Monday dawned sunny and clear. I may have done a happy dance when I opened the blinds. Between the sun and the many eagles soaring overhead, I figured this had to be a good omen for the trip.
We arrived at the boat dock to load our remaining gear. Some of the other families were also loading gear. Based on the amount of crap on the dock, I was starting to wonder how much weight the boat could hold and where on earth were we going to put it all. Instead of having to help load the boat, I lucked out and pulled baby holding duty. It seemed like it took forever to load the boat, get the last minute things like gas for the skiff and fishing licenses, and get going. Instead of pulling out of the harbor at eight like we were supposed to, it ended up being closer to ten. On the way across the bay to get water, we realized that we were missing three people. After some confusion, they met us at the water dock, and had to climb down a giant ladder to meet us on the boat. Ironically my mother, who is terribly afraid of heights, was part of the missing party. And as her luck would have it, it was low tide so the ladder was extra long. After climbing down a barnacle and muscle infested ladder, we finally had everyone on board and set out for the Queen Charlotte Sound.
The big question at this point is who gets seasick. Some were known were already known for their dislike of rough water and some having been on the sea a large portion of their life knew they would be fine. Did I get seasick? We were about to find out. I decided not to take any medicine because I wanted to know for future reference. Besides, I’m tough as nails, how bad could some waves be? This turned out to be a poor idea as about half way across the sound I found myself headed outside for fresh air. Before I knew it, I was breaking out in a cold sweat and heading for the side of the boat as quickly as I could maneuver the various steps and ladders in the rain. I spent the remainder of the trip across the sound totally in a zen like state, staring intently at the horizon and repeating the fifty states in alphabetical order while willing the boat to go faster. Finally we turned the corner and I dragged my exhausted self into the fo’c’sle (short for forecastle) for a nap. It was pouring rain and I had no desire to be the first person to the beach.
We spent Monday afternoon and night at Indian Cove, on Cape Caution. We quickly found our rain gear and set up our tents in the rain. I’ve never been so happy to own a pair of rain pants. With my Chaco’s on instead of close toed shoes and rain pants rolled up so they didn’t drag in the mud, I made quite the fashion statement. I discovered what makes camping in the rain more tolerable . . . alcohol. A swig or two of Maker’s Mark went a long way in improving my attitude about the weather. And some Bailey’s. And some Goldschlagger.
The beach here was awesome. Enclosed in a little bay the water was nice and gentle. A short walk through the forest led you to the other side of the cape and another awesome, bigger beach. People have found glass floats on this beach before, so I kept my eyes open but all I got was wet. Eventually it was time for some hot dogs over the fire and then low and behold it stopped raining!
Since it had stopped raining, I decided that this would be a good time to air out my tent. What I discovered wasn’t a stale tent, but a wet one. The sideways blowing rain and the slope of the beach had created a small puddle in the tent and gotten my sleeping bag wet. Annoying, but not a biggie since the sun was out now and I could set it outside to dry.
While my sleeping bag was drying, we took another trip over to the big beach to see it in the sun. The little cousins didn’t think twice about running into the waves and getting even wetter than they already were. One of them would go in far enough that the waves would splash into her rain boots. At which point she tricked one of the guys into emptying her boots out for her every time the ocean got in them. Easy to do when you’re a beautiful and precocious nine-year old.
As I was wiggling around in my tent that night, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, I heard the rain start up again. My dad had informed me not 15 minutes before that he was pretty sure it wouldn’t rain again that night. He should be a weatherman. After silently cursing the rain, I finally made it to sleep. Only to wake up in the middle of the night needing to use the facilities. And since the facility was on the boat, anchored offshore, I mean a bush. Somehow my shoes had gotten wet. I didn’t think much about it until I looked back into the tent and saw that it had turned into a swimming pool during the past hours of rain. I don’t think I’ve ever dropped quite so many swear words as I did when I discovered how badly my tent was leaking. Nor have I ever prayed for daylight to come so fast. Despite having a rain fly on, I now had water dripping through the rain fly and the tent. Seriously? Talk about bad camping karma. As soon as the sun was up, I was out of my tent packing up the wet gear. After using my beach towel to sop up the water, and wringing it out no less than three times, I finally had the floor of the tent mostly dry.
I awoke soggy in a flooded tent, but when I stepped outside, the sun was trying to break through the clouds and a perfect rainbow was hanging over the Kristin Joye. I think the universe was trying to apologize for my soggy night. I needed some coffee before all would be forgiven and this turned into a funny story.
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