The fog settled in the trees surrounding the deep green water of Coos Bay as Elliot and I unloaded kayaks from the trailer while Steve went over shuttling logistics with the rest of the class. It was late October on the Oregon Coast, but the water of the bay was calm. We were there for a three-day sea kayaking course offered by my college’s Outdoor Adventure Leadership program. Steve, the head of the program, was leading the pack. Growing up on the Rogue River, I had spent plenty of time in inflatable rafts and tahitis, but had never been in a hard-body kayak before, let alone a fourteen-foot touring model on the ocean. We had spent the early morning paddling around Empire Lake to get the feel for them. Once everyone was geared up in wetsuits, paddle jackets, and PFDs, we launched from the Charleston Marina.
Coos Bay consists of a vast network of sloughs, estuaries, and the open bay itself. The water is shared with shipping barges, crabbing and fishing boats, as well as kayakers, depending on the time of year. While the weather was brisk with slight overcast, the dark saltwater itself was unbroken on that morning, mimicking a calm lake rather than rough, choppy water typically seen on the ocean. As we paddled from our launching spot, our kayaks broke the glassy sea beneath us. The six of us appeared to be the only ones exploring that morning.
The rest of the morning was spent coasting around the bay and various sloughs, chatting about the basics of kayaking, the breathtaking beauty of the area, and our plans for the remainder of the fall. Steve explained how the tides work and the importance of sea kayakers paying attention to them to avoid having to work their way back against the current. I found the pace of sea kayaking to be tranquil in comparison to playing around in the whitewater I was used to. We got a chance to see deer, a multitude of birds, and seals as we paddled. There were many moments of silence as our group took in the quintessential Pacific Northwestern landscape that surrounded us.
As the day progressed, we began to feel hungry. There was a spot that Steve would normally stop with the sea kayaking class for lunch. Elliot and I had told him it seemed like there was a better spot to stop about five hundred yards ahead, and the other students agreed. Steve decided to change the destination. We stopped for our mid-day meal. I didn’t eat a ton; instead, I took this opportunity to have a couple of snacks and stretch my legs. As we were deep in conversation, Steve took a look at his watch and the water. “We need to get moving.” He said while packing his boat with the remnants of his lunch. The rest of us followed suit, and soon enough, we were back on the water.
Once I was in my boat, the pace at which we were moving was noticeably different. Each stroke of my paddle took me half as far as it had before stopping for our break. We were headed toward our launch point, but it was apparent we had missed the tide change and were now working against the current. In addition to the changes in the water, the wispy overcast clouds above us were morphing into powerful, dark gray storm clouds, and the wind was picking up.
A sandbar appeared as we continued to our launch point. The changes in the tide made it more apparent than it had been on our way in. The water to the left of the sandbar was moving much faster than the water on the right. Going right around the sandbar was going to force us further into the middle of the bay, but going left meant fighting a much heavier current for a shorter amount of time. Elliot chose to go left, closer to shore, and deal with the current. The rest of us went right, drifted further into open water, hoping for a break in the tide. As we all paddled, we were slowly drifting further apart.
The clouds above began to dump rain on us, and the wind was intensifying. The emerald water beneath the kayak began to swell more and more with each stroke of my paddle. As daylight drifted from us, the swells started to break, creating whitecaps all along the bay. The waves grew in size as time went on, forcing us to deal with three-foot swells that broke into gushing whitewater. The forty-five-degree angle at which the swells were coming in forced me to redirect my kayak to hit them head-on and avoid getting tipped over, then redirect toward the coastline, and repeat. Everyone in our party had to do this, which resulted in us spreading out further as our voyage continued.
Dusk fell upon the bay quickly, and the jade colored water faded to a black mass tipped with white fizz as waves broke all around me. As I rode the swells, I could feel my boat lift off each one, then roll off the back and crash back onto the bay. I was catching air in a fourteen-foot touring kayak, something I did not think was possible. At this point, we were paddling for more than two hours and had only made it a little more than halfway to our destination. Working hard against the current, it felt as if there was no progress being made. Now and again, I would turn my head left to count the boats and make sure everyone was still afloat. We had all turned on the flashing lights attached to our lifejackets to ensure we were easily spotted by any potential freighters or other boats.
I continued to paddle for another hour or so, tapping into an ancient part of my psyche. The few snacks I had consumed were all burned up at this point during the arduous journey back to land, so I was running on nothing but will. It was now dark, but I could see the illuminated dock in the distance that lay just before where we had launched earlier that morning. There were two things on my mind. The most important one was do not flip over. Given that we were in such large boats loaded with gear, we were trained for what is known as a wet exit rather than rolling back over. If one of us were to flip, we would pull the tab on the neoprene skirt that covered the hull of the kayak, and somersault out. This technique works great when working in calm water, with other boaters nearby who can help get you back in, but there was no way in hell I was going to subject myself to treading water in the middle of the bay at night. The second thought was that there was an ice-cold root beer in the cooler in the back of my Chevy. My blood sugar was completely tanked, and I couldn’t wait to replenish it.
With my destination in view, there was no choice but to paddle. The rain had settled a bit, but the wind and waves were still a challenge as I inched toward the coastline. “Row. Row. Row”, I chanted to myself like some sort of Myrmodin making his way toward the beaches of Troy. My ball cap had completely soaked through to my head, but I was running hot due to the extreme amount of exertion that had taken place over the last few hours. I’d managed to make my way from the center of the bay and cut in front of the rest of the group as we got closer to the dock. I could see two people standing on it, and the silhouette of one showed a stocky man with a kayaking skirt dangling from his waist; it was Elliot. The other was a local who had been following our group from the shoreline to ensure no one tipped over, fearing he would have to call the Coast Guard.
Rather than try to jet back out and around the dock, I aimed for landing on a small beach right before it. There were some rocks to navigate around, but I was in the home stretch. Using the waves (which were much less intense) to my advantage, I paddled toward land, catching the swell and riding the waves until one final swell shot me right underneath the dock, and the friction of the sand put a halt to my momentum. The voyage was over. I made it.
Elliot came down to the beach to greet me. I pulled my skirt and stumbled out of the boat. I don’t recall what I said to him, if anything, but we both carried my kayak up the hill to the parking lot above the dock.
“Where are the others? Where’s Steve?” He asked.
“They’re not far behind,” I replied.
After a little bit, the rest of the students began to show up on the water. We could see the faint orange of the boats in the darkness and flickering lights on their PFDs. Knowing that the others were safe and the Coast Guard wasn’t going to have to get involved, I had one thought: the root beer.
Digging my car keys out of my life jacket pocket, I walked on jello-y legs toward my SUV. I popped the hatch, dropped the tailgate, and then opened my cooler. A bright silver can coated in condensation sat upon the ice. I retrieved it, sat on my tailgate, and opened it. Pshht- The contents of the can were consumed in a matter of seconds. With a renewed sense of self, I returned to the group, who were now all safely on land.
We loaded up our boats and gear, then headed back to our campsite. My hopes of taking a shower at the campsite bathroom were crushed after finding out the host had locked the door at 8 PM. The sugar rush from the root beer had worn off, and I had zero interest in cooking a meal. While the rest of the group started a campfire, I told Elliot I was going to sleep. I got into my sleeping bag in the back of my SUV and passed out.
I was woken by the sound of Elliot’s deep laugh as he and Steve stood around what was left of the previous night’s fire. The faint sun shone through the dewy trees surrounding our camp, and I looked up to see a clear sky. We made ourselves some breakfast and reminisced about the night before a bit before waking up the rest of the group and loading our gear. I figured the last two days of the trip couldn’t be as intense as the first, but then again, yesterday’s events were totally unexpected. The cloudless sky gave us all a sense of optimism.
The rest of our time was spent paddling through different backwater sloughs, banks lined with coniferous trees, and wildlife. While the weather was still cool, it felt good to have the sun shining on our faces. At the end of the class, we all went to dinner. Steve was sure to emphasize the importance of sticking to turnaround times as a leader in the outdoors, and explained that the situation we were in could have been avoided had he not let us have lunch at the new spot. I’d like to say there was some other lesson learned from this experience, but I’ve struggled to put it into words ever since.
Playing around in the outdoors comes with risk, and that’s true with all adventurous endeavors, whether you’re a backpacker, hunter, rock climber, or sea kayaker. No matter how seasoned you are when it comes to outdoor adventure, nature can, and always will, test you. One thing I do know, that has been a constant in my life, is that going through difficult things and coming out on the other side builds character, and that is true in all aspects. Experiences like these are the foundation of the human spirit. They also make for fun stories to tell at parties.
