Several days later, we decide to head north for a day to explore the Stephens Group. It will be our first day on the outside, and we figure it will be a good warm-up, because it has lots of pull-out options, rather than immediately heading south past Porcher’s long, smooth shoreline. We edge our way up along the western shore, paddling against a light headwind as we round a series of points. We take a quick break in the protection of a south-facing, muddy bay on Perry Island. When we get back into the boats and paddle out of the bay, the waves have darkened and swelled. We decide to exit the bay through a tight gap between Perry and a house-sized island. Jody heads through first, with Robyn and Buffy following her in the double. Now it’s my turn to paddle into the gap. The waves stand up and crash over my deck as I inch my way through the constriction between the two islands and out the other side. The sea on the north side is alive and rolling. The wind belts in from the northwest and I stare out at the open ocean ahead and to the left. I focus on keeping my boat heading straight into the whitecaps as my bow smacks down between each of the waves. Kris edges up beside me and I glance over at her and yell, "I’m not comfortable here." I call over to the others to wait while Kris and I paddle up beside them. We rise and fall with our bows pointed into the breaking waves and discuss our options. The waves are too big to turn around in comfortably and, even if we did turn around, it would be difficult to take the waves from behind and sneak back through the gap. I do not want to go forward, because we will expose ourselves to even bigger swells if we round the next point. The mouth of Stephens Passage, on the north side of Perry Island, lies about a mile to our right, and appears to be the best option. It would be nearly impossible to take the waves broadside, so we ferry to the right and work our way into the protection of the passage. It’s a slow process. I paddle gently, my feet staying light on the foot pedals as I adjust the angle of my boat. I try not to gain any forward ground, and the land to the right gradually grows nearer. Within a few hundred feet of shore, the water settles and we turn our boats east and head into the passage. After the riotous waves, the calm of the channel is almost surreal. We find a shell beach with enough room to lay out our bivy sacks. There are no creeks nearby, but we have enough water in our bags to last us a few days.
We sit around in the occasional glints of afternoon sun, but no one says much. I am happy that the group listened to my discomfort, but the silence is heavy, and conveys a discomfort with the day’s paddle. Finally, Kris starts talking. We had paddled out onto rough water almost blindly, without a back-up plan. Our first real day on the outside and we were sent scurrying. We were so driven to keep exploring that we didn’t think about what the water was like beyond the gap. It’s a good wake-up call for all of us, a reminder that we must always stay alert along the outside; there is little room for mistakes out here.