Long Distance Kitesurfing – 144km

Georgian Bay. It’s rather remote, wild, and treacherous but it’s also extremely beautiful, very spiritual, and full of history. The more I explore its clear waters and rugged coastline, the more I have to disagree with its name. ”A Bay? Really?” Yes, geographically it forms the northeastern arm of Lake Huron, but in all other respects, it is a large lake in its own right. As a matter of fact, it is sometimes called the “sixth Great Lake”. With an area of 15,000 square kilometers, Georgian Bay is nearly 80% the size of Lake Ontario and it would be the fourth largest lake located entirely within Canada after Great Bear Lake, Great Slave Lake and Lake Winnipeg. Well, if some nerdy cartographer still wants to call it a Bay, so be it. But if you ask any local sailor, or consider the hundreds of shipwrecks strewn across the bottom, or if you just let your eyes travel across its endless horizon, a picture of an ocean comes to mind instead.

When I planned this adventure, I anticipated three distinct and challenging phases. The first, the Adrenaline Phase, was a 30-km ride directly across Georgian Bay from Craigleith to Christian Island. The second, the Tricky Phase, was a circumnavigation of Christian Island and foiling through a fairly narrow gap along Hope and Beckwith Islands. The third, the Endurance Phase, I assumed would be the least interesting, though physically demanding, a long cruise along the shore all the way back to Craigleith. I anticipated roughly 6 hours on the water, a round trip of about 120 kilometers. As it turned out, my trip also happened to have a fourth phase: “Survival Kiting”. This will not be surprising to any serious long-distance kitesurfer or solo adventurer. No matter how well we prepare and how hard we try to foresee all possible difficulties lurking along the trek, there will be surprises. Always.

The Adrenaline Phase

I started my journey in rather unsettling conditions. There were rain showers over the bay, the wind was gusty, and the swell was already up to 3 feet. I water-launched my 10m Soul kite and pointed my board towards a dark cloud with heavy rain in the distance. Such uncertain weather would normally be a strong signal for me to abort the mission, but all forecast models agreed on a stabilizing trend throughout the day with zero chance of thunderstorms. Most importantly, the western sky already hinted at such positive development, so I wasn’t alarmed. My friend Chuck was in charge of “Mission Control”, and while working from home that day, he also kept an eye out for any unforeseen developments on weather radar. It felt good to know he had my back. When I was a few kilometers from shore, the gusts lost their edge and my ride became fairly enjoyable. I couldn’t see Christian Island across the bay, only its mirage hovering above the surface. I thought that was pretty cool. The swells on the open water were occasionally up to 5 feet, and I estimated westerly wind at 15 to 22 knots. Being alone 15 kilometers from the nearest land in such conditions was exhilarating but also a bit scary. “Could I even paddle my Kite-trek board in these waves if needed?” I wasn’t sure, and I certainly didn’t want to find out. A sense of self-preservation kicked in and I rode in full focus mode to avoid any unnecessary complications. In the end, my 30-kilometer open water crossing went well, and I was proud of my safe and nearly flawless execution.

The Tricky Phase

At the northwestern horn of Gahoendoe, the original Huron name for Christian Island, I turned downwind and kited through a beautiful passage with Hope Island on my left side. My scenery changed entirely. The endless horizon of white capped swells was replaced by forests and sand beaches on both islands. The limestone bedrock tinted the water in beautiful shades of Mediterranean colors and I wished I had been on my paddle board so that I could slow everything down, relax, and fully absorb the beauty of the moment. Instead, I was zipping through on my foil board with little time to rejoice in the natural beauty. My 2019 700-km SUP journey along the world’s largest freshwater archipelago, the 30,000 Islands of Georgian Bay, left such an emotional, and unforgettable memory that I simply couldn’t continue rushing through without making any meaningful “connection.” I decided to make a stop and landed my kite on the southeastern spit of Hope Island. I sat down, stretched my muscles, and cherished my surroundings while eating a snack. There were 2 sailboats hiding in a sheltered cove, but I saw no people anywhere. This short, quiet moment was a highlight of my day. The troubles and surprises all still lay ahead.

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To circumnavigate Christian Island wasn’t entirely straightforward. Its leeward side, where the passage between Christian Island and mainland is only 2km wide, is known for crazy winds sometimes called “Gaposis” by local sailors. The highest elevation of Gahoendoe is 209m ASL, about 50 meters (165feet) above current water levels, forming a considerable obstacle which can create a lot of turbulence and directional wind shifts. When I kited through, the overall conditions indeed reflected my expectations. Luckily, the gusts were not as explosive as I had feared and I was able to stay on the foil through both extremes; the “holes in the air” and the over-the-board pulling wind surges. Soon, I was out of the narrow passage and I found myself back in the relentless swells of Georgian Bay.

I had barely congratulated myself for my successful voyage through the islands when BOOM – I was in the drink and so was my kite. No warning. My kite fell from the sky like a leaf from a tree. “How is this possible in air flowing at 15-25 knots? Did the swell push me under the kite? Was it Gaposis – a goodbye message from Christian Island gap?” Luckily, I caught the event on video and you can be the judge. What I didn’t record though (by mistake), was the fact that I had to wind the lines, untangle my bow-tied kite, and then successfully water-launch it; all this action in 4-foot waves! When my kite flew again at 12 o’clock my flying lines were inverted, but I was extremely happy to finally kite away from this tight situation and continue my journey towards Allenwood and Wasaga Beach. I learned many lessons in this incident but one thing became extremely clear: Had I kited with my board unleashed, it would have been carried away by the waves and wind in a matter of seconds! My lifeline would have been gone!

The Endurance Phase & Survival Kiting

My direct course to Allenwood again took me quite far from shore. I couldn’t allow another “wind hole” to defeat me and so I paid full attention to the swells and to the kite. I enjoyed my ride. I glided over and in between large water “moguls” and it was fun. Soon I saw a few kites in the air and I knew Allenwood was near. I didn’t kite close to say hi because the water near the shore turned into a brown, mud churned soup. I was quite spoiled by the clear waters far from the coastline. To those kiters, I must have appeared out of nowhere like an alien, only to slowly disappear again into the choppy “ocean”.

Things were going well. I had kited for about 5 hours but I felt in pretty good shape to tackle the last leg of my trip, about 25 kilometers upwind to Craigleith. Little did I know what my dear friend, Georgian Bay, had decided to spice up my home stretch with. When I got closer to shore near Collingwood, the wind conditions changed. It took me a while to realize what was actually happening. The closer to the shore I rode, the worse it seemed. “Is the wind dying?” The whole wind situation felt confusing all of a sudden. I could barely ride when I was close to shore as there seemed to be no wind at times, but when I took refuge further away from shore, I experienced near-overpowering gusts. The wind and swells seemed to be at their best/worst, depending on how you look at it, and I simply didn’t have the strength or focus to fight the elements much longer. I felt too tired to ride kilometers away from land and face possible consequences. All I wanted was enough mental relief to finish my journey safely, but it wasn’t happening.

Eventually, I tacked away from shore, and realized that Collingwood was basically at my back! At that moment, I finally knew where my trouble originated: I was kiting in offshore wind conditions! All of a sudden, the beautiful backdrop painted with the green ski slopes of Blue Mountain resort, the view that I had enjoyed most of the day no matter how far I was, became my enemy. The wind channeling around, along, and over the mountain range created havoc on the water near the shore. And that’s where I was headed. The gusts became explosive and nasty. Twice, my kite collapsed only to re-open abruptly again and to throw me off the board. The waves were rather messy, anywhere between 1 and 5 feet depending on how far out I was. On top of all this, thanks to the vicinity of Blue Mountain and its local effect, the wind direction in the area did not “correspond” to the overall direction of the waves! As a result, my course of travel was perpendicular to the waves and because some of them were so high, it was very difficult not to breach out of the water every time I cut through the wave crest with my foil. I was constantly working my way towards small walls of water that needed to be navigated like a ride on a Loch Ness roller coaster; up and down, up and down… Wow! I was neither mentally nor physically prepared for such a hard finish. Georgian Bay had its way with me and I was barely hanging on to the control bar. When I finally saw my home point, the beautiful cottage of my friends, I made a beeline for the shore and hoped for the best. When I was close enough, I dropped my kite in the water, wrapped it up, and waded the last 30 meters to finish my bout with Georgian Bay – a body of water which deserves to be called the “sixth Great Lake”.

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