It wasn’t until around midnight that I dropped off into a deep sleep. Earlier in the night, wind gusts would yank at the tent, the flapping of nylon pulling at my nerves and sapping my confidence at making it around Cape Shiretoko today. In my half-asleep state, my mind wandered to visions of great crashing waves and heaving swells at the Cape.
At around midnight, however, the gusts stopped.
Now, it was 1:30am, and my alarm was buzzing. It was about 1.5hrs before light would emerge from the eastern horizon, and the air was still.
The still air was encouraging. Even more encouraging was the lack of wave sounds from the outer reefs off the beach.
Had we found a window to paddle around the Cape?
Haidee was also waking up as I was preparing to leave the tent. As I was leaving, she was stuffing her sleeping bag into its cover as if on auto-pilot, eyes hardly open.
Timbah was already up and preparing breakfast when I clambered out of our tent at 1:40am.
“The sea is sounding promising,” I proffered.
“Yup,” he replied as he stared into the steam rising from his pot, illuminated by the dull glow of his headlamp.
Sounds were all we could go on at this point. It was still too dark to make out what was happening on the water. But the plan was to get ready to depart regardless.
At around 2:45am, the hints of light started to show on the horizon. Chris and Mick, each in their own tents, were not up yet.
“Do you think they’d feel OK with me shaking on their tents to wake them up?” queried Timbah.
“I don’t care how they feel,” I replied. “This might be our chance at the cape. We need to be ready to go, so yes, let’s wake them up.”
Chris and Mick had chosen to forgo breakfast, opting instead for more sleep and a quick snack to get them going. Soon, the campsite was buzzing with activity, getting tents packed down and gear carefully arranged in kayak hatches. Everyone’s kayak was full to the brim with at least eight days worth of food plus gear, so it was becoming a daily ritual to get everything to fit just right.
It was 3:30am on the dot when we all pushed off the beach. There was just enough light to make out white lines of breaking waves on reefs. If we were going to make it around the Cape, timing was going to be tight.
Once past the reefs protecting the Nihon-daki beach, we were back into a sea state reminiscent of yesterday. No whitecaps yet, because we were still in the still air of dawn, but the sea was still up, following us and pushing our sterns around.
I paddled next to Mick, and chatted to him, trying to keep him relaxed. On his own, he would stiffen up, and get tunnel vision.
Chris threw encouraging words his way. “It’ll only get better from here!”
I agreed with Chris, but first, we had to get around Kabuto-iwa Rock, a prominent cape and the last before we would make a last bay crossing to Cape Shiretoko. We opted to paddle on the outside of Kabuto-iwa Rock, and the conditions were some of the largest we encountered on the trip. In troughs, I would lose sight of the others, only to be thrust up again to be given a birds-eye view of the world, before being swallowed up again. At times, the crest of waves would break, requiring a quick brace.
Mick was clearly on full-alert mode. With some cajoling, I could get him to turn away from obstacles. It was a relief when we managed to round the rock with everyone upright and now in the lee of the swell.
We had rounded Kabuto-iwa Rock, but the southeasterly breeze was stiffening.
Timbah seemed to be more aware of this than any of us. “Any chance we can pick up the pace?” he suggested.
The crew didn’t need much more encouragement.
As we paddled, it quickly dawned on me that we were at Cape Shiretoko. It was right there. The distinctive, low shelf of land, with its manicured sasa bamboo grass covering, was a sight to behold. We were actually here. A place that had occupied my imagination and desire for so long. And we might just make it around it. A feeling of awe was building in me.
Most encouragingly, the great mess of whitewater and heaving, breaking swell that my mind had conjured up over the last few days around Cape Shiretoko was not to be seen. All we could see was glorious, flat, protected water on the inside of the cape, with the most perfect channels between reefs one could ask for.
“Come right!” I called out to Mick. I wanted him in the center of the channel this time. He glid past me at the perfect trajectory, into flatter water.
The water was flat, but the wind was howling, whipping around the Cape with great velocity.
But we were now out of the deep, long-fetch waters of the Nemuro Strait, protected on all sides by reefs. The relief was palpable, and all before the sun had even emerged from the horizon. It was now 4:20am, and we were rounding Cape Shiretoko.
Looking back from where we’d come, it was a vision of terror. Dark. Ominous. Clouds. Fog. Whitecaps dotted the surface of the water.
Timbah’s insistence we leave at daybreak was the MVP decision of the day. Had we been 30 minutes later, it would have been a vastly different experience.
As the sun peeked over the clouds on the horizon, it felt like a huge weight of uncertainty was lifted from the crew’s shoulders.
“I really was not confident we’d make it around the Cape today,” said Timbah, beaming from ear to ear.
It felt like for the first time in two days that I saw Ben with his hands off his paddle in the water. We could finally relax a little, as we crossed from the Pacific Ocean’s Nemuro Strait to the great, calm expanse of the Okhotsk Sea.
We weren’t 100% out of the woods yet though. There was a howling off-shore wind, which picked up the spray from breaking waves and hurled it to the north, out to the open Okhotsk Sea.
We picked our way through the reefs. We knew Aburako-wan Bay was just around the corner, so we were making a beeline for that shelter so we could all take a break. We’d only been on the water for an hour, but it felt like an eternity.
At 5am on the dot we arrived at Aburako-wan Bay. It was an oasis of calm. No wind. Just warm, welcoming sunshine.
We knew we now had at least two days of southeasterly flows, so we were finally feeling flush with time. We’d now have at least 48 hours of beautifully sheltered leeward paddling.
We felt like Royalty.
What better way to celebrate our newly crowned status than by doing a march up to the summit of our kingdom – the Shiretoko Cape lighthouse.
The views were magnificent, but what struck us all the most was the clear demarcation line between sea states. It was almost as if the wind itself was marking the Pacific/Okhotsk boundary line for us.
This hammered home the reward for all the uncertainty. We were now paddling into calm waters.
There was a somewhat quiet but festive atmosphere surrounding the team. There was, perhaps, a bit of disbelief that we’d made it. The contrast between waking up in the cold, dark gloom, and now basking in still, warm air, was still stark.
We lingered at the lighthouse. Absorbed in the grandeur of it all.
Incidentally, as of August 2024, this Shiretoko Cape area is the center of a heated dispute (PDF backup). There are plans afoot to install a mobile cell tower near the light-house, to enable mobile reception as a safety net for tourist vessels sailing to the cape and back. The impetus for the project was a 2023 sinking of a tourist vessel, where all 24 occupants of the vessel died. The main concern is the environmental impact that a planned soccer-field-sized solar panel array will have on this pristine, largely untouched landscape (solar array is to power the cell tower).
This controversy swirled in my head as we wandered back to the bay.
Once back on the water, we were all in full relaxation mode. Timbah let out his fishing line for the first time on the trip, and promptly caught three small rock fish that would later become part of a campfire dinner.
With calmer waters, it was also an opportunity to try out the Greenland paddles. They were both Gearlab Outdoors Kalleqs. Mick had brought his along, and Gearlab Outdoors had sent one to Haidee and I ahead of this trip. It was my first time using a Greenland paddle, and I liked it a lot. So did Haidee.
The only bit of criticism Haidee had was that as per Greenland paddle paddling style, she had to have her hands submerge into the water more than usual. For someone with delicate skin, this wasn’t ideal.
They’re amazingly lightweight paddles though. They’re very buoyant too, which adds to their feeling of lightness in the water.
The first curiosity on our way along the northeastern tip of the Cape was the brutish concrete breakwater outside of Bunkichi Bay port. Ostensibly, this great hunk of concrete is for keeping drift ice out of the port.
Next on the agenda was the second bear sighting of the trip. This time, it was from the safety of the water. It was a lone, relatively skinny-looking specimen, clearly interested in us as we bobbed on the water looking at it.
Here and there, we would find little reefs, allowing us to play with surfing on our own terms (as opposed to the previous two days, where the sea was doing its best to surf us).
The calmer water was also allowing Haidee to do some birdwatching from her kayak. She spotted a family of three white-tailed eagles, along with a number of other birds.
Bear number three for the trip was spotted at 9am on our way to Ochiai-wan. Another lone individual wandering along the foreshore. It was largely uninterested in us, and soon disappeared into the foliage.
“The way such a large animal can just disappear without a trace into the bush is somehow very eerie and disconcerting,” mused Chris.
It was only 9:40am when we arrived at our campsite for the night, Ochiai-wan Cove. This mind-bendingly perfect cove is what dreams are made of. Replete with potable spring water flowing year-round from a crack in the cliffs, it is a perfectly protected, kayaker’s dream.
Despite it only being just after 9:30am, the thought of carrying on to make the most of the paddling hours was not even floated. I personally doubt anyone even thought of it. It was a foregone conclusion that we would be staying there for the rest of the day.
Here’s how Shinya-san describes the cove in his guidebook:
At the tip of the cape between Pirate Cove and Poromoi is Ochiai Cove, a suitable landing spot. There’s potable spring water at the beach, just behind the bluff at the Utoro end of the beach. Pirate Cove and Ochiai Cove are both local names – the coves are not named on government topomaps. There are many awash rocks at the entrance of Ochiai Cove. When the sea state is high, keep on the capeward side of the bay’s entrance. The bay is surrounded on three sides by low cliffs and has no streams. This means bears are uncommon, making it a good place to camp.
Note the ‘bears are uncommon’ reference.
Only 20 minutes after arriving at the cove, again Timbah raised the alarm.
“Hey, a bear is looking at us,” he said, pointing.
Indeed, a young-looking bear was peering at us over some rocks at the bay entrance.
We hardly had time to yell ‘hey bear’ before it clambered down the rocks, dropped happily into the water, swam across the bay entrance, and carried on its way past our camp along the shoreline. We’d heard that bears could swim. But this was, clearly, updating our expectations on when bears swim.
“I previously believed that bears only swam when they have to,” reflected Chris. “That prior has been thoroughly updated,” he laughed.
About an hour later, again Timbah raised the alarm.
“There’s another bear,” he said, scratching his head.
This one was in the same spot as the previous one, but was a little larger.
“So much for bears being uncommon here,” I said, reflecting on Shinya-san’s guide.
We yelled at the bear, threw a few stones, and it scampered off. Never a dull moment on the Shiretoko Peninsula, clearly.
The rest of the afternoon was spent lounging, sleeping, swimming, foraging, and relaxing. The high cliffs were perfect for creating shade.
Timbah got a fire going, and cooked his fish.
“You know, in the US, before I came to Japan, a lot of people I hung out with thought it was weird that I liked to cook my fish whole. I love it that I’m normal in that way here in Japan,” he laughed.
Haidee took the opportunity to roast some marshmallows.
As an aside, we’d talked a lot about pooping prior and during the trip. The crew was a die-hard leave-no-trace sort of group, and we wanted to make sure we were doing the Number Twos in the right way on this trip. The Shiretoko general rules of conduct (PDF backup), issued by the Ministry of Environment, state as follows:
In principle, portable toilets should be used, and human, paper and other wastes carried out of the region. In the event a portable toilet is unavailable, paper waste should be carried out and human waste not concentrated in one area. Please follow the procedures below:
i) When along the coastline, dig a hole above the highest point at high tide, in an area without vegetation. Sufficient distance should be kept from fishing huts and other places associated with fishery activities.
ii) Avoid water sources, mires, and areas with fragile vegetation.
A kayaking trip is, by definition, ‘along the coastline’, but were taken aback by the advice to bury human waste in an area without vegetation. We were used to best-practices stating to bury human waste in bio-material (i.e. soil), or, when travelling along remote coasts, to just poop in the ocean.
Not wanting to cause consternation should we be sharing campsites with other parties, to be on the safe side, we were carrying WAG bags and a PVC pipe poop tube to transport them in. In reality, we only used the poop bags three times, and the rest of the time we were pooping off rocks in the intertidal zones.
Keen to check if this poop-in-the-ocean practice was within the realm of reasonable behavior, after the trip I asked about it at the Rusa Field House.
“In practice, that’s the preferred option,” the staff member said. “It’s not really practical to carry WAG bags for up to seven or eight days for a large group, so most people do just poop in the ocean. The rules were created more with the mountainous areas in mind, since they are more fragile.”
This made me feel a little better about us leaving our Number Twos to be reclaimed by the sea (all paper was, of course, always packed out when used).
Editor’s note: After the trip, we re-checked some recent leave-no-trace practices. It seems now that institutions such as NOLS in the US encourage packing out wherever possible, even on sea kayaking trips. The Shiretoko coastline still sees very few coastal recreational use and the season is short (June to September), but if users increased considerably, pooping in the ocean would likely become less feasible. The poop tube cost 2,000yen in parts from a hardware store, and 10 minutes of time to put together, so that’s a very reasonable alternative.
I only make this tangent to Day 3’s story because I wanted to include the glorious photo of Chris’s fabulous naked body bathing in the evening light.
It was another early night for us all. After dinner, we filled up water sacks, and got things ready for another early start the following day. Timbah, Mick and Chris didn’t even bother pitching tents. It was about as perfect an evening as it gets, with a forecast of more of the same tomorrow.
Did I mention there was ice-cold, potable spring water flowing from the cliff? Heaven!
Before everyone bedded down for the night, we discussed tomorrow’s plans. Everyone was in agreement that today’s dawn start was on the money, and that another dawn start was worth committing to for tomorrow.
We agreed on another 3:30am push-off, and settled down for a quiet, relaxing sleep.
That was until about 11:30pm, when I woke up, looked out of our tent, and saw the dim silhouette of a bear crouched on the shore, right in front of our camp.
“Bear in the camp!” I yelled.
I grabbed a stone and hurled it towards the shadow. Timbah jumped up and joined in the chorus.
“Hey bear!” he yelled.
It was only after the whole camp was awake that I thought to grab my headlamp to shine a light on the beast.
My folly was revealed in an instant.
It was a rock.
The rock’s silhouette looked like a bear. At least it did to my stupor-fogged brain, clearly still on edge from the five bears we’d encountered so far, three of which were at camp.
I apologised profusely, and we all went back to sleep. Crisis(?) averted(?).
5 thoughts on “Shiretoko Circumnavigation Day 3 – Nihon-daki to Ochiai-wan”
So many awesome photos of this day!!
It was a very photogenic day 🙂
Can we have a Chris Calendar? For nature conservation charities, of course.
Oh, the naked men photos are only just beginning…plenty more to come 🙂
🫣😊🥰