The previous day, we’d just completed an inspiring day pabble paddle along 10km of the northwestern coast of the Shiretoko Peninsula from Utoro. The cliffs, waterfalls and sheer scale of the scenery had blown us away.
We were, however, also very interested to take a look at the less ‘major’ side of the peninsula – the Rausu side.
After our paddle near Utoro, we drove back to our base camp at the Rausu Campground and enjoyed a rather wet night with rain and wind.
The morning broke calm though, with an eerie cloud covering much of the coast.
When we arrived at the end of the road in Aidomari though, the cloud had burned off somewhat, and we were bathing in warm sunshine.
The weather forecast was less than perfect, but not concerning – or at least that’s what we thought as we set off. There were 15km/h winds forecast out of the south for later in the afternoon, but we figured we’d be off the water by then. We were putting in at 7:30am, so we figured this would give us more than enough time to do the 20km return paddle before the worst of the headwinds picked up in the afternoon.
The carpark at the end of the road was quite the bustling affair, with families, hikers, and then us – the only kayakers – all taking a look at the sea at the end of the road.
It was nice to push off from the stony beach and leave the madding crowds behind us. In front of us was a dramatic, long coastline with no road.
The vibe on this side of the peninsula was starkly different to what we’d experienced on the other side. The short section of coast we’d paddled on the Utoro side was swarming with tourist boats, and the fishing appeared to be more large-scale with large set nets anchored to the cliffsides.
Here, we were sharing the relatively shallow rocky reef near-coast areas with small vessels harvesing konbu (kelp). There were banya 番屋 fishing huts dotted along the stony beaches. It felt remote, windswept and a hard place to make a living.
As we made our way north along the coast, we enjoyed a moderate tailwind, hastening our way northwards. In the back of my mind it occurred to me that this might come back to bite us later…but for now, it was smooth sailing.
We soon made it to the first cape of the trip – Kannon-iwa 観音岩. Somewhat like the backbone of an ancient sea creature, rocks jutted out vertically from the sea. We were able to slalom through them as we rounded the cape. As predicted, the sea was whipping up into some small waves on the south side of the cape, but as soon as we rounded it, we were paddling on flat water again.
Just beyond Kannon-iwa, we made our first stop for the trip, at a small sheltered inlet with a stony beach. With the absence of any sort of road near us, it felt gloriously removed from the rest of the world.
From the small sheltered inlet, we made the final 4km or so northwards along Kaseki-hama beach towards the cape-like Takenoko-iwa タケノコ岩. As we paddled, the tailwind only got stiffer.
The surroundings felt even more remote.
From the small sheltered inlet, we made the final 4km or so northwards along Kaseki-hama beach towards the cape-like Takenoko-iwa タケノコ岩. As we paddled, the tailwind only got stiffer.
The surroundings felt even more remote.
Rounding Takenoko-iwa was somewhat of a relief, as we were once again ushered into the lee of the strengthening southerly.
As we rounded the cape, we saw glimpses of something moving among the enormous boulders on the shoreline. As we watched for a few moments, we realized it was a group of hikers.
This section of coast is the most popular way of getting to Shiretoko Cape on foot. With a careful reading of the tides, and some clambering using ropes, it’s possible walk the 30-odd kilometers from Aidomari. It’s much faster paddling it, but every year lots of hardy hikers make the trek to the cape and back.
As we rounded the last few rocks to Moiresu Bay, we saw a few more hikers hiking in the oppposite direction – back towards Aidomari. It felt like we’d chanced upon some kindred spirits on this otherwise lonely paddle north.
We pulled up on the stony beach, and proceeded to relax into a long lunch break. It was 10:30am. We’d been on the water for three hours.
Soon, the group of hikers who’d been making their way north appeared over the rocks at the south of the bay. We would all end up sitting in the same area of the beach, enjoying a leisurely break.
A clearly resident fox, largely unafraid of us humans, sat patiently a few meters away from us.
The forecast of strengthening southerlies was weighing on my mind.
The morning’s forecast called for strengthening winds midday, but then calm weather after that. We discussed hanging around the bay until later in the afternoon to avoid the worst of the headwind.
In the end though, we decided to push on and make the return sooner rather than later. After all, if things got too windy, we could always pull up in the lee of a cape and wait things out.
Just as we were getting ready to head off, a small fishing boat arrived in the bay. At least that’s what it looked like. But on the boat were five cold-looking tourists, clearly on a bit of a boat tour of the area.
The hikers had moved on, and were now skirting a particularly tidal-looking rock ledge around the cape to the north of the bay.
I pushed off the beach first, paddling backwards so I could keep in a good position to take a photo of the bay with the wide-angle lens of my GoPro. I’d taken lots of wide-angle photos the past few days with the GoPro, and I was looking forward to getting a good one of Moiresu Bay.
I paddled backwards, and at the point that I figured I’d get a good shot, I reached for the GoPro.
But it wasn’t there.
Usually, I would attach the GoPro to my bungee lines on my kayak with a small carabiner. But it wasn’t there.
I paddled back to the beach, certain I must have left it there.
I couldn’t find it.
The only explanation was that in my haste to get off the beach, I’d forgotten to latch it to the deck lines, and it had fallen into the bay.
Haidee, the only one wearing any neoprene, heroically donned a neoprene hood and goggles, and did a quick swim over the area where I’d paddled out. But, with the sea floor carpeted with kelp, it was in vain.
Two days of photos gone. And a GoPro now offered to the sea.
A little despondent, we moved on. As we rounded the gnarled and rocky Takenoko-iwa, the brisk southerly hit us. It was going to be a tough paddle back to the put in.
The wind snapped at our paddle blades. We were making progress, but it was slow.
Mercifully, the sea hadn’t been whipped up into any significant waves yet. We probably had a couple of hours before things got really hairy.
Here and there, capes offered brief sections of calm in their lee.
By the time we finally arrived back at Aidomari, we were happy to see the van. We’d got a taste of just a mild windy day here on the Shiretoko Peninsula. It had been tough, beautiful, and challenging.
