My wife Gabby and I have often paddled to Lopez Island in Washington State’s San Juan Islands with friends or as part of club events for the Washington Kayak Club. The southern coastline of Lopez is beautiful and is a place where you can be lulled into overlooking the risks of kayaking there. It is a place I enjoy, but I don’t take it lightly.

To get from the mainland to Lopez, you have to cross Rosario Strait. Even on the strait’s best days, kayakers need to be wary of shipping traffic traveling the middle of the strait and of currents caused by the ebbing tide. When the flow of a strong ebb works against a southerly wind, the waves jack up until they spill their crests with a hiss that you can hear from a hundred yards away.

In April of this year, I helped lead a group of 14 sea kayakers on a paddling trip organized by the Washington Kayak Club. We assembled at Washington Park in Anacortes, and our plan was to cross Rosario Strait, paddle along the south end of Lopez Island and go on to San Juan Island. At the end of the 21-mile, one-way tour, we’d roll the kayaks aboard the ferry for the return to Anacortes.

We were all wearing dry suits and most of us were carrying safety gear such as VHF radios, towlines, extra paddles, dry clothes, first aid and helmets. In compliance with the standard we set for signing up for the trip, the kayaks all had perimeter lines and flotation provided by two or three watertight compartments. I had communicated to my co-leader, Lisa, that I thought 9 A. M. was a good launch time; however, she had published 8:30 A. M. on the club website to ward off any unexpected last minuters.

The group members were skilled sea kayakers, with experience ranging from a few years to more than 15 years. Some were British Canoe Union (BCU) 5 star, and some were 4 star. One had been paddling whitewater for nearly 20 years and was also a skilled sea kayaker. Another had led major journeys in remote regions and was considered an outstanding paddler and trip leader by his peers. One paddler, Andy, was the exception. He had a background in paddling whitewater in open canoes and had been transitioning into whitewater kayaking over the past year. He had also been on several sea kayak trips—casual trips, alone or with friends and family—but those outings had all been in calm conditions.

The National Weather Service forecast the day of our trip was for winds in the area to be from the south at 10 to 15 knots and for wind waves from one to three feet. The Smith Island station reported winds out of the south at 12 knots. The water temperatures were around 46˚F, and the air temperature was in the mid-40s. Rain showers were expected. The ebb was predicted to peak at 2.6 knots at 9:23 A. M., and the ocean swell on Washington’s outer coast was reported to be six feet at six seconds.

While Lopez Island is 80 miles from the open coast, the Pacific swell can travel east along the Strait of Juan de Fuca and have an effect on the south end of the island. We wouldn’t know if that was going to be the case until we rounded the southeast corner of the island. Looking out across Rosario Strait prior to launch, I saw that the water was rough, but there were no whitecaps. Our goal was to ride the ebb across Rosario to the south end of Lopez, traverse its south coast, then catch the afternoon flood tide as we crossed the San Juan channel and ride it north to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island.

I gave a short talk emphasizing group cohesion, particularly in Rosario Strait, where shipping, rips and waves are all threats. We launched and got off to a good start, keeping the gap between the fast paddlers and the slow to a manageable distance. We saw a tug and barge coming up Rosario, but we had already drawn abreast of Bird Rocks at the edge of the shipping lanes and would be well clear of the tug when it passed by us.

We had finished the crossing of Rosario just north of Cape St. Mary, Lopez’s easternmost point, and planned to land for a short break in Watmough Bay a little more than a mile beyond the cape. Andy was lagging behind—the crossing had left him feeling nauseated from -seasickness.

Andy: “I didn’t know what to expect as we launched that morning, but I was gung ho to the point that I ignored several red flags. For starters, the weather conditions were worse than predicted, and I was immediately uncomfortable in the boat I had borrowed for the trip. As we set out across the choppy channel, I had tight hips and an increasingly queasy stomach. I convinced myself that I would establish a comfort level any minute and there was no need to turn around. I rationalized that, as a beginner, I wasn’t responsible for navigation and all I had to do was paddle and keep up with the group, which didn’t seem overly ambitious. Unfortunately, conditions got worse and so did I. The waves got bigger and my sweep stroke proved inadequate to combat weathercocking. I became seasick to the point of being disoriented and used a lot of energy to focus on keeping upright. Even though I was slipping into a survival mode, I told myself that I had to go through this to learn about sea kayaking and I just needed to remain calm.

In the back of my mind, I was waiting for the waves to stop and was thinking that if I could get a break from the rocking my nausea would disappear and I’d be fine. I was used to paddling rivers, where I’d often have to ratchet up the intensity level to navigate a particular rapid but where it’s also possible to relax, at least for a moment in an eddy, before tackling the next drop. In Rosario Strait, there was no relief from the side swells.”

Lisa and Gabby were close by Andy and offering support. Lisa gave him some crystallized ginger to help ward off nausea. I asked Brent, one of the paddlers closest to Andy and a BCU 5-star sea paddler and Coach level 2, to keep an eye on him in case he needed more assistance. As predicted, the waves in Rosario Strait were rising to about three feet and were breaking in the tide rips along the east side of Lopez. Andy was not comfortable and began to lock up. His visual awareness had narrowed to a steady gaze over the bow, and he was stiff in the torso and was paddling mostly with his arms. I could hear a tone of discomfort in his voice.

The tide race at Kellett Ledge northeast of Cape St. Mary had been made active by the ebb current, and the main group steered toward quieter water west of the green can-buoy marking the underwater ledge. One paddler went directly through the race for play.

In the chop between the ledge and Lopez, Andy capsized. He didn’t roll up, but he had the presence of mind to stay in the kayak and wait for a bow rescue.

Andy: “I made a few weak attempts at rolling. Gabby had been about 15 yards behind me, and I knew she had to have seen me go over, so I waited for a bow rescue. She made it to me in time for me to pop back up with the assistance of her deck.”

Brent came alongside Andy at the same time and helped him get righted. Andy was quickly back up without having to do a wet exit. Brent spoke with Andy briefly and called out to me that Andy needed to get to shore to regain his equilibrium. The nearest place where we could land appeared to be a private beach where the owners were watching us from their deck. Landowners in the San Juans and sea kayakers aren’t always on the best of terms, and I was reluctant to risk a conflict. I also thought of the impact two stops along the route could have on a trip that was scheduled around tidal currents. I asked Andy if he thought he could make Watmough Bay, a mile around the bend, and he said he could.

Halfway to the bay, Andy capsized again in a patch of rougher water south of Cape St. Mary. Andy has a well-practiced roll from whitewater kayaking, but on this day, it failed him.

Andy: “My strength was being sapped—especially following my first frigid dunking—and the waves only got bigger. I eventually hit a wall and became reliant on others for my well-being. I had little strength and adrenaline left when I hit the water a second time. I tried to roll again, but I had little hope that I’d be able to get upright on my own. As before, there was a kayaker paddling next to me, so I waited for him to approach. Unbeknownst to me, he happened to be looking toward the shoreline at the time and didn’t register that I had capsized only a few feet away from him. After about 10 to 15 seconds of waiting, I did my wet exit. Finding myself swimming in the frigid chop was alarming, but it was instant relief from my nausea. I was suddenly clearheaded, but I quickly realized that I had no clue about how I was going to extricate myself from what was suddenly a pretty sticky jam. Luckily somebody else knew.”

Andy swam to the bow of Brent’s kayak and worked with Brent on a T-rescue. The wind was about 10 knots and pushing them toward the rocks on Cape St. Mary. I asked Will, a paddler with lots of experience in open-coast touring and on expedition whitewater trips, to put a towline on Brent’s forward perimeter lines and keep the two boats off the rocks. Clipping the towline to Brent’s bow allowed Brent the freedom of maneuvering Andy’s kayak to complete the rescue. With the rescue complete and Andy back aboard, we got underway for Watmough Bay. We landed at the beach at the head of the bay. All in the group were present.

I checked on Andy again, and he said he felt better and was determined to go on. Scott, a 15-year ocean and river paddler with whom I’ve taken some substantial trips, gave Andy some Dramamine. We knew it would be a couple of hours for it to take effect, so I handed him some ginger tabs for more immediate relief. Andy said the capsize had left him a bit wet and cold—his dry top had a hole in the neck seam of the gasket. He took off the wet layers of clothing, and I gave him a dry fleece top and additional layer of fleece pants from my stash of dry clothes.

I suggested to Andy that if he felt at all in doubt of his ability to make the journey, he could walk or hitchhike to catch the next available ferry landing on the north end of Lopez. Andy said he felt he would be just fine getting back in his kayak and continuing with the trip. I told him the most dangerous part of the journey was crossing Rosario, but the water ahead on the south coast of Lopez Island could be as choppy as what he had passed through. I also told him that after we rounded Watmough Head and Point Colville, there would be at least three bays where he could get ashore if he felt overwhelmed by the conditions.