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.
Andy: “After the break, I was warm and dry. I had downed two energy bars and a liter of water. The nausea had subsided, and Rob and I discussed options. He intimated that after an initial patch of rough seas, things would likely get easier—or at least that’s how I interpreted it. With my ignorance of sea navigation, I mistakenly rationalized that the channel would likely be the roughest part of the trip, and now that I felt better, I thought I had the strength to continue.”
After launching from the beach, the group rounded Watmough Head and encountered waves averaging three feet and breaking, sometimes exceeding four feet with a period of about three seconds. Sometimes paddlers in our group, and even their paddle blades over their heads, disappeared completely from view.
Andy made it around Watmough Head and past Point Colville, but he was struggling to stay upright. The waves around the point were the biggest we had encountered, and the paddlers were keeping their distance from each other to avoid collisions.
Andy: “Back in the boat, my hips were tight and the swells were twice as big as before and half as predictable; to me it was as hectic as paddling in a washing machine or trying to balance on a slackline in a tornado.
“Gabby asked me to warn her if I began to feel sick again, but it all went downhill pretty fast once we rounded the horn of the island. I began to really struggle with trying to sweep my bow to counteract weathercocking, and I felt unstable at every effort. The more I concentrated on digging at the right point on the wave to maintain balance, the sicker I began to feel. I told myself that it was vital to relax and loosen up, but the conditions proved too tough for me to cope with. Before long, steering seemed impossible, and my perspective narrowed dramatically. Waves were all I could see and feel, up and down from random directions. I stabbed desperately at the water with what little strength I had left.”
A short distance beyond Point Colville, Andy capsized for a third time.
Andy: “Once I hit the water, I was done. I was too tired to even try a roll.”
He waited several seconds for a bow rescue, but no one was close enough to get to him in time. Andy did a wet exit and came to the surface holding onto his paddle and boat. While he remained composed enough to hang onto his gear, I could see there was fear in his eyes. Gabby did a rapid T-rescue to get Andy back aboard his kayak, then stabilized Andy while he refastened his spray skirt. Their two kayaks bumped and slapped together in the steep chop. Will clipped a towline to Gabby’s bow and started towing. Dan, a BCU 5-star paddler with a solid whitewater background, thought that Will’s Greenland paddle didn’t seem to have enough bite to pull the rafted kayaks away from the cliff, so he clipped onto Will to help him. The pair towed Gabby and Andy away from the rocky point. A large wave split Gabby and Andy up and bowled both of them over.
Andy: “My memory after the third capsize is a bit hazy. Gabby assisted me, and I got back in my boat. I think I pumped most of the water out, but I’m not sure. The chop was really unpredictable, and I was pretty sick. As we bobbed, I tried to secure my spray skirt with both hands while the swells jerked us around chaotically. Every time I was about to get the skirt on, a wave would rock us and I had to brace on Gabby’s boat. Unfortunately, I’m much bigger than Gabby, and my balance was compromised, quite possibly by a partially flooded boat. By far, the worst moment of the entire ordeal for me came when I dragged Gabby into the drink. I tried to let go of her boat in time, but it was too late, and suddenly it was a two-swimmer -rescue.”
To free her hands to hold on to Andy’s boat, Gabby had tucked her paddle under her deck lines. She couldn’t roll without her paddle, so she bailed out. Andy also did a wet exit. The rescuer, Dan, turned back to the capsized kayaks and, in spite of the rough conditions, managed to begin the rescue again. When the wave that had caused the double capsize hit me, I leaned into it with a firm paddle brace. It surfed me about 50 yards from the group around Andy. Dan filled in the details.
Dan: “I was looking back and saw Gabby and Andy separate and swim. I dropped my belt off since it was clipped to Will’s bow. Will was clipped to Gabby, so he just backed up to her. I went after Andy and got him back aboard. Andy moved out under his own power with Lisa staying close by, so I went to retrieve my tow belt. Andy went over again, so I abandoned my tow belt search and went to rescue him a second time. I got him to my bow and dumped the water out of his boat. He got back aboard but leaned away from me and fell out of the cockpit. I told him to go to my bow again, dumped the water out of his boat, got him back in, and he fell out again. This time, I got him to just lean onto my boat across his boat and stuffed his feet into his cockpit. Since others were around, I figured I could just hold him up and he could pump out the cockpit to stay warm. As he pumped, he kept leaning outboard, so I told him to prop himself up on my boat. By the time Rob hooked up to tow us, Andy looked pretty frazzled.”
When I had paddled back upwind to the rescue site, Will had already helped Gabby get back aboard her kayak and Dan had assisted Andy. Lisa was standing by ready to lend a hand as needed. I told Dan he was going stabilize Andy. I yelled for them to hold each other’s deck lines and not let go. Their kayaks were bucking wildly, and despite their laying over each other’s decks, I found it extremely difficult to wind the snap hook from my towline under both deck lines of their kayaks, so I joined them both and tried to free my line from the towline bag. The position I was in had my torso compressing the flap to the bag, preventing the line from paying out. Dan shouted, “C’mon, Rob—get us outta here!” Finally I freed the rope and proceeded with the tow.
Andy: “Dan saved the day as far as I’m concerned. I was trying as hard as I could to help him out, but I had nothing left physically. My boat was filled with water, my balance was shot, and we just kept getting hammered. I think I was mentally focused better than I would have expected considering the external factors. When I was in the water, I got popped in the face by the stern of Dan’s boat. I was so intent on following Dan’s instructions, that I barely registered the shot I took. In fact, I completely forgot about it until Monday morning when my wife asked me why I had a black eye. It took me half an hour before the memory came back to me.
“I was worried about Gabby, my hypothermia and even, oddly enough, ruining the trip. I did my best, however, to concentrate on Dan’s instructions amidst all the commotion. Dan proved very adept at handling the circumstances and making the right things happen. He was concise and decisive and easy to follow. I was aware that he had pumped my kayak out, but I have no idea how he had done that. I wasn’t much help, but Dan rose to the occasion. At least I didn’t panic.”
I struggled to get the boat turned toward a cove we had just passed. Will clipped onto my bow and helped pull us the long 100 yards around the point into the cove. Close to shore, the waves abated; when I was several yards from the beach, I unclipped as Will hit the beach and tossed the tow belt bag, landed and dragged my kayak up the rocks. I waded out to bring Dan and Andy ashore. Gabby and Lisa followed us in and landed quickly.
Aside from Gabby, Dan, Will, Lisa, Andy and me, the remainder of the group had made it past Point Colville and surfed in the following seas between Castle Island and Lopez Island, and eddied into a small, moderately protected cove. Brent paddled across the current over to Castle Island, exited his boat and watched multiple capsizes and rescues in progress. The rest of the group, unaware of the difficulty we were having, landed in McArdle Bay to await our arrival.
Later, Brent and Leslie—a strong, BCU 3-star paddler—paddled back past Point Colville to find us. After we landed, we tried hailing the forward group on the radio to no avail, even though they were less than a mile away. The steep shore was blocking the radio signals. As Brent landed, we tried again. No luck, even after mounting the cliff top. We discussed options.
It was clear that Andy was exhausted after his multiple capsizes. After we got him ashore, I asked him a series of questions to assess his mental state and the possibility for hypothermia. He was clear and coherent with his answers, and I did not believe he was in its grip. We gave Andy a hat, a storm cag, a cell phone with my cell number keyed in, cash (he’d left his wallet in the car) and Will’s Garmin GPS to use as a map to get him to the ferry landing. We would tow his kayak back to the Washington Park launch site.
Brent returned to Castle Island where he could relay radio messages to the group at McArdle Bay. With communications reestablished, we made the decision to have everyone rendezvous at Point Colville, then retreat across Rosario at the change in the tides.
No one had a cockpit cover to close up Andy’s kayak, so we tied a garbage bag to the coaming and put Andy’s neoprene spray skirt over that with the waist tube closed up with two zip ties. Will took the first leg of towing the kayak. The north-flowing flood was predicted at 1.65 knots, and the wind was fairly steady out of the south at 10 knots, with some gusts going over 15. The crossing was slightly rougher than the initial crossing but not really difficult, although whitecaps were far more prevalent. Dan took the second leg of the kayak tow, and two hours after we had begun the eight-mile crossing, we landed back at Washington Park. Andy arrived by ferry at 5:45 P . M .
Lessons Learned
Andy has been paddling for many years, but he stated that, “In the river, the rapids usually end—here they go on forever.” The prolonged exposure to rough water made him seasick, which caused his balance to fail and made him prone to capsizing. In retrospect, as a group leader, I should not have had Andy join the trip. I have paddled challenging Class III whitewater with him, and he is cool under fire and usually performs well, but his competence on whitewater was not indicative of how he would fare after several hours of rough water. Andy thought he had the skills to do the venue, although he too had no way of knowing how a long rough passage would affect him.
Andy: “I am trained as a rescuer and a leader in other outdoor pursuits, so it was a humbling experience to be in a situation where I was the person being rescued. I’ve chastised myself for not recognizing my limits and being more prepared. I learned that as a novice, it can be hard to know what constitutes a dangerous situation. Rivers are relatively easy to scope out ahead of time, and conditions on them stay fairly constant. With sea kayaking, conditions may look manageable at the start, but they can get dicey in a hurry. I realized only after it was too late to turn back that I had bitten off more than I could chew. Fortunately, the one prudent choice I’d made that day was to paddle with a group of people that would keep an eye on me. My next step is to enroll in a basic sea kayak paddle-and-rescue class so I can be better prepared for my next trip to the San Juans.”
With the 46˚F water, immersion apparel was required on this outing; Andy’s dry suit kept him from getting badly hypothermic or requiring assistance beyond our resources. We used the towlines repeatedly and had the benefit of the warm spare clothes we kept in our dry bags. Lisa and I both had ginger available to relieve Andy’s nausea for the short term, and Scott was able to supply him with Dramamine for longer term relief.
We had all of the equipment we needed to cope with the capsizes. We used our VHF radios for communication within the group, but at Point Colville, our transmissions were blocked by the terrain. Having simple but useful things like garbage bags and zip ties allowed us to make up for our leaving cockpit covers at the put-in and seal the cockpit for towing an empty kayak. Andy and Gabby used their pumps for removing water from their cockpits. Andy was given more warm clothes, cash, directions and a GPS unit to make his walk to the ferry more successful. Gabby had been chilled slightly by her wet exit, but she wore her storm cag over everything for the return trip and was quite comfortable. Most of the time, the amount of gear our club trip leaders and participants carry looks like overkill, but there was no question that we were prepared to work through this incident.
Judgment is the first way to keep safe, but failing the initial decision of having Andy along, our training in rough conditions was essential. The rescues off of Point Colville were very much like the rescues I trained for in BCU 5-star sea trainings and assessment. Being prepared for multiple mishaps in big, fast water with wind driving onto the rocks was really useful. Knowing multiple towing scenarios and having the composure to perform the rescues quickly was essential. Dan, Gabby, Will and Lisa have all practiced rough-water rescues together and could work effectively when circumstances required.
I typically lead paddling trips where there are only a handful of paddlers whom I know I can count on to perform well under stress. Before embarking, I make sure that there are enough resources in the group to deal with any foreseeable emergency. Several paddlers had surfed ahead at Point Colville, but they made the first available landing to wait for the rest of the group.
It’s difficult to keep many paddlers of varying ability together to make an outing safe and fun for everybody, but the leader must be able to do that. Skilled paddlers should be distributed throughout the group so that, in the event that a group gets separated, each resulting group should be self sufficient.
I tell the groups I lead that in the event of a rescue: “If you are not part of the solution to the problem, do not make yourself part of the problem.” After the separation of the group in the following sea conditions off Point Colville, the forward group showed excellent discipline in banding together to await instructions from the leaders. They had significant resources to deal with any of their problems, and we had enough to deal with ours. None of the kayakers in the vicinity of the capsizes got in the way while the multiple rescues were conducted. Finally, it was a good thing that everyone in the group made sure that things were sorted out when the group was divided. Had the forward group gone ahead with the original plan in the absence of the others and radio communications, responding to the capsizes would have been much more difficult. Sea kayaking in exposed waters can be dangerous, and quickly executed rescues can make all the difference. Practice pays off in time saved and risk reduced.
Rob Gibbert is a hazardous location lighting consultant, BCU 5-star sea paddler, whitewater rescue technician and an avid paddler of oceans and rivers. He lives with his wife, Gabrielle, in Gig Harbor, Washington.