Sechelt — A Frolickhein Adventure Around the Shíshálh Peninsula

Day One: A Late Debacle and Our Dance with the Wind

Universal Chaos and the Uber That Almost Didn’t Get Us There

The adventure truly kicked off long before we even hit the road. Two days before our grand departure, I was packing up my entire life, preparing to leave Canada for good immediately after the trip. That meant everything — yes, all 55 kilograms of my worldly belongings — had to be carted to MEC, weighed, and meticulously packed to meet the flight’s baggage requirements. Naturally, this also included all the gear for the trip, which I checked multiple times just to make sure nothing crucial was forgotten. Spoiler alert: I forgot our trip notes. So, despite my best efforts to avoid it, we had to make a detour there on the morning of our departure. As if that wasn’t enough, no coffee was brewed at the office this early, leaving us caffeine-deprived at a moment we needed it most.

You’d think that people who work at an outdoor equipment company — especially those who run workshops on how to prepare for trips — would be masters of efficient packing. But the truth is, we get hung up on the details far too often, fussing over the smallest gear choices instead of actually being ready on time. In fact, I’d argue we might even be the worst at sticking to a plan as complacency creeps in. The day before the trip, we worked until closing at 10 p.m., then rushed to Safeway for last-minute groceries. Not exactly a recipe for efficient preparation.

Zarar took this disorganization to new heights, opting for a “quick nap” before waking up at 2 a.m. to stuff everything haphazardly into his monstrous duffle bag.

Our Uber driver, bless his soul, only added to the chaos by missing the turnoff to Horseshoe Bay. “How does he not know how to read Google Maps directions?” I muttered to Zarar, as frustration built with every unplanned minute lost. The day was slipping through our fingers, and we hadn’t even left Vancouver yet.

Miraculously, we made it to Horseshoe Bay just in time, lugging all our gear across the lot and rushing to the ferry terminal. I managed to snag my ticket from the machine, but Zarar wasn’t quite so lucky — he missed the “cutoff” time by mere seconds. He had no choice but to head over to the till, where the lady gave him a knowing smile.

“I swear I just blinked, and the machine shut down on me! Can I still get a ticket?” Zarar asked, panting. The terminal lady smirked. “Ah, the old ‘I was just seconds away’ routine. You’re not the first, but you might be the most dramatic.”

Zarar defended himself, “I promise, it’s not as dramatic as it sounds. I’m not here to audition for a soap opera!” The lady raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Well, you’ve certainly got the ‘flustered traveler’ part down. Let me help you before your co-star abandons ship!”

She probably watched the whole debacle, betting on whether we’d actually make it. Thankfully, we did, and with tickets finally in hand, we sprinted the strangely long distance to the gate, hauling all our gear. When we got there the woman at the terminal had a good laugh watching us hobbling onto the ferry.

From Chaos to Kayaks

At last, it was time for our long-awaited breakfast and coffee (or better yet, hot chocolate with a shot of coffee!). Zarar took a leisurely stroll around the top deck to soak in the views, I dashed to the board store, frantically searching for one little thing that could derail our trip: an SD card. I had my camera ready, but of course, the cards were still in my tech backpack. Because what adventure is complete without a little extra chaos, eh?

As we crossed the water, there was a brief moment of calm, the sea breeze washed away the morning’s stress. But that tranquility was short-lived. Once we disembarked, reality hit us like a slow-moving bus. And I mean literally.

When we docked at Langdale, we were among the last to exit, treated to a front-row seat of departing trucks and their lovely exhaust fumes. Arriving at the bus stop, we found out the last bus had just left. We should’ve disembarked with the other foot passengers — impeccable timing, right?

Naturally, the bus showed up right when I sat in the portaloo. Zarar, with remarkable speed, had to stall the driver by loading his gear at an excruciatingly slow pace. Thankfully, it worked.

The ride to Halfmoon Sea Kayaks felt endless, each minute ticking by. We knew we wouldn’t arrive before 10:45 a.m., and instead of rapid bus that could make it in 30 minutes, they opted to provide two slow buses that only differed by 15 minutes. Classic.

Finally, we arrived in ch’atlich (Sechelt) and found a quaint little market square. I dashed around, desperately looking for a place to buy an SD card, checking the grocery store, the Best Buy Express (which wouldn’t open until later), and even Marks, which all turned out to be yet another letdown.

Meanwhile, Zarar relished the chance to lay back for a moment and not haul our stuff around. I dropped my “Five Stages of Guse” on him, and he nearly lost it at the third stage — “Bees in a Butt.” After our little comedy session, we were picked up by Cam from Halfmoon Sea Kayaks, who brought our kayaks along.

As we loaded up, Cam couldn’t help but chuckle at our disheveled state, “Did you guys pack your entire homes or just the essentials?”

Guse: “A little of both, but I definitely forgot my indispensable SD cards!”

Zarar: “And I probably left my braincell back home.”

Cam: “Well I hope you find it, you might need it. And I know exactly where to find an SD card.”

Thankfully, the kayak rental folks were absolute legends, sorting everything out while we scrambled to make the most of the dwindling daylight. They even knew a spot to fill up water, which we had conveniently forgotten until that moment.

Top-Gun Launch Turned Tug-of-War: The Battle that Rocked Our Route

By the time we finally launched from Friendship Park, it was already 11:48 a.m., and our “ideal itinerary” a distant memory. Still, we took a moment for a little Top-Gun tribute, feeling like hotshots ready to dominate the open water.

Zarar: “It’s a bit windy, just a bit, and look at those waves! This is going to be… interesting.”

Guse: “Well, we probably should have launched earlier, we are behind schedule. Let’s go!”

With that, we launched into the great — for us unknown — Salish Sea. But the thrill faded quickly as the wind turned against us. Each paddle stroke met stubborn resistance, waves rocking us with ease and splashing over our decks, like nature was reminding us that it didn’t care about our plans.

Breaks? Hardly. Zarar, however, fancied “strategic resting”, a noble effort to prevent our butts from going numb. Tough we only stopped once at a spot with bricks, one bearing graffiti that read “Danger” — naturally the perfect place for a snack. After that, I pushed us onward, fearing we’d run out of daylight before reaching a campsite near Francis Point.

We passed the offical marine campsites on Sxwe̒lap (Thormanby) Islands, which were plentiful and picturesque but would have pushed our next day’s distance to over 40 kilometres. Originally, we aimed for a spot further north, but as the hours ticked by and progress slowed, we reluctantly began searching for campsite within the next 5 kilometres along the shore.

We scoped out potencial sites around Smugglers Cove, but most of the shoreline was either private property or day-use-only parkland, where camping was strictly prohibited. With official options scarce, we found ourselves looking for places in the grey area between legal and “just don’t get caught.” I kept pushing to check out the next potential spot, nearly leaving Zarar behind.

He gave me grief for getting too far ahead, pointing out that we could barely hear each other and wouldn’t be able to help if something went wrong. He was right. I’m so used to traveling solo that I often have to check my ego and remember we’re a team — not just two adventurers sharing the same trail. I really didn’t want to backtrack to the earlier spot we’d passed.

Finally, with our hands practically claw-shaped form paddling, we settled for a small islet closer to shore, deciding to call it a day. As we pulled up with high tide, the sunset painted the sky in stunning hues of orange and red, adding a touch of grace to an otherwise gruelling day. The only distraction was a barking dog from a nearby private home — apparently, we hadn’t requested permission to be there.

A Night Under the Stars… Sort of

Gear drying, food cooking, and banter flowing, we settled in for the night. Tents? Tents are for those who don’t trust the weather. We opted to sleep under the stars — at least for a while. Once the sun set, humidity crept in, dampening our gear and a towel over my sleeping bag proofed no match for the mosquitoes. When one bit my lip, I finally gave in and angrily pitched my tent.

Reflecting on the day, we realized we should’ve taken more breaks — not just for our bodies, but for our minds. Although my motto usually is “steady with fewer breaks,” I admitted that pausing to explore the land could’ve enriched our experience. Still, I don’t regret pushing forward; that dinner under the sunset was nothing short of magical.

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Day Two of Surprises: The Universe Provides

The next morning dawned like a gentle slap in the face: beautiful, yes, but you still felt it. Zarar’s master plan for rest went in full swing, with breaks every two hours. This time, he did more than just rest: he used manifestation! I don’t know how he does it — Perhaps he has the ear of some cosmic entity, chuckling as it grants his whims. Though their search for the official campsite proved fruitless, they stumbled upon a holy grail.

And just when they thought the day couldn’t get any more ridiculous, they heard nature’s own way of saying “Look at us!” and a divine aura made a dazzling appearance, while a luminary lit their path like a spotlight on the greatest show on Earth.

Indeed, the universe had rolled out the red carpet for two bewildered adventurers with front-row seats to the wonders of nature — popcorn not included.

A Damp Start and Departure Delays

The morning began as a damp struggle against the elements. After the night’s humidity seeped into everything, it felt like the moisture had claimed not only our gear but also our motivation to get moving. I was already up and munching on breakfast when Zarar emerged from his tent around 7 am.

“Alright, let’s shoot for an 8 am departure,” I suggested, trying to sound optimistic. Zarar, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, shot me a look that could have withered even the most determined drill sergeant. “Sure, Guse, and I’ll invent a time machine to make that happen.”

It was clear that my suggestion of leaving in an hour was more fantasy than reality, considering the state of our gear and the general pace of the trip. “Hey, I thought I’d keep pushing so we wouldn’t settle back into laziness,” I replied, but deep down, I too was grappling with the idea of packing up all the damp gear.

With the morning sun just starting to peek over the hills, the thought of rolling up our wet tents and bags felt unappealing at best. Her weak warmth felt like a blessing, offering at least a brief opportunity to dry out some of the soggier gear. I reluctantly conceded that a bit of extra time basking in the morning sun wasn’t the worst idea after all.

Low tide didn’t do us any favors, either. The launch site had retreated beyond a maze of rocks and logs slick with morning dew and moss. Each step was a tentative negotiation between maintaining balance and avoiding a faceplant into the seaweed. Carrying the kayaks over the treacherous terrain required as much care as paddling into rapids.

By the time we finally managed to pack the damp gear and get the kayaks in the water, it was closer to 9:30 am. I glanced at my watch and sighed, “Well, only 90 minutes behind schedule… a new record for us! Progress, right?”

A Smooth Paddle to Francis Point

Once we hit the water, it felt like a fresh start, a welcome departure from the damp chaos of the morning. We hugged the coastline, taking advantage of the conditions that seemed to have shifted in our favor. The wind was mercifully at our backs, pushing us along with less resistance than the day before. I could almost convince myself that today would be smooth sailing.

It took us less than two hours to reach Francis Point Provincial Park, a testament to our uplifted spirits thanks to the favorable conditions. Arriving at Moore Point, we decided it was time for a well-deserved snack break. We found a perfect spot on the rocks to bask in the sun, allowing us to soak up the warmth after the morning’s chill.

“I could get used to this kind of relaxation,” I said, stretching out on the rocks and closing my eyes for a moment. Zarar grinned, already digging into his stash of snacks. “Just imagine if we had more salami!” We certainly enjoyed this brief moment of tranquility.

Frolickheining Shenaningans: A Swing into Agamemnon

As we continued our paddle in the Agamemnon Channel, we passed some strange signs resembling the Japanese flag.

“Look at those! What do you think they’re for? Some sort of fancy sushi place?” Zarar mused, striking a comical pose as if he were about to be featured in a travel magazine.

I laughed, “Maybe it’s an invitation for us to join a secret culinary club. Just what we need on a kayaking trip — more food!” This prompted Zarar to throw out a ridiculous impression of “Haiii Samuraiiii”, mimicking an exaggerated Japanese accent (and failing miserably), which had us both in stitches. Our laughter rippled across the water, reminding us to appreciate moments like this that make an arduous journey worthwhile.

After a while, Zarar excitedly speculated about how cool it would be to find a rope swing somewhere along the route. Just when we thought we might take a break, we stumbled upon an old rope tied to a tree right by the water’s edge.

“Look! The universe has delivered!” I shouted, unable to resist making the classic “Hooowaah!” sound you hear before a karate attack, striking a pose with my paddle as if I were about to split something in half.

Zarar had been manifesting this very moment, and now we had to act. We paddled over, securing our boats before racing toward the swing like excited children.

The rope looked a bit worse for wear — brittle and shedding what appeared to be Smurf-like blue hairs. “Uh, are you sure that’s safe?” I hesitated, eyeing the rope. Zarar just laughed, swinging out a couple times and gaining more confidence before letting out a gleeful “Whoooop!” as he launched himself into the water.

“C’mon, Guse! You know you want to go full Tarzan and the water is so nice!”he shouted with laughter. I watched, half-envious and half-amused, as he embraced his inner child, realizing that I had lost some of my own adventurous mojo over the years of traveling.

After several jumps, we returned to our kayaks, slightly damp and giggling, already eager to see what the rest of the day would bring.

Of finding the Perfect Campsite

After our impromptu frolickheining session, we continued paddling east toward Quatam-moos (Egmont Point). The Marine Trails map had promised us a straightforward journey, but the reality was less accommodating. We soon found ourselves navigating a maze of rocky outcroppings and conflicting coordinates.

Zarar frowned at the map. “Are we sure we’re going the right way?”

“I think so? The GPS mark should still be one outcrop further,” I replied, trying to mask my own uncertainty. We passed the marked campsite on the charts, only to find it hidden in the trees and looking rather lackluster — tiny and cramped.

“Do you think we should set up here?” I asked, glancing at the underwhelming spot. Zarar shook his head, a determined glint in his eyes. “Let’s keep looking! There’s gotta be something better.”

And there was! We pressed on, finally spotting an ideal campsite further up the coast. The wooden table, rusted chairs, and fire pit we found made it seem like a hidden treasure after our initial disappointment.

“Forget Quatam-moos (Egmont Point), this is our site, the Guse and Zar Point, ZarGuse maybe?” Zarar declared, feeling triumphant as we set up camp. I could already tell it would become my favorite campsite of the entire trip.

A Night of Wonders

With camp established, we turned our attention to dinner. As we cooked, the sun began to dip below the horizon, giving way to the golden hour. We settled down to enjoy our meal, savouring a splash of coconut rum that Zarar proudly revealed — especially since I had surprisingly forgotten the coconut water I swear by, remembering how much I enjoyed it on our last trip to the Granite falls.

In the darkness we gathered some driftwood lying about and lit a bonfire using Zarar’s pocket rocket as a flame thrower — concerningly, he seemed a tad too eager for that little firestarter…

Suddenly, the sky shifted, and to our amazement, the northern lights flickered faintly over the hills to the north. I rushed to capture the moment with my camera, aware that the view was far more stunning on screen. “Look at that!” I exclaimed, trying to photograph the dancing lights.

With the full moon rising above the hills, brightening the surroundings, it dimmed the northern lights and gave me pause to relax and finally settle around the fire. The warmth enveloped us as we shared stories, laughter, and dreams — marveling at the unexpected wonders of the evening. It was moments like these that reminded me why I loved the outdoors and the adventures that came with it.

Then, amidst the beauty of the night, we heard the unmistakable sounds of whale spouts in the distance. “Did you hear that?” I called out to Zarar, raising my voice just enough to get his attention as he fished around in his kayak. “Guse, you have a knack for hearing spouts!” Zarar whispered back, recalling our previous paddles alongside “Whaleium”, our resident Grey Whale off Spanish Banks.

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Day Three: The ‘You’ll-Never-Believe-What-Happened’ Bit

As the sun crept over the horizon, it painted the world in golden hues, awakening dreams and, perhaps, a few regrets. Zarar and Guse, our intrepid explorers, were up and at ’em, ready for a day that promised more twists than a tangle of seaweed. They were prepared to paddle into the unknown, armed with coffee, courage, and the vague notion that today could be monumental — or utterly chaotic. Spoiler alert: it was a bit of both.

Morning Encounter: The Dance of Blackfins

“Did you hear that? Was that…” I asked Zarar, who, to my disbelief, was already halfway into his kayak, paddling furiously, still in his PJs. “A SPOUT? YES! BLACKFIN, MEET THE BLACKFINS!” he exclaimed, referring to his Greenland paddle. I was ready to set up my camera, but they headed north. By the time I finally made it onto the water, Zarar was a tiny dot, over 500 meters ahead of me in the vast expanse of the inlet.

Lazy breakfasts are the best breakfasts, but the allure of those spouts and large fins breaching the waters surface had us dropping everything. Suddenly, the calm of the morning was shattered as the wolves of the sea — nature’s undisputed apex predators — graced us with their presence. It didn’t take long to realize these were Resident Orcas, and we were lucky enough to witness the pod putting on an unforgettable display, gliding and breaching like ocean royalty.

Zarar’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning as he paddled alongside them, trying to channel his inner orca. I half-expected him to leap out of his kayak and join them. We caught up to the pod, watched multiple fins breach the surface, spouts spraying all around us. One orca even smacked its tail into the water, sending a spray of sea foam into the air. They seemed to be having a blast — literally.

Later, while reviewing Zarar’s footage, we discovered that he had also managed to capture the orcas’ underwater calls, adding an extra layer of magic to the encounter.

I realized if I don’t intervene, Zarar would be off to infinity and beyond, happily joining the orcas’ migration. “Zarar!” I yelled, “We have a schedule, and living in the ocean with orcas wasn’t part of the plan!” He was still paddling alongside them, mesmerized by the experience, and ignored me at first. But eventually, he turned back, albeit reluctantly. In hindsight, we should’ve just paddled alongside them forever and renamed ourselves honorary members of their pod. Ah, regrets.

Fueling Up: Coffee and Currents

After we packed up our camp, it was past 11 am again — consistent with our late starts of the past days. We never thought we’d forget anything on a campsite, but well, someone did. More about that later.

Crossing from the north side of the Álhtúlich (Sechelt) inlet to the south and into the Egmont harbour against the current felt already pretty tough. Though I had my first kayaking experiences whitewater Kayaking when I was ten, this was both of our first times navigating strong currents in a setting like this. Before venturing further, we enjoyed a quick coffee and snack from Bathgate’s Store, which was a welcome energy boost.

As the fearless duo ventured further, they encountered the wilds of skóokum chùck (Skookumchuck) Narrows, a place where the waters roar, the whirlpools swirl, and Guse started seriously considering going back to his previous career as a graphic designer. Not really, though; that would be far too boring after all this! This — apart from this trip being Guse’s last hurrah in Canada — was supposed to be the highlight of their adventure. At least this morning’s orca frenzy stole the show.

The Great Debate: Adventure vs. Safety

We handrailed along the west shore, playing in the strengthening currents as we eddy hopped against the current further down the Álhtúlich (Sechelt) inlet, only to realize it after the fact, that we had already passed through the infamous spot of the roaring wave. Having crossed over to a nearby islet, we dropped all gear, sat down, grabbed our “All Meat” sandwiches that we bought earlier, and settled down to watch the natural spectacle unfold.

It was only then that we realized we had navigated the tidal rapids within the exact five minutes of slack tide — a window that, according to our calculations, should have occurred an hour earlier. Turns out, I had to eat my words. I hadn’t believed it when I read that those calculations could be off by as much as an hour on any given day. It was a first for us on this trip — hitting an exact time point after mostly running late. So maybe there was no need for me to stress about our schedule after all!

As impressive as it was to witness the tide shift so quickly, we knew we had to move if we wanted to tackle the currents before they grew too rough. We unloaded all gear off our kayaks, portaged them to the opposite side of the islet, and paddled a wide loop around another islet — first against the current, then with it — before gliding into an eddy to check out the Skóok wave. Pro white water kayakers were already out there, showing off their skills.

Just 30 minutes after slack tide, the current swelled into waves that were already at 60 to 70% of its peak height for the day. Our plan was to paddle straight through rather than try to surf, but we got pulled around and barely made it to the end where we regrouped. Zarar initially thought I’d capsized since I was nowhere in sight, but I was hanging back to watch the pros before following him a few minutes later.

The countercurrent carried us back to Roland Point, where we climbed onto the rocks near the pros, watching their friends catch waves and perform tricks. Naturally, Zarar hyped himself up to paddle the notorious currents. “Lad, we’ve got this, this is how we take Frolickhein to the next level!” he declared, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Sure, we do. If by ‘this’ you mean a strong desire to live,” I countered, trying to keep a straight face as the adrenaline surged.

We stood there, watching the waters churn like an espresso machine on overdrive, debating for what felt like an eternity. It was the thrill of paddling into a maelstrom of death versus the comforts of… well, not doing that. The clock was ticking. In the end, with Zarar in full ‘extreme sports mode’ insisting “let’s go full throttle,” and me firmly on the side of “Let’s not die today,”wisdom finally prevailed. We concluded that our experience wasn’t quite up to surfing the Skóok wave safely this time. But Zarar wasn’t ready to give up — he vowed to train, overcome his initial fear, and return to conquer it one day.

Finding Shelter: Campsite Shenanigans

From Roland Point, we faced two bends where the current surged, determined to push us west as we tried to cross back to the east shore and retrieve our gear. Zarar radioed, “You don’t need to go that far, lad. Here’s good enough.” But I wasn’t convinced. Out in the open, the current was relentless — you’d lose four times the distance you’d just gained if you stopped paddling for a moment. I stuck to my route.

I watched with a touch of schadenfreude as Zarar fought against the even stronger currents near the islet. He graciously conceded defeat after realizing he wasn’t covering any distance, no matter how hard he paddled, swung back to join my path behind another islet, where I had a slight break from the rushing water. After that, the crossing became surprisingly smooth, until we neared the islet with our gear. Here, the current split, pushing left and right, forcing us to paddle hard through the narrow center to avoid getting swept into rocky shallows or tossed about in the swirling waves. Thankfully, we navigated it without incident.

Once we portaged our kayaks across and packed up, we set off again, playing through the last of the whirls and rapids south of the Skóok wave. The currents separated us briefly, but with only a minor flow left, we regrouped quickly and began the hunt for a pristine campsite. The plan was to reach Kunechin Point at the opening of Salmon Inlet, but as night crept in, we realized we couldn’t make it that far.

Spotting a potential campsite, we landed to take a closer look. Zarar reached it first and discovered a dirt road nearby, along with scattered wooden pallets. It looked like a work-in-progress campsite named D10 eluding to the existence of other sites in the area on Doriston Camp Road (the name kind of gave it away). There was a makeshift table — a stone slab balanced on two logs — and a rusty old fire pit. We quickly unloaded and set up our tents as darkness settled in.

Just as we were getting comfortable, Zarar’s face suddenly went pale as it hit him like a wave — in all the excitement of the orca encounter, he’d forgotten to double-check his packing: he’d forgotten his sleeping bag. “Looks like someone’s in for a chilly night!” I teased, unable to resist. He tried to brush it off, but the frustration was clear.

With the sun dipping below the hills, we got a fire going, its warm glow turning our patch of wilderness into a cozy, lively retreat. As we huddled around the flames, we recounted the day’s adventures and chuckled over Zarar’s ill-fated decision-making. The crackling fire and our easy banter filled the air, transforming our rough-and-ready campsite into a haven of good spirits.

Reflecting on the Day: Embracing Nature

As the flames danced and the stars began to twinkle overhead, I found myself reflecting on the day. We had faced off with orcas, navigated challenging currents and whirlpools, and laughed through the chaos, embracing the raw beauty and unpredictability of nature.

“Tomorrow holds new adventures,” I said, raising my cup of coconut rum in a toast to the wild.

“Indeed,” Zarar replied, with a grin, “and maybe I’ll even have a sleeping bag to enjoy them!”

Their laughter echoed into the night, mingling with the gentle rustle of the trees and the distant roar of the tidal rapids. They savoured the moment, feeling alive and ready for whatever the next day would bring — or at least, Guse was ready. Zarar, however, was about to discover just how many layers of clothing it takes to turn a cold, sleepless night into an “adventure.”

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Day Four: Reality Bites (But So Do Burgers!)

Every grand adventure must come to an end, much like the shelf life of a soggy salami stick left too long in a backpack. Their last day began slowly, with Guse’s signature “Wakey Wakey” tune (potential chart-topper… or so he hoped). The water was calm, the paddling easy, but the melancholy was real.

We lingered in the morning, neither of us in much of a rush to rejoin the world. I dropped one of my signature “Guse eggs,” according to Zarar, telling him, “In the seven years I’ve been traveling, I’ve learned to savor moments like these — paddling with orcas, catching the northern lights, and staking out our own slice of wilderness for the night.”

Finally on the water, my camera lens was fogging up with moisture, which was, frankly, just the universe rubbing salt in the wound of returning to civilization.

I also fished a random floating beer can from the ocean — because, why not? It was a pale ale, for those wondering. (Not too bad I‘d say, but Zarar nearly retched with the first sip and handed it back like it was a cursed artifact.)

Eventually, we paddled on, only to encounter a speed-swimmer darting past Poise Island. A woman on shore shouted a warning to “watch out!” As if a paddler could somehow miss a human torpedo slicing through the water.

Landing in ch’atlich (Sechelt), we packed up, but the fun wasn’t over yet. Lunch at the bar was, of course, a victory feast. We both ordered well earned burgers, Zarar had fries, and I, well, I had a salad, earning me endless mockery. “I had to,” Zarar later said with a grin. He also struck up a long chat with the waitress about living on a boat to escape “city life.” A new dream in the making? Who knows — Zarar’s always only one paddle stroke away from his next adventure.

Then the gear haul awaited, looming like a dark cloud over us. “Well, we probably shouldn’t have returned,” Zarar declared with dramatic flair. Just as we prepared for the arm-straining trek, I spotted a trolley. I’d say it appeared as if by magic, but I prefer to think I summoned it — like Zarar the rope swing before — with sheer force of will (and a bit of good karma).

We loaded our stuff, made it to the bus, and collapsed with exhaustion as we headed back. The ferry ride home was bittersweet. Zarar wistfully gazed at the moon while I enjoyed some well-deserved ice cream. Back in the city, reality hit us harder than a wet paddle to the face. We crashed at Zarar’s place, and thus ended our frolickhein adventure.

And so, like all great adventurers before them, Guse and Zarar returned to the realm of city lights and Wi-Fi. Their journey through the shíshálh (Sechelt Peninsula) would forever remain a tale of triumph, of orca chases and bonfires, forgotten sleeping bags, and swing ropes and trolleys that mysteriously appear. The world would never be quite the same again. And neither would they… at least, not until the next “frolickhein-fueled” escapade.

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