CHAPTER 4: THE CROSSING

With a west wind behind us, we both understood that once we launched, there would be no turning back. The only way out would be through.

Few words were shared in the gray light of dawn as we strapped bags to boards, attached compasses, and double checked GPS way points. And then we were off. The first hour was a dream; a strong wind at our back pressed us over glassy waters. Despite preserving energy, we still covered 7.5km, which for fully loaded boards was great.

Then Hecate started to show us who she really was. Swell coming in from the north began hitting us on our rear quarter, and we had to concentrate. Then ebb turned to flood, and currents swirled. Soon an aggressive wind chop arrived from the south, hitting us on the other rear quarter, mixing with the swell and turning the ocean into a confused mess. Our progress slowed to a painful 4km/h.

The hours now passed slowly. We spent a lot of time alone with our thoughts. I tried hard not to focus on speed or progress—for it was dishearteningly slow. Just one more stroke. Then another. We never stopped. Snacks and gulps of water were grabbed between strokes. We saw nothing on those lonely waters; not a whale nor a boat.

Slowly the distant peaks of Stephen’s Island inched closer. 20km to go. Then 10. Dusk had descended by the time we made landfall. We’d been paddling for 11 hours, and it took us another full hour to find a camp along the rocky headlands. We crawled ashore, barely able to walk or even form sentences. But overjoyed. Somehow we got the tent up. Cooked a freeze dried meal. And then collapsed in our sleeping bags.