As I make the final checkmarks on the lists stacked in my hand, I feel a mix of anxiety and excitement work its way from the pit of my stomach up into my chest and throat. My parents had always told me that I could do anything that I wanted to, but I’m not sure that I fully believed it until now. I’ll be a member of the first all-woman team to sea kayak from Alaska to Vancouver along the exposed Outside Passage.

All in our early twenties, we came together in the final six months before our take-off as an eclectic mix of hometown buddies, co-workers in the outdoor industry and newfound friends. As it turns out, we all come from families of sisters. We have made the decision to make this journey without a designated expedition leader and, instead, to be committed to listening to the most conservative voice in every situation.

Packed up, we pile into Buffy’s van, driving north, away from the phones, faxes, sponsors and media that helped bring this whole thing together. It’s a relief, but we are also leaving behind the friends, boyfriends, family and strangers, whose support inspired and energized us. After three days of driving and ferries, we arrive in Port Simpson, BC, near the border of Alaska, in the evening. We settle in for the night on a little beach beside the dirt road. The sun lights the snow-capped mountains to the east on fire while the full moon rises up behind them. 
We awaken to bright sunshine the next morning, and begin the arduous task of packing a month’s worth of supplies inside our boats. We wrestle our gear into our boats. Even when every hint of space is crammed full, there are still a few things that won’t fit. The bag of fresh vegetables must be left behind, but we somehow manage to squeeze in a backpacking guitar and a bag of wine.

We climb into our kayaks; they sit low and heavy in the water. We plan to paddle north to the B.C.-Alaska border so that we can stake a claim to having paddled the entire West Coast. As we gather speed, our momentum steadies our rhythm. The swell rises and falls beneath my boat—residual energy rolling in from storms on the open Pacific. We are still nestled in the protection of the outer islands, which break up the ocean’s waves on their long, sandy beaches and tall, rocky cliffs. In a few days, we will be traveling southwest, paddling in the turbulent zone where the sea collides with the land.