The Blue Kayaker and the Deception Pass Rescue
Decemption Pass State Park, WA
Some trips are planned for years before they happen, and some trips involve an unexpected maritime rescue, a Ukrainian kayaker, and an emotional support sea otter. This was both.
The dream trip finally happens (with a bureaucratic detour)
For two years, I’d been telling myself: One day, I’m going to camp at Bowman Bay for three days straight, paddleboarding at sunrise, sunset, and every salty, oceanic moment in between. This wasn’t just a trip—it was a long-standing prophecy, a destiny I had meticulously built up in my mind, probably with a little too much drama. But hey, when you've spent two years hyping something up, the least you can do is show up and see if reality lives up to the fantasy. Usually, I make the hour-and-a-half drive from home just for a two-hour paddleboarding session, which is, let’s be honest, an objectively questionable fuel-to-adventure ratio. But this time, it was happening.
The timing worked out because we had a long-awaited Nexus Pass appointment just north of Seattle, near the Canadian border. So, the plan: get our Nexus Pass, hop over to Vancouver for some Lebanese ice cream at Le Parfait (a name that Alizée loves to make fun of because she thinks it perfectly characterizes me 🙄). Now, if you’ve never had Lebanese booza, you’re missing out on something truly special. This isn’t your typical scoop-and-melt ice cream—it’s stretchy, chewy, and packed with flavor, thanks to the magic of mastic resin. The ashta booza is rich and creamy, like a frozen take on Lebanese clotted cream, while the mastic booza has a subtly piney, aromatic depth that lingers in the best way. And let’s not forget the rose water ice cream—floral, refreshing, and basically summer in a scoop. If you ever get the chance, do yourself a favor and try it. Trust me, it’ll ruin regular ice cream for you in the best possible way. Then, with our sweet tooth satisfied and our Nexus Pass finally in hand, we hit the road once more. Now, let me tell you—crossing the border with Nexus was so fast and questionless that I felt like I was doing something wrong. I slowed down at the border patrol window, fully expecting an interrogation, only to be greeted with a quick 'Hi' and a wave to keep going. I drove past, convinced I was about to get chased down for skipping some vital security step. But nope—smooth as butter. And just like that, we were heading south for my long-awaited paddleboarding pilgrimage to Deception Pass. Perfect, right? Well.
Setting up at Bowman Bay (while the weather laughs at me)
We arrived, set up at our beautiful waterfront campsite, and I stood there, fully romanticizing how many times I was going to be on the water. This was it—the trip. Except, the weather had other ideas. No rain, but overcast, chilly, the kind of damp air that makes you feel like you just wandered into the veggie fridge at Costco—instant goosebumps, a sudden urge to hug yourself for warmth, and the undeniable need to move faster than usual. But would that stop me? La’! (That’s Lebanese for ‘no,’ but with dramatic emphasis.)
The first day, we just settled in—dinner, early sleep, prepping for the next day. And the next morning, I did what any rational person would do: convinced Alizée to brave the cold and paddleboard with me—essentially asking her to jump into an ice bath for fun. She agreed (reluctantly), and we set off. The water was calm, and while I didn’t see as many dolphins as usual, we spotted a couple in the distance, along with some sea otters, probably judging us. A solid start.
A hike, a snack, and a suspenseful kayaker situation
The next day, I promised Alizée I wouldn’t push her into the water again, so we opted for a coastal hike instead. Deception Pass is postcard-perfect, and as we hiked along the cliffs, we found a great spot to rest and snack while staring out at the famous Deception Pass Bridge and the rapids below.
The next day, I promised Alizée I wouldn’t push her into the water again, so we opted for a coastal hike instead. Deception Pass is postcard-perfect, and as we hiked along the cliffs, we found a great spot to rest and snack while staring out at the famous Deception Pass Bridge and the rapids below.
Now, these rapids aren’t your casual, “Oh, that looks a little tricky” kind of currents. They’re well-known in pro-kayaking circles for being both thrilling and wildly dangerous. Coast Guard rescues here aren’t a rarity. So, when I spotted a lone kayaker in the middle of the rapids, I was intrigued. Their gear looked pro-level—perfect color coordination, sleek setup—but the kayak itself… wasn’t moving. Like, at all.
If you think I’m exaggerating, just wait until you see the footage. Maximum effort, minimal movement—like watching someone sprint on a treadmill that won’t budge. Check out the video below and see for yourself!
My brain toggled between “They must know what they’re doing” and “But do they, though?” So, naturally, I pulled out the drone for a closer look. The kayaker seemed controlled, not panicked, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. I told Alizée, “I’m not leaving until I see this guy make it to some kind of shore.”
Enter: the rescue
Five minutes later, a fisherman’s boat struggled through the rapids and stopped near the kayaker. The captain was on the radio, and I could tell something was happening. And then—here comes the Coast Guard. Full-speed, no-nonsense. They reached the stranded kayaker, hopped onto the tiny, inaccessible beach where he had somehow ended up, and eventually escorted him back to Bowman Bay—the very spot I usually launch from.
At this point, I had to meet this guy. So, we hiked back fast, practically running for 45 minutes to make it to Bowman Bay.
The legend of The Blue Kayaker
And there he was. The Blue Kayaker. Sitting alone on the beach like he was waiting for something. I walked up, ready to ask if he was okay, and—
Silence.
Turns out, he didn’t speak English. But hey, when you’ve just been fished out of the rapids by the Coast Guard, language is kind of secondary. Adventure, mild chaos, and frantic hand gestures? Those are universal. After some gesturing and showing him my drone footage, I got the story: His name was Alexei, 73 years old, from Ukraine. He had fled the war and was visiting his daughter, a local in the area. And despite what had just unfolded, he was an extremely experienced kayaker and cyclist, having done both all over the world. His kayak? A folding one from ZELGEAR, a Ukrainian company founded by his friends back home. They specialize in making high-quality, compact foldable vessels designed for serious adventure. Definitely a cool company to check out.
His daughter arrived, frantic. She had called the Coast Guard. Alexei? Unbothered. His biggest concern? How he was going to explain this to his wife without getting a full lecture. You could practically see him mentally drafting his defense—something along the lines of, 'It was all under control, dear... mostly.'
I shared all the footage with them, and they were in awe. Before parting ways, Alexei invited me to paddle with him sometime.
A sunset paddle, a final meeting, and a sea otter
That evening, I went for my sunset paddleboarding session. And guess who I saw in another bay? Alexei. This time, he was with his daughter and grandkids. I paddled over, and he waved me in—“Let’s go out together!” So we did. We chased each other through the water, no real words exchanged, but a mutual understanding of adventure.
After we split ways, I had one last moment—spotting a sea otter lounging on the same rock, at the same time as the day before. It looked at me, I looked at it. A silent agreement: I respect you, you respect me, we don’t need to make this weird.
And just like that, the trip ended. What started as a long-awaited paddleboarding getaway turned into an unexpected rescue, a new friendship, and a reminder that the best moments on the road (or the water) are the ones you never see coming.
Yalla, bye!