A few years ago I headed out on my first real kayak expedition: the wild unknowns of Nootka Island. I had never been to the West Coast. My wife thought that it would be good for me. Everyone felt it would be good for me. The problem was that I didn’t quite understand exactly how it would be good for me. I’m not much of a traveller. I’m not sure what finally possessed me to go, but the trip would prove to be an inner re-awakening of sorts.
The journey seemed surreal. Of course, in retrospect, that might have been partially caused by jet lag. We ventured down the Gold River and through the Esperanza Inlet on an old converted mine sweeper while being followed by a playful orca. Once we reached our launch area near Rosa Island (a bald eagle nesting ground), we sat in our kayaks on a platform and one by one we were hoisted up by a crane and lowered down onto the ocean. When we arrived at our base camp, a small outcropping just past Benson Point in the Nuchatlitz Inlet, we were greeted by a large black bear which made a hasty retreat through our intended campsite. That night I lay in my tent listening to the soulful howl of wolves; a short silence followed by the distant haunting reply. What an absolutely comforting sound. I looked forward to another serenade the next evening, but we never heard another wolf again. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the fresh tracks around camp every morning, we never would have known they were there.
I don’t know exactly what I was expecting. I suppose I really wasn’t expecting anything. The least of which was a visit from my long estranged muses. So mesmerized by the scenery—how the mountains hid familiar constellations from the night sky; how the early morning fog all but obliterated the mountains; how the tides changed everything—I was compelled to sketch. I managed to scrounge some notepaper and a pen. I was capturing a moment, a feeling, as though the paper was filtering the thoughts spilling out from me and leaving behind an image. I needed something more basic, primitive, to complement what I was seeing. I combed the beach for twigs which I burnt in the fire and quickly honed into hard charcoal pencils. With borrowed watercolours I was able to paint from my kayak using the water that surrounded me. I began to work as if possessed by something deep inside of me—something that I had believed lost.
This is why I kayak and this was why I had come: the fascination of exploring. Seeing what’s on the other side; seeing the everyday from a totally different vantage point. Our trip guide had promised that I would take back something from this adventure that would change me forever and, as promised, it has.
The art is in the journey and the journey is your teacher. And I was reminded that my journey is not yet over.
Lorenzo Del Bianco is an artist and illustrator from Burlington, Ontario. He has been creating maps and illustrations for Adventure Kayak since 2003.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2009 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
