Paddling far afield

Meeting Andrew Scott in 2018
by Trevor Marc Hughes

[Editor’s Note: I’d like to thank Lenore Hietkamp for her copy editing of the following passage. This is a chapter within a yet unpublished travelogue of my motorcycle travels across British Columbia.]

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Since disembarking the ferry at Langdale on the Sunshine Coast, I’d been riding the BMW F650GS I’d recently bought from Mike Whitfield flanked by coniferous forest, but suddenly there was a clearing and my field of vision was filled with ocean. This was in August 2018. It was the Salish Sea. Two kayaks, the paddles moving up and down rhythmically, took me down memory lane. I remembered how, the previous summer, while my family and I camped at Porpoise Bay Provincial Park, which rimmed nearby Sechelt Inlet, we rented two kayaks and enjoyed a glorious day paddling our way up through little shallow channels, where we spotted starfish and curious seals. We settled on a beach at Tuwanek Point Provincial Marine Park for a picnic. It had been about as pleasant a day as I could remember and reminded me of just how connected and non-invasive a mode of travel was the kayak.

As my eyes regained contact with the road ahead, I realized what a playground the Sunshine Coast must be for those piloting such a craft. I rode past small hotels and a fruit and vegetable market that was active on a Saturday morning. But as I climbed the hill away from Davis Beach and toward Sechelt, my thoughts returned to the things I’d always wanted to ask a hero of mine, Andrew Scott.

When writing, I’ve read and consulted two of his books, Secret Coastline and The Encyclopedia of Raincoast Place Names. They are on my home office bookshelf. I’ve also read The Promise of Paradise: Utopian Communities in B.C. and Secret Coastline II. I remember reading his column “Coastlines” in the Vancouver weekly paper, The Georgia Straight. What makes me keep reading his work is how he chronicled the British Columbia coast, having explored its 27,000 kilometres of shoreline by kayak, for decades. I was about to meet him.

I negotiated several tight turns, twisting the throttle a little more to haul my bike up the hilly residential area where Andrew had directed me. I slowed down, found the address, and pulled in to a gravel shoulder, then shut off the engine. I put down the stand and took off my gloves and helmet, appreciating the exquisite view across the strait: beyond the roofline an uninterrupted field of blue seemed to go on forever.

I carried my helmet, jacket, and briefcase to the front door. Sometimes when motorcycling I wished that I had one more appendage to carry all my stuff. But there have been times when people have offered to help when they see me so encumbered. It has broken the ice on more than one occasion.

After Andrew gestured to the foyer table where I placed my helmet, I shook his hand and he offered me a glass of water in his kitchen. I fumbled for my questions as I took the glass from him with thanks. At seventy, he still had the kind, calm, and wise visage I knew from his “About the Author” photos. The lines on his face marked a man who had travelled in the outdoors, exposed to the elements and spending a lot of time in the sun. He had the short, grey stubble of a trimmed beard. He also had the easy smile of someone satisfied with his work and life. His collections of stories feature artists, oceanographers, and First Nations leaders. He describes the unique and remote places up and down the straits and passages that make up the coast, such as Telegraph Cove, Kyuquot, and Ocean Falls, as well as the watercraft of various descriptions that ply those waterways. His stories also show how the kayak has allowed him to connect with coastal British Columbia.

We sat down and I began to ask my questions.

“There’s something rather unassuming, I find,” Andrew told me in his soft, measured voice, “about showing up by kayak. People are more willing to talk to you or engage with you. People appreciate that you’ve made an effort to reach them.” But what was it that had initially made him think he needed to travel by kayak? “Kayaks simply suited my station in life. I was a freelance writer without much money but with a strong desire to visit historical sites on the BC coast. I also needed some exercise,” he added with a smile. “But I gradually came to appreciate and love them. There’s nothing like being off on a paddling adventure when the weather’s fine and you’re exploring somewhere you’ve never been before.” I asked if the kayak was suited for someone who prefers individual travel. “Kayaks are relatively inexpensive, fun, good for solo expeditions, couples, or small groups. They’re silent, thus ideal for wildlife viewing.”

There are times when riding the motorcycle has reminded me of riding a horse in to town, but Andrew’s choice of conveyance scores even more connection points. The kayak allows him to connect not only with people and places but also with the history of a place. “I think that any non-mechanized form of transport, like paddling or rowing or sailing, allows you to connect emotionally with older modes of travel.”

“I used an Arluk 4 almost exclusively,” he continued. “Slowish but good cargo capacity, stable, and versatile. Workhorse of the seas. My wife had a longer, narrower Nimbus Solander. This evened out our speed and strength differences. I would always borrow her kayak if I wanted a speedier, tippier ride.”

The kayak allowed him to access pristine and natural places, locations that were not on the beaten track, so to speak. The connection with nature, the moments of silence and reflection and opportunities to be present in seldom-visited landscapes have all contributed to his writing. “I found that camping and travelling by kayak helped me free my imagination,” Andrew admitted. “It helped me imagine how things might have been in the past or helped bring to more vivid light accounts that other people had written about what happened in the past.”

There are many parallels, and some disparities, as I discovered in my talk with Andrew, between motorcycle travel and kayaking when it comes to connecting with surroundings. With the motorcycle I make engine noise and am limited to trails or roads. On a kayak you can travel just about anywhere, as long as there is a watercourse, and move about swiftly and silently. Robert M. Pirsig, in Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, wrote that motorcycle travel allows one to be in the environment, which kayak travel does as well. Such a traveller does more than just watch the world pass by, as would be the case in a car or large watercraft, where you’re concealed inside a structure of some kind. But travel by kayak and motorcycle are also similar in that you must limit what you take with you. Andrew saw this as a boon. “Travel by kayak is simplified and stripped down. You have minimal baggage. You’re not bogged down with machinery or equipment. It is hard work, though.”

That hard work meant taking on whatever meteorological and environmental conditions existed. The coast of British Columbia does create some challenges for those travelling in small watercraft. “Lots of tidal rapids,” he recalled. “But these are usually no problem with careful timing and tide-table consultation. The weather will change very suddenly. If you paddle enough, you’ll find yourself in precarious situations. This is how you learn and grow as a paddler, though.” But the challenges faced by a paddler strayed beyond what I expected from a coastal traveller, and wandered into the territory of what burdens the motorcycle traveller. “Planning and packing for a long expedition can be massively time consuming.” Andrew also told me about the “mothership trip”: taking a larger craft, such as a ferry or chartered motor vessel that carries him and kayak a great distance, and then drops him and kayak off. “It’s not practical to put in your kayak a hundred kilometres from where you want to go,” he told me. “You’re limited to beginning your kayak journey from spots that you can reach by car or ferry, like Powell River, Port Hardy, Bella Coola, Prince Rupert, Stewart, and the ports at which the mid-coast and Haida Gwaii ferries stop. That’s why mothership trips are so good, or small passenger or cargo ships like the Uchuck III, Frances Barkley, or Lady Rose.”

After a time, Andrew and I made our way to his garage, where he showed me the white Arluk IV that he had used to ply the coastal waters of British Columbia for so many years. He bought it in 1990 from Ecomarine Paddlesports Centre in Vancouver and it set the stage for his future as a writer. He pointed out how there are many local beaches accessible only by kayak. He told me he doesn’t travel as far afield as he used to, but he does go for a local paddle from time to time. “I like to put in at Sechelt Inlet, it’s a lovely place to kayak.” Over the years, he has paddled much farther afield from his home waters. Exploring off Ellesmere Island in Nunavut with his wife, Katherine, in her Nimbus Solander was an unforgettable experience.

He invited me to look out across the Strait of Georgia with him on his deck. We talked about the islands out there. Trail Islands, North and South Thormanby Islands. Beyond that, Texada, and Lasqueti. The view sparked a thought. “There’s an island out there that was a fort during the Second World War,” he exclaimed. “Wouldn’t it be great to see that? Yorke Island, Johnstone Strait.” He pointed out the direction. It told me that, even for Andrew Scott, there were always places one could yearn to travel to, to learn more about. It made me consider that he and I were similar: freelance writers, looking to make that connection with the history of the province we love, and hoping to find another story.

After saying my goodbyes, and perhaps being a little obsequious in parting with a favourite writer, I put my briefcase, containing my notebook, in my top box, put on helmet and gloves, and started up the engine. Instead of rushing to wait in a lineup for the Langdale ferry, I decided to ride along a favourite secondary road, the appropriately named Sechelt Inlet Road. A road of superlatives, over about 10 kilometres it twists, turns, climbs, and descends, the motorcycle motivated by gear-ups and gear-downs and braking and acceleration at just the right moments, surrounded by a spectacular forest and inspired by the emerging Caren Range across Sechelt Inlet. The reward is a clearing, leading the eye to the kayaking playground I’d paddled with my family years earlier, which Andrew mentioned to me: the warm, welcoming waters of Sechelt Inlet. I swivelled the bike around at a pullout at Tuwanek, turned off the engine, and put the stand down. Looking out at the beach, where several people were bringing their kayaks in after what I imagine was a classic day out, I recollected that day last year when I and my family dragged our rented kayaks up on a beach at Tuwanek Point Provincial Marine Park for a picnic. We met only one other adventurous kayaker while there, and reveled in our solitude and connection with the natural world. That was just an afternoon. I can only imagine Andrew Scott’s multi-year odyssey exploring the British Columbia coast in his Arluk IV. As he put it to me, “Much of the time it seemed as if I had the place to myself.”

[Editor’s Note: Andrew Scott passed away on June 29, 2025.]

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Trevor Marc Hughes is the author of Capturing the Summit: Hamilton Mack Laing and the Mount Logan Expedition of 1925. He spent much of two decades exploring British Columbia by motorcycle and writing about his experiences. His latest book is The Final Spire: ‘Mystery Mountain’ Mania in the 1930s. A former arts reporter at CBC Radio, he is currently the non-fiction editor for The British Columbia Review.

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The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors, 2023-26: Trevor Marc Hughes (non-fiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster