The Bay Wilderness

If you think about it, the SF Bay is the nearest wilderness for many San Franciscans. The Pacific Ocean is certainly wild, but for those that live in the North, Central, and Eastern parts of town, the Bay frames our city and is way more accessible. Yet, most people don’t think of it like a wilderness, and certainly people haven’t explored it the same way they would a forest or jungle.

To be clear, the dictionary defines a wilderness as:

So, without getting bogged down in semantics, I’d like to argue that the San Francisco Bay meets all such criteria: I don’t believe there is any active cultivation going on (most commercial fishing is prohibited in the Bay). Certainly nobody is living there. And, most importantly, the Bay can be quite inhospitable to those who are unprepared for her wildness.

There’s this feeling I get, as a paddler on the Bay, that drives my passion for the sport. It lives somewhere in the realm of adventure and awe, while also tapping into adrenaline, like skiing and rock climbing. While not an inherently dangerous sport, there’s a relationship with nature – an acceptance that you’re borrowing the wilderness and if you show it respect, you are rewarded with the glory.

This manifests most obviously with a feeling of deep water under foot. In Tahoe, you can see to the bottom, which is a mind-trip for those of us who are unsettled by heights. In the three-dimensional space under the flat surface, so much life and activity exists. On the Bay, we only get to see a fraction of the show. But there’s always a sense of the enormity of it all, which can heighten your senses and bring you closer to oneness.

One of my paddle pals suggested I watch the movie “My Octopus Teacher” recently. I was struck with a kinship to Craig Foster, and his relationship with the kelp forest and the movie’s eponym. I haven’t spent the years and hours yet to know the nuances of the Bay like Craig in his South African waters. But I get it. Every time I’m out I gain deeper grasp of the subtleties and feel more at home.

Then there are the currents, which are accented by the tides, winds, and weather. For the most part, if you are going to paddle the Bay, you have to become versed in their individual and aggregate effects. The current itself is legendary. At the wrong time, in the wrong place, compounded by any combination of factors, it can sweep you out against your power. But any adventurer must factor environmental uncertainties in their planning. Backpackers consider weather, snow, ice, trail maintenance, elevation, and distances to remain safe in the backcountry. They plan.

Many paddlers will consult with tide charts, wind apps, etc. This is smart as it will give you a measure for your expectations. Yet nothing will substitute for experience, discipline, and instinct. I teach friends and clients how to read the signs on the water, in the moment. Most of the area between the Dry Dock and Pier 50 are far calmer than the rush of the center of the Bay. When you learn where the intersections are, you can make smart decisions and never end up out of your depth.

Of course, we wouldn’t be discussing a wilderness without the wildlife. I’ll do another post soon about the specific sea and air creature we encounter and what they’re all about. They’re a big part of what makes this wilderness so special. I can’t say I’ve ever been on a paddle along the central waterfront when I didn’t encounter harbor seals, seagulls, and pelicans. They’re omnipresent. Pepper in the frequent sea lion spotting, cormorants, herons, egrets, and less frequent harbor porpoise, bat rays, herring runs, and whales.

Many people will hop in a kayak or on a paddle board for recreation, unaware of what’s available just beyond the beach. It’s hard not to be inspired by all the people now launching from Crane Cove. Paddle on and settle in and you will see that this stunning, raw, powerful place is an incredibly accessible wilderness waiting to be explored.