dave measuring distance on the map using a green bean
Dave and Amber pumping water at Pirates Cove

I could safely say if I left tomorrow I’d still be satisfied with the trip we’ve had, but we still have 5 more days to go, so undoubtedly there will be more adventures to come. Sometimes straying off course presents an entirely new possibility you never bargained for. We’ll see what happens tomorrow!

Sunset at Chivres Point, Wallace Island – Day 2
Sunset tonight under the haze of BC’s forest fires

Time moves slower out here

I haven’t lay in a tent and typed on my phone for years it seems. The months I spent tapping on this tiny screen on the PCT seems crazy to me now. How did I do it? Why did I do it? I guess it’s human nature to want to share your story when you’re riding a high. Like coming home from a great day at work or receiving a phone call that has the potential to be life changing. All you want to do is tell someone! I think that’s what this blog was to me back then. A vehicle to share those highs and lows. It’s what it still is I guess, though I question it a lot more now, like all social media. There’s just so much content out there, I can’t help but question why it is we do this.

Packing our boats at the ferry terminal in Tsawwassen

 

What I wanted to share though this evening was my very best discovery of the day. It’s something I’d forgotten about being in nature, and one of the key reasons we should all get back to it from time to time. What I was reminded of is that time slows down. There is nothing to do out here except be out here. To watch the sun slowly slip behind the horizon and leave radiant colours in its path. To watch the tide slowly creeping up the sand until it’s lapping at your toes. Every microsecond the world around us is changing, but when you watch it change, it moves so much slower than you think.

Dinner with the crew: Tyson, Dave, Amber and me

 

We have been blessed with good weather for this trip, and a tail wind that had Dave moving around 5km/h just by holding up his giant umbrella. (Photos on my waterproof camera will have to be posted later). It was pretty choppy out there, but the waves were at least moving us forward.

Mt Baker in the background

 

We’re camping at a spot called James Bay on Prevost Island. It’s glorious, not the most secluded but private enough that we had our own beach front kitchen space and some flat grassy spots under a grouping of apple trees to pitch our tents.

View from our beach kitchen

 

Tomorrow we’re aiming to be on the water by 7am. I’m so looking forward to coffee and oatmeal in the  morning. Mainly for old times sake. I’ll be tired of oatmeal by day three, but it’s the routine of making it and the cooking of breakfast on the beach that will make up for the flavour!

Goodnight from James Bay!

Return to the Salish Sea

Well hi there, yes it’s been a long time, and with time comes a big responsibility to satisfy whatever expectations you have of what prevented me from writing all this time. If I wasn’t fighting crocodiles or scaling glaciers or walking across the god damn universe, what excuse do I have for leaving you hanging in the balance, tapping the refresh button, waiting for this update to finally arrive? You were waiting for it though, right?

Unfortunately I don’t have any real excuses or a lot to report. I spend about 90 hours a week in front of my laptop, and the remaining time is spent paddling or lying horizontal. I see this year as my ‘head down get shit done year’, and if it doesn’t kill me I’m hoping next year will be my ‘let’s get as far away from my laptop as possible year’.

But until then, my next adventure is a 9-day sea-kayaking trip along the Salish Sea Marine Trail. For those of you who followed some of my paddling adventures last year, you may recall my failed attempt to cross the Salish Sea from Nanaimo to Vancouver in one hit. This trip is not that! We’re taking 9 days to go double that distance. It’s a vacation, and it’s meant to be fun!

Watching the sun set from the Copeland Islands – Desolation Sound trip in May 2017

So in addition to the story of my sedentary-soon-to-become-active-life for 9 days, I’m documenting my trip preparations for those of you who may also want to jump in a boat and go on a multi-day trip, or on an overnight trip, or at least just start dreaming about it!

My gear for this trip

Whether it’s a 9-day trip or an overnight excursion, your gear pretty much stays the same, (like hiking, but totally different at the same time). You just need to take a hell of a lot more food, but the nice thing about travelling in a boat is that provided it fits in your hatches, the weight doesn’t make all that much difference!

My food for this trip

When you’re travelling on water (unlike hiking), you also need to keep an eye on currents, tides and the wind. I’ve just downloaded a new app called AyeTides, which I’m excited to test out. There’s nothing worse than waking up to discover the tide is out and you now need to carry your heavy boat 500m to the water, or even worse, waking up to find your boat has been washed away because you didn’t carry it above the high tide line or tie it up!

Arriving at Martin Islands – Desolation Sound May 2017

You can click on the links below to review my:

GEAR LIST

FOOD LIST

ITINERARY

The biggest difference on this trip compared to other multi-day kayak trips I’ve done is that we’re rolling our boats onto the ferry to get from the mainland to Vancouver Island. This means I’ll be taking a set of kayak wheels that I’ll need to strap to the deck of my boat, which won’t be ideal but I’m sure I can manage. I’ve seen my friend paddle with a two-burner stove on their deck so I know it can be done!

Then once we arrive in Swartz Bay we’ll roll our kayaks off the ferry, head to the water, strap the wheels to the deck and start paddling!

Our trip plan (click on the map to view the interactive version)

You can read more about the Salish Sea Marine Trail here. We’re doing a 165km portion of the 260km trail, which goes all the way from Victoria to Vancouver, and when I say trail, I mean there’s official campsites you can pull up to on the islands you paddle past on the way. If we make good time we may even paddle all the way to Squamish to drop off my friend Dave. That would mean one less ferry trip coming home, but we’ll see how we do!

Happy paddling! 🙂

View from the Copeland Islands – Desolation Sound May 2017