Dare to Do Something Daunting

When One Crazy Door Closes, Another Even Crazier One Opens

“Bad news, Chris.” Dave, normally the cheeriest person I know, flipped his smile upside down. “I tore my plantar fascia. Can’t do a big walk this year.”

“What? Dang.” 

Two years ago, we “urban hiked” about 30 kilometers across Vancouver and beyond to Port Moody. Last year, we racked up over 50km and 56,973 steps on our “Four Corners” circumnavigation of Vancouver, which won the Unrutty for my best adventure of 2023. For this year, we had grand plans. Maybe a walk all the way to the US border. But those dreams got crushed by an excessively-forceful Thai foot masseuse.

“Yeah.” Dave looked at his guilty foot. “Oh well. Next year.”

Next year?

I was looking forward to another adventure with Dave this June, making this one a true “misogi”—a crazy physical challenge with a 50% chance of failure that makes the rest of life feel easier afterward¹. I sighed, took a bite of my Whole Foods burrito and gazed across English Bay from our vantage point at Kits Beach:

Then it struck me.

A big part of the rewards from our previous adventures came from exploring our backyard in depth and from fresh angles. But what about that giant “pool” in our yard, a.k.a. the ocean?

“Dave.” I raised my eyebrow at him, “What about a paddling challenge?”

He reacted as if I’d poured Red Bull up his butt². “Oooh! We could go around Indian Arm! We could tour the bay! We could go to Port Moody again! We could go to Squamish!”

Squamish?!

Squamish is a one-hour drive from Vancouver:

Over 60 kilometers along the “Sea to Sky” highway. Steep mountains on one side, a drop down to Howe Sound on the other. Dave and I had driven up and down hundreds of times. But we had never seen it from the ocean.

Could it be done? I was considerably more reserved than Dave in my response. “Hmm. Yeah, trying to kayak to Squamish would be crazy.” 

“Nah. I don’t like kayaks. Not comfortable. My parents have a canoe. Their friend made it for them in the ‘70s. Let’s use that. Canoeing’s cooler, too.”

“Umm.” Canoeing’s also waaay tippier than kayaking. And slower. “Ok, well, let’s see if it’s possible.” I hadn’t canoed in almost twenty years, and I suspected Dave was similarly inexperienced.

“Good idea.” Dave’s eyes sparkled.

Crazy, But Not Deadly

The next morning, I got a stream of messages from Dave:

He’d done some research. Paddling to Squamish wasn’t impossible. A couple of people had posted trip reports online. They’d all done it by kayak. Zero accounts of anyone ever having done by canoe. But what’s the difference…right? 

Not wanting to seem like a wimp, I played it cool for the time being. We still had a couple of weeks left before the date Dave suggested, Saturday, June 1.

Meanwhile, I ran the idea by a few people. My dad, who has much more canoeing experience, thought it was crazy. Other friends felt the same. My brother, who lives in Squamish, said he had no interest in joining but would come rescue us if needed. 

But no one said it was too dangerous or that we shouldn’t do it.

Worst case? We capsize. I looked up YouTube videos on flipping canoes in the middle of the water. Do-able. If not, we’re both strong swimmers, so we could make it ashore. The water’s not too cold this time of year.

In the right conditions—wind at our backs, tide in our favor—it seemed possible.  As it happened, that was the forecast for June 1.

Steer Into the Daunt

As June 1 approached, I started to get nervous. Were we really going to attempt this? 

My wife didn’t believe it. No one else did either. Not because we’re wimps—they know we’re not—but because of how daunting the challenge seemed. Nobody on record had canoed it before. We’d never paddled close to this long, ever. 

But I wasn’t going to be the one to call it off. Neither was Dave.

So I checked the weather forecast multiple times a day, a part of me hoping for a storm to use as an excuse to back out. But a bigger part of me reminded me of times I’ve felt like this way before. Looming daunt looks scary, like a tornado on the horizon. But once you’re in it that fear disappears. And when you’re through it, you look back proudly. “Didn’t die. Memorable adventure. Learned a lot. What’s next?”

Plus, we’d both recently watched Nyad. That crazy lady swam for 53 hours straight in her sixties from Cuba to Florida. Compared to her challenge, ours was a piddling paddle in a pond.

The day before our tentatively-scheduled take-off, Dave went to his parents to get the canoe ready. He sent me this photo:

It hadn’t been used in years. The front seat was broken, but he figured putting pads over the top would do the trick. The challenge just got a little bit spicier. 

But the forecast remained ideal. We agreed to go for it. 

You Never Know Until You Try

At 5:15 a.m. on June 2nd, we pushed the canoe off the shores of Spanish Banks and aimed for Point Atkinson about seven kilometers across English Bay. 

I told Dave my expectations. Either: 

1. This would be even harder than either of us anticipated and we’d call it quits before making it to the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal, about one-third of the way there. 

Or:

2. This would be easier than expected. Long, but pleasant. 

The first part of our trip would set the tone.

Aside from a small concern about crossing paths with an incoming cruise ship, option 2 became our reality. Waves were small, we weren’t hit by any crazy currents, and we hit Point Atkinson just about an hour after leaving. Seven kilometers in one hour. Over ten percent of the way.

Our crazy mission was starting to feel a little less crazy—and less daunting. It was just a matter of time. 

Another One For the Record Books

The paddle took us just under 9 hours, including two breaks to swap seats, snack, stretch our legs, and pee. 

• We admired beachfront mansions we’d never seen before.
• We picked out secluded beaches to return to in the future.
• We talked about everything we could think of and more. 
• We ogled eagles hunting, fish jumping, jellyfish floating, and seals splashing. 
• We passed by ferries plowing by at formidable speeds, kite surfers zipping around, Zodiacs transporting mill workers across the sound, and a seaplane practicing take-off and landing. 
• We marveled at our bodies’ ability to paddle thousands of times despite zero training. 

Most importantly, we seeded the 60-kilometer stretch of Sea-to-Sky Highway with memories. From now on, every time I look across English Bay or drive between Vancouver and Squamish, I’ll think, “Remember when we paddled that?” 

On to the Next Adventure

On our bus ride home, I thought about how the others aboard had no idea how we got there. To them, Dave and I were just a couple of smelly guys heading down to Vancouver for some innocuous reason. Or maybe they were coming back from their own crazy adventures? 

I kind of wished we could share. Inspire each other to do more.

Or maybe we didn’t need more inspiration. The next day, Dave messaged me:

What about paddling across the Georgia Straight to Vancouver Island next year?

Looks to be about 60 kilometers.

Not much farther than our Sea-to-Sky-by-Sea day, but a significantly longer crossing.

Seems daunting. 

Good.

🦶 Footnotes You Don’t Have to Be a Podiatrist to Find Interesting

1. I was introduced to the misogi concept by Michael Easter’s book, The Comfort Crisis. The two rules for misogi challenge are: 1) They should be so hard that you have only a 50% chance of succeeding, and, 2) You can’t die doing it.
   The Comfort Crisis also introduced me to the benefits of walking with heavy loads and nature’s “3-day effect” on our brain—which I experienced and wrote about here. It was one of my favorite books I read in 2021. Strongly recommend. ↩︎
2. The thought of pouring Red Bull up your butt stems from a 2010 adventure my friends and I had in Ukraine. Someone we met in Odessa told us that truck drivers there were rumored to dip their butts in a communal tub of vodka. Apparently, the alcohol entered their systems faster that way, so it gave them a quick and efficient buzz. ↩︎