"Why is it that so many epics begin with "we got a late start"? It must have been 10:00 AM when we left camp, a small unnamed village site just east of Dodge Point on Lynell Island. John and Steve take an inside route, bound for the well-preserved longhouse foundations of Tanu village. I am captivated by the low silhouette of Lost Island, the most isolated island of the Charlottes, four and a half miles into Hectate Strait. We part company, planning to meet two days hence.

The weather is questionable, whitecaps are visible off the point, and the sky beyond is a sullen grey. As I clear the headland, doubt begins to creep in with the spray. Xe-u' , the southeast wind spirit, is bringing rainy, tempestuous weather. Two miles out, I find myself in a steady twenty knots with four-to-five foot following seas about fifty feet apart. I'm soaked but warm enough and feeling strong; with each stroke my kayak strides across the grey seascape. Through a rain shower, I can barely see the island.

From beneath my hood I scan my surroundings, gaining a collective picture of wind, waves, greys and greens in motion. A seabird is working upwind in my direction, using the shelter of the swell, disappearing in the trough, then rising and dumping wind at the crests. I watch with increasing fascination as it struggles toward me. When the bird is about thirty feet away, I realize it is a common murre bent with the wind, barely making headway. It does not see me. We drop into the same trough. Twenty feet, ten feet, right to my bow - wings flare in alarm. A tiny astonished eye holds mine for an instant, and we part abruptly.

I'm dazzled by the fact that we almost collided. A wave comes aboard, startling me, bringing me back to the wet present. I stroke hard to come back on course. The murre didn't see me because the wind is getting stronger, and the seas are building. I start to watch the wave train running up my starboard stern quarter. The significant waves, the one of two largest of a set of seven to ten waves known as a train, are now five to seven feet high and breaking. I turn to meet them, my paddle knifing their backsides.

I have been out no more than forty minutes when I turn and go with the train toward the shelter of Lost Island. Each wave builds behind me, raising my stern, almost sending my kayak rushing forward if it were not for my quick, chopping back-paddles to check the boat from surfing. Wave by wave, I approach the south side of the island - a windblown set of sea stacks with small forests in its cracks and draws. I recall the chart showed a small cove that now becomes visible ahead. I pass the outer reefs, curl right, and paddle into flat, protected water.

I let out a triumphant yell: AaaaaaaaROOOOH. Two startled bald eagles guarding their nest natter at my announced arrival. Stellar's sea lions on the inner rocks not more than forty feet off my bow don't show any interest in budging. I turn right toward a boulder beach, certain the sea lions haven't seen anyone here in years. They watch as I get out and stand, and then they bolt for the protection of the deep. They know man after all.

I turn toward higher ground, searching for a campsite, my mind on getting dry and making hot soup. I am relaxed and elated. Beneath the low, prickly needles of a spruce is a clearing strewn with flotsam - space for a tent and shelter for my stove. The winds howl beyond the bay. I look out at my boat with affection and the growing awareness that I'd been very lucky."

In The Hidden Coast, Joel Rogers invites us to explore remote destinations along the Pacific shore, from the rugged wilderness of Alaska to the exotic waters of Mexico. His essays take us through a range of adventures - from paddling the iceberg-choked waters of Prince William Sound to discovering an ancient Native village site on British Columbia's Queen Charlotte Islands. We paddle among orcas in Johnstone Strait, enter lava grottos off Santa Barbara, and probe the mystery of mangrove swamps in Mexico's La Manzanilla.

Hidden Coast: Coastal Adventures from Alaska to Mexico
by Joel W. Rogers, Tim Cahill, John Dowd