We decide to continue south around the point for the next few miles, and then head east to get protection from the swell. We will be forced to rely on a compass to guide us. Kris takes a look at the chart and pulls out her compass. I hesitate to paddle too forcefully, not wanting to move too quickly into the fog. At the same time, I want to reach the reassurance that being on solid ground gives me. After what seems like hours, treetops begin to emerge from the white as we make our way to a pull-out on the south side of the point. Dealing with a day like today would have seemed impossible a month or two ago, but today it feels only slightly more difficult than any other day out on the water.

Throughout the last month, we paddle in sunshine, each day bringing us closer to Vancouver. On August 19, I watch the sun sink straight into the water for the last time, before we head into the shelter of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Washington’s Cape Flattery mellows the swell. We watch the waxing moon in the sky.

Two weeks later, under a full moon, we sit on Bowen Island staring at the city lights just nine miles away.

The next morning, on September 5, we approach Vancouver’s Ambleside Beach. We paddle close beside one another. By now, our kayaking and navigational skills have merged. It no longer feels like we are just five separate individuals. It is almost as though our minds have melded and we have become extensions of a single entity. In the 119 days and 1,140 miles we have been traveling, there have been many moments when we were challenged and came through for each other—as sisters do. Our family and friends stand waiting for us on the beach, calling out to us as we take our last strokes—together.

Alice Weber is a skier and a student of biology and creative writing in Nelson, BC. She spends her summers as a kayaking guide on northern Vancouver Island.