Steve turned on his VHF radio at the La Push Marina parking lot. It was well before 9 A.M., the scheduled meeting time. Five other kayakers on a kayak club outing would soon join him that August morning for a three-day, nine-mile trip south along the Washington coast to Toleak Point. He listened to the weather report: five-foot northwest swell, light winds. A threat of coastal fog was a concern, but he could see that conditions were good.
Steve stepped out of his vehicle, lifted his kayak off the roof rack and readied his gear for the launch. An expert sea kayaker, over the past 15-plus years he has led many club trips and clinics on the outer coast. He rated the trip a Class IV to V, on a scale of I to VI, because of the variable conditions, open-coast exposure and possible surf landings. With the favorable weather report, Steve looked forward to having an enjoyable summer adventure.
Judy arrived next. She was a seasoned paddler, but she had told Steve before the trip that she had only limited experience with surf launching and landing. Steve knew that there were many protected beaches on this stretch of coast, and given the strength of the rest of the group, he didn’t think Judy’s level of skill would be a problem. I was next to arrive, followed by Beth and Rob, then Scott. Beth and Rob had some ocean paddling experience and had worked aggressively on their skills, including rolling and assisted rescues. They were looking forward to this trip as a test of their skills. Scott was an expert paddler and in great shape. (He would later win the sea-kayak division of the 2005 San Juan Challenge.)
Introductions weren’t needed—we had all paddled with each other before. As we were packing, Steve did a gear check and reviewed the trip plan. He asked who had spare paddles, VHF radios or towlines and if anyone had any special needs. He instructed us to set our radios to 69, the channel we’d use to communicate with each other.
I told Steve I didn’t want to be involved in any rescues—should they come up—because I’d injured my shoulder. I’d even left my towline at home, because I didn’t want to make myself available for towing. Steve carried two towlines on his person: a 50-footer on a belt and an adjustable-length line, set at a short length, in a PFD pocket. He tucked a third, short line under the bungee on his front deck. He had an additional belt-towing system, which he handed to Rob. Scott and Judy had towlines as well. Judy stowed hers in her day hatch. All of us had PFDs, helmets and flares. Steve and Rob each had a GPS. Steve said he wanted to stop at James Island at the mouth of the Quillayute River to be sure he got a waypoint. If we returned in fog, he said, it would be crucial to be able to make our way to the narrow river entrance between James Island and the jetty that protects the waterway.
Although it was the height of summer, the cold water of the Pacific required that we wear thermal protection. Rob wore a wetsuit, as he prefers its reliability when paddling around rocks—a cut or tear won’t compromise a wetsuit as it would a dry suit. I prefer a dry suit because it keeps me warm at campsites and on breaks. It can be overly warm for summer paddles but is still my choice for cold-water immersion. Judy and Beth were also in dry suits. Rob put on his Farmer John wetsuit, with a thin, long-sleeve neoprene top. Steve wore a wetsuit and paddling jacket. Scott chose to wear a shorty wetsuit, his choice for mild conditions.