
Title: Inside: One Woman’s Journey Through the Inside Passage
Author: Susan Marie Conrad
Completed: January 2026 (Full list of books)
Overview: My dad was at an Explorer’s Club meeting where the author was discussing this book. After, he asked her if she knows my father-in-law who is also in the local kayaking community. She paused for a moment before replying, “Yeah. Your son helped me break into my car.”
A few years ago, we were coming home from camping and stopped at the co-op in Mount Vernon. As we were getting ready to go, I noticed to women trying to get into a car with kayaks strapped to the top. I went over and talked with them for a bit. We quickly realized we knew some of the same people including my father-in-law. When they told us they were waiting for a locksmith to come open their car after locking their keys inside. Since the locksmith couldn’t give a clear ETA, I offered to help. We got the car open just as the locksmith pulled into the parking lot. They congratulated us and seemed genuinely happy that they didn’t have to open it.
When I hear Susan had written a book about paddling the Inside Passage, something I’ve wanted to do for years, I decided I had to read it. I’m still just as interested and might start looking at doing chunks of it before tackling the whole thing.
Highlights:
- Within ten minutes, my body started to relax and my hands loosened their grip on the paddle shaft. Soon my hips settled deeper in the cockpit and the boat sat quiet and steady beneath me. “Hah!” I yelled across the water toward Bobbie. “She senses my fears—just like a horse. I stop fighting, she stops bucking!”
- Common paddling wisdom asserts that it takes about 1,000 strokes to travel one mile in a sea kayak, in average conditions, without the assistance or impedance of wind or current. With this math, I would take approximately 1,200,000 strokes.
- STUDYING THE CHARTS and reading everything related to the Inside Passage revealed what I considered four “rites of passage,” or crux areas I would encounter—four chunks of open water that I would paddle through that had the potential to be dangerous and that, quite frankly, scared the hell out of me. The first was Boundary Pass, which divides the San Juan Islands from their Canadian cousins, the Gulf Islands. The US-Canadian border runs through the middle of this four-mile, open-water crossing, which is smack in the center of a major shipping lane.
- My second crux area, the Strait of Georgia, carves a gaping hole between Vancouver Island and the mainland, encompassing over a hundred miles of open water.
- The third crux was Cape Caution, an ominous headland perched above the northern reaches of Vancouver Island that faced an uninterrupted sea horizon—all the way to Japan. Just uttering the place name conjured up images of scenes from The Perfect Storm. Appropriately named, the cape is exposed to everything the Pacific can and will dish out.
- The fourth crux was where two large bodies of water collided at the Alaskan border: Dixon Entrance and Hecate Strait. Why they were referred to as “the punching bag of the Pacific Ocean” became apparent when I studied their immensity on my chart.
- My awareness lifted higher to Washington state’s Mount Baker, standing proud and stark white on the mainland in its 10,781 feet of grandeur. The Great White Watcher, or Komo Kulshan, as the Salish call it, is one of the snowiest places in the world.
- There are simply some places where oil tankers should never go—the Great Bear Rainforest is one of them.
- The numbers scattered on top of the beige contours, indicating the height of the mountains less than one mile offshore, made me take notice as well: 2,730, 2,605, 2,765, 3,345 feet. At the point where I would enter it from the south, Grenville Channel was about a mile wide, with low-lying forested hills. Within ten miles, the channel would be contained between steep walls rising more than two thousand feet. Twenty miles further, the fjord narrowed considerably, squeezing more tightly in with vertiginous walls. Peaks over three thousand feet would tower above me, and sheer cliffs would plunge below me: my chart showed depths of nearly 1,200 feet in some areas. I was paddling through what had once been a river of ice, the obvious handiwork of the deepest Pleistocene glaciers.
- I would stash my kayak as far away as possible from my camp, and stow my food bags and garbage inside the hatches at night, along with a triple-bagged handful of mothballs. A fellow kayak-adventurer had shared the tip of using the strong odor of mothballs to mask the odor of food, emphasizing they not touch the food, to avoid contamination. I figured he was still alive to write about it, so I dutifully shoved them in the hatch each night, hoping he knew what he was talking about.















