A list of insights gained on our walk:
1. the old growth is very cool
2. there were two parties of kayakers camped at the Raspberry Cove site
3. they were waiting for an opportunity to cross over to SGaang Gwaii, having been weathered in for days.
Add to these some further insights, gained from Jim, Lee and Bill and careful pre-trip research (aka the mandatory Parks Canada orientation session):
4. there were parties camped at several sites, likely waiting for a chance to cross
5. there is a limit to the number of people allowed on SGaang Gwaii at any time
6. tidal currents restrict the times available for travel
7. Benjamin Point, which is the opposite direction from SGaang Gwaii, is a formidable obstacle requiring a) no gale and b) slack tide, or close to it (I could add c) me to get over my terror of it, gained from its truly menacing presentation of itself during the zodiac ride)
Yes, you know what this leads up to: no SGaang Gwaii (remember: gale, showers), and a run for the point at 7 a.m. (slack tide, gale still
being coy about appearing).
So. Benjamin Point behind us on day three (the first day Sam, Peter and I actually picked up paddles).
The rest of the park and eight days were ahead of us. And, oh, in our immediate future? 20 hours of heavy downpour without a break.
Not exaggerating here. 
It rained and rained and rained and we were comfortable in our layers of polypro and gore-tex and neoprene,
with our fancy latex gaskets and boots and brimmed hats. So comfortable that we kept going for 45 km, despite Jim’s protests that he
wanted to explore Harriet Harbour, to Slim Inlet. Where it rained. Continuously. And I wrote the lists that started this trip report
while squatting under a tarp.
I wrote another list that day.
Uses for a big golf umbrella:
1. sailing a kayak
2. windbreak for stove
3. parasol on sunny days (see List #1, things that made me laugh)
4. extension of “tent” if your tent is a “trekker tarp” and you think hiking poles are tent poles and your name is Jim
5. ability to pack a kayak in such a way that, at the end of the day, you might actually know whether or not your rental boat’s hatches and bulkheads were watertight (a question of Peter’s that I was unable to answer, unless I’d been willing to do the salty or fresh taste test on the big puddles in my boat)
6. perfect partner for the intertidal walk – how else can you burn toilet paper in a downpour?
Day four? We packed up wet. We started paddling wet. We floated through Burnaby Narrows at low tide – an excursion that had been highly recommended due to rich intertidal life, and saw nothing because the rain made the water look like it was boiling. There was backsplash.
Never one to suffer graciously, I bitched “this is the worst birthday ever” (yep. Same day every year) to Peter. And at the time I meant it. Seven more days of wet, and my polypro had started scaring off wildlife (except the bear gorging on th not visible-to-us intertidal life in Burnaby Narrows).
Are you still waiting for the part where it can’t get any worse? Yeah, I was too. Almost there.
I first need to report that, after floating through the downpour but not seeing anything in Burnaby Narrows part, my hypochondriac soul had convinced me that, despite latex gaskets and waterproof 
laminates and polypro and fleece and the cool red hat, I was getting hypothermic. I was also grumpy – too grumpy to even work up the energy to whine about being cold. But Sam over-ruled Jim’s plea to explore emerald green pools and waterfalls (so the guidebook) in nearby Island Bay because “people will start to get cold if we don’t paddle” (my thoughts? A waterfall is just more water. Or, as one of our group observed, you wanna see a waterfall? Look up.) So, we lit the burners and paddled. And Jim ditched us.