Feature - August 2005

A Rite of Passage: Finding a way in the Wilderness
Text and photos by Karen Darke

“Paddle hard left!” Suresh called from the aft cockpit, fighting to make his voice heard through the crashing surf. Alan and Tony shouted to us from the beach, “Nose in behind…” but their voices were lost in the rumble of surf-tumbled pebbles. Spray washed the white salty marks off my spray deck as Suresh and I drove the bow of the laden kayak into the gravelly beach. I flinched at the sound of scraping fiberglass, but I was relieved to be ashore and upright. We quickly released our spray decks, as the crew waiting for us on the beach dragged us farther from the reaches of the North Pacific.
With our double kayak landed, all nine of us were safely ashore, and seven brightly clothed paddlers fanned out on the steep beach—some scouting for the flattest bivouac site, others rummaging for carrying slings and harnesses.
Sitting awkwardly among the ocean-smoothed logs, I began making hot drinks and dinner. I shouted out to make myself heard over the roar of the petrol stove, “Could someone pass me a water bag please?” and again, “And if anyone has a pan handy…” Suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness, I fell silent and watched the others as busy as ants unpacking kayaks, stringing clothes on trees to dry, splashing the salt from their skin with fresh water, constructing camp sites—the jobs that needed doing were endless. I looked carefully for someone who appeared less busy. I wanted to catch someone’s eye so I could ask for a dehydrated meal pack that was just beyond my reach.
The stark reality of having no wheelchair and nothing but my arms to drag myself around the rocky beach was glaring at me. The issue was not just my lack of independence, but my total dependence on the rest of the team. It felt uncomfortable. A dread rose in my chest. We had chosen to paddle a thousand miles of the Inside Passage. What if the challenges of the next three months were too much—not just for me but for everyone else? What if carrying Adi and me up and down beaches every morning and evening injured someone? What if the help that Adi and I require distracted all of us from enjoying the wild beauty of the coastline we were all so excited about exploring? I glanced at Adi, and we caught each other’s expressions. His face spelled similar thoughts. “Bit of a shock to the system this, hey?” I commented. He nodded agreement. I didn’t need to articulate it any further.
I decided to get super organized. I had to know very clearly where every piece of my equipment was—which dry bag it was packed in and where in the kayak it was stuffed. The next morning, I prepared a small dry bag to keep between my knees while paddling, with all my essentials for the day and warm clothes to keep me going for a few hours after landing—that way I figured I could be self-sufficient at least for a while.