Kyle’s Cove

This summer has been jam-packed with hiking, kayaking, and even a few concerts. It's been a blast experiencing all these escapades with my PAs. I truly feel blessed to have so many opportunities coming my way, both past and present.

On one kayaking expedition with CRIS Adaptive Adventures, I had a chance to catch up with Rob, one of their employees. We started reminiscing about a kayaking/camping trip I took with my high school Outdoor Ed class back in the day.

Cue the nostalgic music—a long, long time ago, I can still remember… I attended Mount Boucherie Secondary School in West Kelowna. In Grade 10, I joined the Outdoor Ed class, led by the legendary Mr. Trent Pontalti. Not only did he teach us about the great outdoors, but he also moonlighted as a kayak instructor for Big Wave Kayak and Outdoor. When he proposed a short two-day kayaking and camping trip, he arranged for CRIS Adaptive Adventures to join us so that I could participate, too.

The plan was ambitious: set sail from Cedar Creek Park and paddle south along the east side of Okanagan Lake to Commando Bay, a wilderness campsite within Okanagan Mountain Provincial Park. With an April departure date, there was enough daylight for our journey. But nature had other plans. (duh, duh, DUH)

Prepping for the trip was an adventure in itself. We had to pack light, as the kayaks could only carry so much, and everyone was warned against bringing cotton clothing—better known as nature’s sponge. But, of course, there were still a few stubborn students trying to stuff their boats with half their closets, causing a packing process that felt like a high-stakes game of Tetris. We eventually hit the water, albeit two hours behind schedule.

Trent and Rob knew the late start was risky. The east side of the lake offered little protection, and paddling around the notorious “elbow” was like stepping into a washing machine set on “spin cycle.” We were facing a spring squall rather than the typical summer katabatic winds, but the effect was the same—short, choppy waves that seemed determined to make us regret every paddle stroke.

I was paired with Rob in a tandem kayak—22 feet long, 5 feet wide, and armed with pontoons on each side to keep us from tipping over. The problem? This also made us about as maneuverable as a school bus in a go-kart race. I had limited energy to paddle, so I focused on keeping myself upright and not becoming the human version of a sail as the waves crashed over us. Rob and Trent had discussed beforehand that if things got too rough, we had permission to split from the group and find our own safe haven. We had a GPS and radio to keep in touch, though as it turned out, the radio didn’t always cooperate.

We set off, the lake already rippling with a “you’re in for it” kind of vibe. Students chatted excitedly, finally realizing this was real and not just a page in their notebooks. But about 90 minutes in, civilization behind us and Commando Bay still a distant dream, the winds picked up. And by “picked up,” I mean they decided to whip us around like a half-inflated pool toy. The lake was turning into a chaotic mess of whitecaps, and every paddle stroke felt like a battle.

Rob and I struggled to keep up with the group, the waves slapping us in the face while the spray skirts worked overtime to keep the water out of our boat. It was exhilarating in a “I think I might die” sort of way. After another 45 minutes of this, Rob spotted a small cove at Halfway Point. It wasn’t exactly cozy—it was exposed to the waves, but it had a gravel beach where we could land and wait out the storm.

We turned the kayak towards the cove, battling the waves to get there. As soon as we hit the gravel, the stern of the kayak tried to swing sideways, and water started sloshing into the cockpit. Rob popped the spray skirt, only to be greeted by a wave of freezing water. We quickly got me out of the kayak and onto the headland, scrambling up to a somewhat sheltered spot behind some rocks. It wasn’t glamorous, but at least we weren’t at the mercy of the lake monster anymore.

We huddled there, nibbling on snacks and sharing stories, watching the lake churn below us. Rob tried the radio, but no response. Trent was probably busy managing his own set of challenges with the group. Despite the chaos, I felt oddly calm. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe I was just too focused on not becoming a popsicle to worry much. Either way, time passed quickly as we waited for the storm to blow over.

When the winds finally eased, Rob decided it was safe to continue. We carefully made our way back to the kayak, me taking one determined, methodical step, stumble, and crawl at a time. We pushed off into the water just as Trent came paddling back towards us, grinning like he’d just found us on a treasure map. He checked in, and we shared our respective adventures before he led us to a different camping spot—one that didn’t require risking life and limb to reach.

As we pulled into the protected cove, we were met with cheers from the rest of the class. The original destination of Commando Bay had been replaced by a private, but beautiful, cove just 30 minutes ahead. Once ashore, I found that some of the students had already set up the camp, including my tent. I had more mobility back then, but I still had to crawl around as needed. I don’t remember much of that first evening, except for one unforgettable middle-of-the-night encounter.

I woke up to the sound of loud sniffing outside the tent. My teenage brain immediately went into overdrive, convinced it was a giant grizzly bear ready to turn me into a midnight snack. I looked over at my tent mate, who was blissfully asleep. After some debate, I decided against waking him up so we could tag team against this foul beast. Rational thinking (if you can call it that) took over, and I figured the best way to keep us safe was to mark my territory. So, I used my urinal, relieving myself while my tent mate continued snoring away. The sniffing stopped, and I felt a surge of relief and a weird sense of accomplishment.

The next morning, I recounted my heroic tale over breakfast. Along with me the other students burst into laughter. Apparently, no one else heard the beast with the Darth Vader breathing. I basked in my glory, convinced I had single-handedly saved everyone from being bear chow.

Awe look at how cute I was

We packed up and headed back in our kayaks, the lake now smooth as glass with light snow falling—perfectly peaceful compared to the day before. When we returned, it was back to school like nothing had happened. But I couldn't resist a bit of research. According to the 2008 Internet, peeing around a grizzly is actually considered a challenge, not a deterrent. So, it probably wasn’t a grizzly after all—just a deer with poor manners.

About a week later, Mr. Pontalti asked me to stay after class. He presented me with a piece of wood he had taken from the cove where Rob and I had been stranded. He’d lacquered it and etched the words “Kyle’s Cove” into it. I still have that piece of wood today, a memento of a time when a little imagination and a lot of bodily fluids kept the wilderness at bay.

That's my dog Stevie's paws in the corner

Shoutout to Rob for helping navigate me through the torrential weather. I can’t wait to see him next and discuss the blog. I also want to give kudos to my former outdoor ed teacher, Trent Pontalti. I reached out to both him and Rob to ask their points of view and if they happened to have pictures to use. I’m still surprised that they were able to find photos from 12 years ago.