by Rob Muylwyk
Early one Saturday morning, in the middle of August of 2002, I joined Dan, John C., Greg and Dave for a windy weekend trip, organized and led by John D, along the northeast coast of the Bruce Peninsula. I had just checked the weathernetwork.com, so I could share the dire predictions with the group: winds in the order of 40 km/h. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day, and nobody seemed too worried about the forecast, so away we went. As we would paddle from east to west, we dropped some cars off at Dunk’s Bay, near Tobermory, and left the others at Cabot Head, the far eastern starting point. We found access to the water a bit south of the lighthouse, on a cobble beach. Carrying the boats down the uneven boulders was tricky, as John C. would remember the rest of the trip from the wounds on his legs and the scratches on his boat’s gelcoat. Winds out of the south at 10 km/h produced some gentle swells for our 1.5-kilometre ride to the head, where we turned west. From here on the escarpment shielded us from the wind for the next 10 clicks, which we took at a leisurely pace, enjoying the scenery. In this section, the sheer cliffs rise some 70 metres, amplifying and echoing the calls of the loons. A pair of herons winged along majestically, and to top it off, a bald eagle flew by. I had not seen an eagle on the peninsula before, to my knowledge the nearest nesting place was on the Meaford tank range, so I was very excited about this sighting. There is no land access to this section of the Bruce National Park – even the Bruce Trail is far inland here – so we enjoyed the beauty and serenity of this magical place undisturbed.
We stopped for lunch and a refreshing dip just east of High Dump. Back on the water, the wind had turned into a stiff westerly, so the next 8.5 kilometres gave us a complimentary workout at reduced speed. At Cave Point we briefly explored some nooks and crannies, visible and accessible from the water only. Stormhaven, our planned and registered campsite was just around the corner from here. John D. had left his registration information in his car, so we had to guess which of the tent platforms was ours, and since nobody challenged our choice of number 7, it must have been the right one. Maybe these platforms fit six people, but not in as many individual tents. Three tents were therefore pitched on the rocks, on a spot far more beautiful than the designated one. That rogue campsite was magical, reminiscent of a temple, with rock-formed steps leading to the inner sanctum, in this case the area where we cooked our six individual meals. As most of these appeared to be of the pasta variety, I remarked that we were all carbo-loading to get energy for the next day’s leg. Not much later, Dan shot back at me that he went for some carbo-unloading …
The east-west alignment of this coast played tricks with my head. From our location, we could see a number of points far in the distance, in the direction from where we had come that day, and as is usual on the Georgian Bay side of the Peninsula, I foolishly decided that the farthest point had to be Cape Croker. I was eventually corrected by the others, and then I had to deal with the next trick: the setting sun was clearly visible here as well, a feature normally associated with the Lake Huron side of the peninsula. I obviously needed another swim in the now much colder Bay to get my head properly oriented. I am not sure how the wine and beer we shared further affected my judgement.
It had rained that night, but stopped early in the morning when I went rummaging in my boat for some Tylenol in aid of my apparently still confused head. The sun was just coming up – another amazing feature of this location – but most of the sky was filled with a threatening pitch-black cloud; definitely time to press the snooze button.
After breakfast, the radio reported that the west wind had now come up to 30 km/h, which helped a lot with drying the tents. We decided to head out, as we could only expect the wind to get stronger during the day’s progress, this was a questionable risk management strategy. Soon we had to face the full brunt of the wind, with waves between 4 and 5 feet. They came very close together as well, thus we would climb up one wave, then dive down over the top, with the next wave crashing on our front decks. John D. lagged behind to paddle with Dave, who had problems making any progress at all. During yesterday’s struggle against the west wind, I had carefully suggested to Dave that he should try to rotate his waist to let the bigger muscles do the work, but this advice had little effect. We landed 7.5 kilometres and two hours later at Driftwood Cove, for lunch and a bit of a rest, and to wait for John D. and Dave. While waiting, we discussed the idea that a group’s tempo should be determined by the slowest paddler, an axiom which did not make sense to everybody. Eventually we saw sun flashes reflecting off Dave and John’s paddles, as they entered the sheltered bay, at which point John D. broke off and came in quickly. When at last Dave made it to shore, he threw his paddle on the rocks, yelled at us, and proceeded to stay away from the rest of the group. This was too bad, as it did not give us the opportunity to talk it over – a frank and open discussion might have resulted in a more satisfactory ending.
After making sure that Dave and John D. had rested as well, we evaded the flies (other than those that found their way under my skirt) and started off for the last 6.5-kilometre leg. We later learned that the wind had now come up to 45 km/h; the 3-foot waves were better behaved, but it was hard work. This stretch took 2.5 hours, with no opportunity for sightseeing, as all eyes were on the oncoming rollers. Pretty soon we started to drift apart by paddling strength, John C. and Dan ahead, John D, Greg and I in the centre, and Dave trailing farther behind with each stroke. The three of us needed all our attention to keep going. I know that there was one moment in which I considered turning around and waiting for him, but somehow it passed, and eventually we lost sight of Dave. Now, almost two years later, I still feel awful about this, but at the time, I simply had to keep going. Clearly Dave was not the only one in over his head, and I was just hoping that that would not take on a literal meaning.
At the entrance to Dunk’s Bay, the waves suddenly came from all directions, a real confused soup. The water became friendlier as we neared the beach, where the front runners were waiting for us. Their mouths fell open once they heard that we had lost Dave. Personally I found their surprised worry hypocritical: they were the stronger paddlers and would have been in a much better position to help, if that position had not been way out in front! Then, as John D. started to call the coast guard, we suddenly saw a ghost appearance: Dave sauntered up to us from the landside of the beach! He had wisely decided that he had no business being out there, so he pulled out at Little Cove, the bay halfway between our lunch spot and our landing beach. There he had found a friendly cottager who drove him and his kayak to Dunk’s Bay. Phew, what a relief!
During the following days I kept thinking about what had happened. In fact, I felt awful about how we, as a group, had let down one of our members, and how I personally had done nothing about it. I expressed my thoughts in an e-mail message to the other paddlers, asking for their reactions. Apparently some debriefing had already taken place in a Tobermory pub after the trip, a part of the day that I had regrettably opted out of. From that, and also from Dave’s e-mail response, it was clear that he had no hard feelings about the events. One of the opinions was that people should only participate in a trip if they can handle the worst case limit of the trip rating – B-2 in this case. The actual conditions ended up well beyond that rating, but I maintain that, once a group is together, they should endeavour to stay together no matter what. It was also stated, that a group needs to have experience paddling together before they can rely on each other’s help. None of these statements, including Dave’s, made me feel any better about it. This story could easily have had a bad ending, in which case we would never have been able to forget this trip.
What could we have done to prevent the problem? There are a number of things, but mostly they come down to the idea that we should have openly discussed the situation with Dave at Driftwood Cove. When we saw Dave and John D. come in, somebody remarked that the “buddy system” was working. But it was not, as there had been no talk about who was buddied up with whom. Although we were sheltered in this cove, we knew very well that we would encounter the same conditions again once we left it. We ought to have discussed alternate solutions, such as towing, waiting it out, or even just a commitment to stick together. I am sure that Dave was asked if he was okay to continue, but it was foolish to take his affirmation at face value. Dave could also have blown his whistle while still within audible range, to let us know he was having difficulties.
Finally, I would like to make it clear that I don’t blame anybody for the situation. John D. did a great job organizing the trip and letting us come with him. I revisited Stormhaven on a recent fall hike, and standing on the steps of my magical temple, I vowed to soon return to paddle this coast in the near future, as I still haven’t seen a thing of the last section of the escarpment!
Although this trip took place in 2002, it took some time for Rob to come to terms with what happened. This thoughtful and thought-provoking article appeared in the Spring 2004 issue of Qayaq, and hence is posted with the 2004 Trip Reports. (Ed.)