{"id":3516,"date":"2013-07-01T11:17:18","date_gmt":"2013-07-01T18:17:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/community.nrs.com-2\/souls-and-water\/?p=2654"},"modified":"2017-10-16T21:23:59","modified_gmt":"2017-10-17T04:23:59","slug":"paddling-with-a-psychic","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2013\/07\/01\/paddling-with-a-psychic\/","title":{"rendered":"Paddling with a Psychic"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Rob-Lyon-100x100\"Hiring a psychic to help you plan a paddling trip might sound like a nutty idea…and it is. But that’s never scared Rob Lyon away from trying something. In Paddling with a Psychic, he tells us how the experience played out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\"IMG_1907\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy is the bottom of your boat painted silver?\u201d the psychic asked me.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt should be white,\u201d I told her.\u00a0 \u201cI told Jim to paint it white.\u201d<\/p>\n

At that point in time I had yet to see my boat, about to be shipped up from Tsunami Ranger headquarters in NorCal.\u00a0 I had no idea what color schemes would inspire Jim Kakuk (head Tsunami Ranger) but I\u2019d requested red top, white bottom.\u00a0 When I got the call from the trucking terminal, I drove down to Tacoma to pick it up.\u00a0 When I tore off the protective wrapping, sure enough, the hull was painted a silver-gray color.<\/p>\n

The psychic, clairvoyant or intuitive (as she refers to herself), was Laurie McQuarie, a nationally recognized, if controversial, sayer of sooth.\u00a0 I had first heard of Laurie in the early nineties.\u00a0 A good friend of mine had a close friend, an artist and single mother living in Montana, who\u2019d just suffered a tragedy of the worst possible stripe.\u00a0 Her brother had flown out to visit in his small plane and taken her three children up to sight see.\u00a0 They never came back.\u00a0 My buddy flew out to help with the search and rescue mission.<\/p>\n

After a fruitless week of searching the deep, rugged canyons of the Mission Mountain Wilderness, they contacted Laurie.\u00a0 Soon thereafter, a crumpled plane was found at the end of a box canyon with no survivors, right where Laurie said it was.\u00a0 Not much later, as I was preparing to circumnavigate Vancouver Island, I remembered Laurie, and thought it might be interesting to get her two cents on my journey.<\/p>\n

I sent her a copy of a marine chart of the island and a week later, in a recorded phone call, Laurie foretold a dozen events along my route, mentioned that the trip might take longer than I thought, and sent me a tape of our conversation to take along.<\/p>\n

Launching in late July, I left a quiet beach on Lopez Island where I lived, and paddled north through the San Juans.\u00a0 Days later I entered the Canadian Gulf Islands and made a guerilla camp on Newcastle Island.\u00a0\u00a0 Laurie\u2019s first hotspot on my itinerary was Departure Bay, a nondescript mile of water between Newcastle and the big island.\u00a0 I played the first part of the tape again that night, trying to make sense of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomewhere around Departure Bay, I want to say, there\u2019s something funny about the water . . . I don\u2019t know whether the water levels are different or deceptive, but I would say be rather careful about going too close to the shoreline at this point.\u201d<\/p>\n

I launched that morning, opting to paddle over the shallow reef in front of camp instead of going out around through deeper water.\u00a0 Ordinarily this would not be a problem on inside waters.\u00a0 But I didn\u2019t time the wake of a passing ferry and as I crossed the reef a pair of huge waves broke over me.\u00a0 Splat!\u00a0 That got my attention.<\/p>\n

\"IMG_4364\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I pulled into Black Creek several weeks later after a long open water crossing of the Strait of Georgia.\u00a0 I had visited Lasqueti Island, feeling right at home with the folksy, bohemian lifestyle, there, and when I left I paddled north to Texada Island to stage for a long six hour crossing back to Vancouver Island in sweltering heat the next day. I was paddling a burdened 20\u2019 double kayak and it was not the fastest boat afloat. \u00a0To cool off, I jumped overboard. A school of Dall\u2019s porpoise swam over to keep me company.\u00a0 I approached the ferry dock at Black Creek finally, tired and sore and ready to kick up some sand.<\/p>\n

In the back on my mind were Laurie\u2019s thoughts about this place:\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m going all the way up to Black Creek and that might also be a bit of a trouble spot.\u00a0 I\u2019m assuming that because you\u2019re going in the summertime you\u2019re not expecting unusual storms or anything but there could be something with the weather on the day you\u2019re there that could be unusual.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a beautiful day on the water, a high pressure kind of day, and there was no sign of any atmospheric disturbance anywhere on the horizon. Of course, I couldn\u2019t see far at all to the west as I closed on shore and I was no more than 200 yards from the beach when it hit.<\/p>\n

Bam!\u00a0 It was surreal how quickly the wind came up.\u00a0 Five seconds from zero to fifty.\u00a0 I had to hunker down and paddle like a bandit to make it ashore!<\/p>\n

I had never seen a storm brew up this quickly.\u00a0 It was uncanny.\u00a0 As I struggled to pitch a flapping tent in howling winds, thunder and lightening came along and stayed with me throughout the night.\u00a0 In the morning it was calm and hot again, without a sign of the storm.<\/p>\n

My respect for psychics was rapidly growing and I fast forwarded through my little hand held recorder to see what my future held.\u00a0 The next prediction concerned Malcom Island, maybe a week away, and it didn\u2019t involve waves or storms.<\/p>\n

I kayaked leisurely north, getting stronger and getting antsy for some wild.\u00a0 It was high summer and I shared the water with all manner of craft, most of them not the self-powered variety.\u00a0 Once past Campbell River, civilization dropped away.\u00a0 I approached Malcom Island late one evening in early August, my chart in my lap and busy trying to make sense of what I was seeing.\u00a0 In the back of my mind was Laurie\u2019s take on the area:\u00a0 \u201cThere might be something different that has changed with the water or the landscaping here, somewhere between Alert Bay and Malcom Island.\u00a0 I don\u2019t know whether that would mean a natural occurrence or something has been built there and it looks different, but it might seem different than what you would expect.\u201d<\/p>\n

What I could see ahead on the island was not at all what was depicted on my chart.\u00a0 Disoriented, I paddled up a little further and found a huge subdivision built on the shore.\u00a0 Contractors had terraformed the shoreline so significantly as to render my chart — the land aspect, at least \u2013 obsolete.<\/p>\n

Chills ran up my spine.<\/p>\n

In my tent that night, with the waves lapping the beach outside, I played back the tape of Laurie\u2019s predictions. Based on her track record to date, I had decreasing doubt that whatever else she had predicted would materialize.\u00a0 The Malcom Island entry though, was the last for quite a while.\u00a0 Not until Nootka Island, a month and a half away, had she anything to say that was keyed to a particular place.\u00a0 And considering what lay between Malcom and Nootka, Cape Scott and the Brook\u2019s Peninsula, to name a few gnarly points of passage, I took it as a positive omen.<\/p>\n

I rounded the fabled tip at Cape Scott on the 16th<\/sup> of August. After a wild, roller coaster week off the island\u2019s northernmost coastline, I finally made Winter Harbour, pretty much a ghost village at this point in time with logging and fisheries on the decline.\u00a0 Then, as luck would have it, a week or two later I paddled out around the northern tip of the Brook\u2019s Peninsula, accompanied by a pair of Orcas and feeling pretty good about things to date. \u00a0I was hoping to make it around the southern tip at Clerke Point that day, but was forced to jockey through surf to get ashore in building seas at the mouth of Amos Creek.<\/p>\n

\"IMG_4381\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I woke early the next morning without my usual ablutions.\u00a0 The wind picked up very early out on the tip, and in light of the horror stories I\u2019d heard from fishermen in Winter Harbour, I packed up quick and headed out around the epic reef that runs a mile out to sea. \u00a0I made a wide end-run around vagrant breakers and into the sanctuary of Checleset Bay, and none too soon.\u00a0 A squall blew in after me like a broom, making Clerke Point look like Waimea Bay on a good day.\u00a0 Not far ahead though, on a long, white sand beach I would meet up with a bunch of friends from home, my girlfriend among them.<\/p>\n

I spent the next ten days slumming on a hot sand beach we nicknamed Malibu North, running around naked and diving in the shore break to cool off, fishing daily to feed everyone, tossing discs and carving totem poles and relaxing so hard it hurt.<\/p>\n

And pretty much the last of Laurie\u2019s predictions happened here.<\/p>\n

Never out of earshot of the surf throughout the expeditions, I had been plagued with a recurring nightmare.\u00a0 Nearly every night I woke up panicked to find the ocean flooding my tent and my equipment adrift.\u00a0 This particular dream began when I guided on the Deschutes. \u00a0We would spend week after week camped on river\u2019s edge where I felt compelled to sleep as close to the water as possible, even going so far as to sleep on the water, propping my cot between the seats of my drift boat and figuring it was about as close I\u2018d get without growing gills.<\/p>\n

One night, there on the Brooks, as we were going to bed, I complained (again) to Pamela about the dream. To be so close to the water, it was unnerving to feel this way so often.<\/p>\n

Pamela suggested I release the dream from my sub-conscious mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how do I do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust let it go.\u00a0 Like unlocking a cell and releasing a prisoner.\u201d<\/p>\n

I woke up suddenly that night, looked out the open door of the tent and saw a radiant, golden pyramid!\u00a0 It looked to be about ten feet high with this supernatural glow!\u00a0 I remember thinking how much it looked like the label on a bottle of Pyramid Ale.<\/p>\n

I bathed in the visage for some time, feeling beatified in its presence.\u00a0 Then, drunk like a pup on mother\u2019s milk, I lay back down and slept.\u00a0 When I woke again sometime later, it was still there!<\/p>\n

And as you might guess, from that point on the nightmares vanished.<\/p>\n

What was this all about?\u00a0 Checking Laurie\u2019s tape again I found a passage that would correspond roughly to this time and place.\u00a0 Laurie had predicted I would meet up with a \u2018powerful spirit of some kind\u2019 at about this point. \u00a0She was quite excited about it.<\/p>\n

But a pyramid?<\/p>\n

Still, the encounter had the mystical gravitas of manning up with an angel or ascended master, definitely<\/i> weighing in in the \u2018powerful spirit\u2019 class.<\/p>\n

After I returned home I looked up pyramids in Jung\u2019s Mandala Symbolism.\u00a0 One of the interpretations spoke of: \u00a0\u2018unconscious contents pushing up into the consciousness.\u201d\u00a0 There was nothing about ale.<\/p>\n

Two remaining predictions were obviated by foreknowledge of them.\u00a0 There was some nastiness predicted on the out-outer coast of Nootka Island, so I opted for the interior route.\u00a0 I wanted to resupply in Tahsis, in any case, and the second was some kind of human nastiness (perhaps the worst kind) around Ucleuet, which I blew right past. The final and over-arching prediction about the trip taking longer than I had expected, didn\u2019t need a psychic to see coming. At the languorous pace I kept I was lucky to make it home in a quarter of a year, let alone a couple of months.<\/p>\n

In the spirit of full discourse on the subject, I had three more readings coinciding with kayak expeditions in the next half decade.\u00a0 Frankly, I\u2018d been blown away with the reading of the Vancouver trip.\u00a0 It\u2019d been fascinating to follow the nexus of reality and prophecy as time and space flowed under my hull.\u00a0 So, I rang Laurie up a few more times in the next few years as I worked the solo bug out of my system.<\/p>\n

My thinking was, if Vancouver was good, Haida Gwaii would only be better, so I sent up the requisite charts and had a talk with Laurie before I headed north.\u00a0 This reading was different.\u00a0 She wasn\u2019t real clear on whether or not I survived.\u00a0 Enough said. \u00a0I changed my plans and circled Chichagof, a smaller island in the Southeast AK archipelago, that year.\u00a0 As I recall, the reading of that trip was nothing special.\u00a0 But it was a good trip and I returned safely.<\/p>\n

Not one to be easily denied, two years later I was looking to the Misty Isles again. \u00a0Laurie\u2019 predicted all sorts of challenges, but felt confident I\u2019d make it home in one piece.\u00a0 That was enough for me.\u00a0 It was another deeply satisfying trip, but as it played out in the field for several months that summer, the reading was meh.\u00a0 That was the last reading I\u2019ve had.<\/p>\n

And finally, as I was about to wrap this up, I Googled \u2018Laurie McQuarie\u2019.\u00a0 And found a site running a scathing denouncement of her, depicting her as a hoax and a blatant publicity hound.<\/p>\n

Whatever.\u00a0 All I know is she nailed that Vancouver trip like a carpenter.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In my tent that night, with the waves lapping the beach outside, I played back the tape of Laurie\u2019s predictions. 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