Boatpackingpost_001 - Tomales Bay

My last post was all about the 2+ weeks of intensive prep for a 4-day kayak camping expedition on Tomales Bay. I was going to link to it here to give a little bit of background on this trip, but realized I didn't write an intro paragraph there either. (You all can read my mind and know all the context and background for everything without me having to tell you, right?)

This is a trip I've wanted to to for years, ever since learning that, on dark nights in late summer and early fall, bioluminescent algae can be found in Tomales Bay. I read countless stories of paddling out into the bay at night, with only a red headlamp, and seeing streaks of glowing blue as your paddle stirs up the water.

Actually, this is why I bought my boat in the first place!

Preppost_001 - Getting ready for 4 days on Tomales Bay

MODS!!! On my last post I talked about how much of a pain in the ass it was to bring my whole setup on a 3+ hour, multi-leg trip. My little camelbak type backpack falling out of my bag in the middle of the crosswalk on a very busy San

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Tomales Bay is a long, mile-wide inlet off the Pacific, separating the northern half of Point Reyes from the mainland. Point Reyes is actually a separate tectonic plate from the rest of the continent, and feels like a different planet.

I would be launching in Inverness, a 2-store rural highway town on the southwest corner of Tomales Bay, and the last bit of civilization before hundreds of acres of national seashore and wilderness.

Inverness is about 50 miles from West Oakland, and over an hour even by car. For me, it's a 3.5 hour, 3-part transit journey taking me through 3 transit agencies and 3 counties.

I left before 6 am, hopped on a commuter bus to San Francisco, and then caught another commuter bus north across the Golden Gate to San Rafael. I stopped at a liquor store for a couple of supplies and somehow made it out without knocking over an entire aisle with my pack, and then it was time for the hour+ long bus to Inverness. Highways and strip malls give way to 2-lane roads, impossibly quaint little towns, redwoods, state parks, and finally Point Reyes National Seashore.

Once I made it to Inverness, I had one final mile of walking along the shoulder of Sir Francis Drake highway. If you hike extensively enough in West Marin, you're going to have to walk down a stretch of SFD at some point or another; it just comes with the territory.

Finally I made it to the unappetizingly named but actually very lovely Chicken Ranch Beach. As I was setting up, a couple was getting ready to go swim laps in the bay, and asked if I minded their dog Jacky hanging around ("she WILL find and eat your food!" they warned me).

Of course I didn't mind; Jacky was basically a large, sandy stuffed animal. A perfect cutie sweetie Muppet. She did a thorough inspection and identified several food sources among my stuff, and I was really tempted to give her one of my blueberry muffins I'd brought for the road.

I finally got my boat set up and everything packed up, and decided I should get going soon, as the waves were picking up. I said bye to my friend and got into my boat, paddling away from shore.

Suddenly, two big wet shaggy feet appeared over the side of the boat. Jacky!!

Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure it's illegal to take some random people's dog on a multi-night camping trip without their permission. So I said bye to Jacky again, and then I was off!

The boat handled surprisingly well with all my stuff piled on, and I made my way towards my first stop of the day: Tomales Bay State Park.

Camping on Tomales Bay is boat-in only, and campers have their pick of a dozen or so designated beaches along the west coast of the bay. The campsites are primitive - no amenities whatsoever - which means you have to pack in everything you need for your stay, including water!

Rather than trying to carry 3 or 4 gallons in from town, I'd decided to take advantage of the drinking water available at the park, filling up a couple of smaller reservoirs and planning to paddle back along the course of the week as needed to refill.

By the time I left, the waves had really picked up, and I eventually landed at Kilkenny Beach. After checking it out a bit, decided to set up camp there. There was a dilapidated house at one end, and I couldn't tell if it was abandoned or occupied (and couldn't decide which was more unsettling). The beach was pretty long, so I decided to camp at the opposite end. Aside from the spooky house, I had the whole place to myself (save for the raccoon that left these cute little handprints)

I went for a little paddle after dinner to look around, and when I got back there wasn't much beach left! But I knew the tide was supposed to go out around 7pm and not come back in until late morning, so there was little chance of waking up in the middle of the water like Meredith in The Parent Trap (1998) starring Lindsay Lohan and Lindsay Lohan.

I woke up before light the next morning to a completely fogged-out bay! Being out alone in the middle of the fog is a quintessential Point Reyes experience. This is the kind of shit I live for. So I put on my wetsuit and packed up my boat in record time, and set off out into the white void.

I was in such a hurry to get out before the fog burned away that I just brought my kitchen and morning routine with me! I stopped on a beach further up the coast and had some coffee and oatmeal.

The fog hung around a good while, and it was just me and the birds for a couple of hours. A flock of pelicans flew over, and it was so quiet I could hear the whoosh of their wings.

I decided to paddle quite a ways north to Hog Island; I'd read that the channel between the west coast of the bay and the island was a great spot to see the bioluminescent algae I'd come all the way here to see, and I wanted to check it out in daylight first.

The further from civilization I got, the more of that Point Reyes magic set in. Being way out here always feels traveling to another planet, or another geological epoch, or both.

I pulled into a cove to look at some birds on the shore with my binoculars, and suddenly, an otter appeared out of the water and ran up onto the beach. It was doing all kinds of goofy otter shit, going around, playing with rocks, etc, and then, it spotted me! It ran back towards the water, making a beeline for my boat.

I sat perfectly still as it swam tight circles around me, just about as fascinated with me and my kayak as I was with it. It sniffed the air around me, my boat, and each end of my paddle, running into the paddle face-first at one point as it drifted in the current.

After a few laps and a very thorough inspection, it was off! This was honestly the highlight of my whole trip, and I haven't stopped thinking about it.

Eventually I made it to Hog Island, which wasn't all that much to look at, and I didn't have time to land and look around. But it was cool to see the place the famous oyster company was named after, and I was proud of myself for making it much closer to the big red scary "THE WATER GETS REALLY SKETCHY BEYOND HERE" line on the park service map than I originally thought I would.

I turned around and made my way back towards camp, exhausted, and rested for a good while in my tent. Then, despite being just about all boated out for the day, it was time for my first water refill trip. I packed up and headed south back to the state park. It was a really nice evening but all that was on my mind was the fancy mac n cheese waiting for me back at camp. I was completely wiped out, and you can see how sunburned I was already.

I got back to camp with my water, and immediately set up my stove. It was windy and cooling off fast, and before my water finished boiling, my can of fuel ran out. I'd brought a mostly-used can with me, and based on the chart on the side I thought I'd have enough left, but just in case, I had picked up a can of fuel at the liquor store on the way.

This is where I came to the awful realization that camping fuel comes in different sizes and types (actually, I knew this already but was so tired and ready to get on the road the morning before that I'd forgotten.) I'd purchased a large canister of standard propane, and realized that my stove has specific and expensive tastes, and only takes small cans of a specialized fuel blend (with a smaller threaded connector).

I had a few options to extend my trip another night as planned - boat several miles back to town to get firewood and somehow rig up a way to cook over the open flame, or cold-soak my meals for the rest of the trip. I didn't have much ready to eat food, as I'd spent weeks before the trip prepping dehydrated meals to save on weight and space.

In retrospect, writing this blog post from my warm, comfortable apartment, I feel a bit silly knowing I chose the humiliating third option: eating a few handfuls of nuts for dinner and then tucking my tail, hoisting a white flag, and heading back to town in the morning a day early.

At the time, however, I was simply too cold and exhausted. I had paddled a ton that day already, was extremely sunburned from the first day, and had a fresh cut on the pad of my right thumb that was impossible to keep bandages on and was perpetually filled with SAND. Another marathon boat trip and 2 mile round trip walk into town? Cold meals of crunchy, partially rehydrated food? Just wasn't going to happen.

I looked so busted when I woke up the next morning that I sent a pic to Atomly being like "will you still love me if I come back looking like a 70 year old sea captain?"

One funny little surprise made me laugh though: I spotted two sets of fresh hoof tracks, which, given the location, could've been deer, tule elk. They were headed towards the water, and I looked around but couldn't find any return tracks! I looked this up when I got back and apparently all of these animals are known to swim. Can't say for sure this is what was happening here, but did enjoy the mental image of multiple large animals walking past my tent as I slept, to go for a midnight swim.

I packed up and made my way back towards town. I decided to stop one last time at the state park, and check out another beach at the park via a short hiking trail.

The area just north of the state park seems to be a spot where moon jellies accumulate in the currents, and on this last trip, I passed through a huge patch of them; probably in the hundreds. Jellyfish are rarely a welcome sight when you're out in the water, but it was really beautiful to see their translucent bodies drifting in the waves from the safety of my boat.

I eventually made my way back to Chicken Ranch Beach, just in time for a 2-hour gap in the bus schedule. I reclined in my boat and very slowly packed up my things and watched the sun start to go down.

Everything was turning pastel by the time I left to walk one final mile to the bus. Inverness, and Point Reyes more generally, are the kind of singularly beautiful place where you perpetually exist in a dream state. It's genuinely an honor to spend time in this place.