qathet region mariner Matt Emig does not rev his ex‑military Zodiac to chase the quick thrill of a humpback photo‑op. He sets out each day to invite strangers into what he calls “the wider story of this coast and our place inside it.”
From the helm of the Black Barnacle, his 6.3‑metre rigid inflatable boat, Emig guides Rugged Coast Expeditions (RCE), a wildlife tour company that explores the Salish Sea, sharing ecology, human and natural history, and environmental values along the way.
“Plenty of operators treat wildlife as a commodity,” explains Emig. “I’m not interested in ticking humpbacks off a list. I’m interested in how listening to a whale breathe makes you think about your own breath, and about who looked after these waters long before any of us arrived.”
Emig’s fascination with breath is not metaphor alone; born with a lung disease, he has always lived with the knowledge that respiration cannot be taken for granted. That condition, he says, drew him to the sea, where briny air feels “fresh, alive, almost medicinal.”
Before launching RCE, Emig fished commercially, served on marine‑rescue crews and led grizzly‑bear and whale‑watching tours from Vancouver Island’s north end. Commercial fishing, “taught me respect for the ocean’s power. You need competence at the helm—not bravado—if you want to come home.”
Guiding in that area deepened his awe for ecological complexity and sharpened a conservation ethic that now shapes every RCE itinerary.
“I saw how crowded feeding grounds can get when boats compete for the best selfie,” he recalls. “I wanted to create something slower, more reflective, still thrilling, but centred on respect.”
A typical outing begins beside the Powell River Coast Guard station, where Emig’s mobile “office”—a white box van—waits with survival suits. After safety briefings, the Black Barnacle noses away from the dock, and the storytelling starts.
Emig sets scenes that leap from deep time to modern intrigue: glaciers carving Savary Island’s beaches, Tla’amin canoe routes that once threaded the inlets, and the wartime Hulks—concrete ships now colonized by sea lions—which loom like haunted sentinels in Malaspina Strait.
“Geography shapes culture,” he says. “The ocean was the great leveller that forced Indigenous mariners and European captains to meet each other on common terms.”
Between stories, he throttles back the twin outboards to scan for dorsal fins or the plume of a surfacing humpback. When animals appear, engines fall silent well beyond the legal setback.
“Regulations are the floor, not the ceiling,” he notes. “If a whale changes direction or a sea lion rookery looks agitated, we give them even more space.”
The emphasis on narrative does not diminish the wildlife spectacle. Emig’s favourite sighting came not from a breaching giant but from thousands of moon jellies glowing with trapped bioluminescence on a pitch‑black, moonless night.
“I looked up and saw a million stars,” he remembers. “Then I looked down, and the sea itself was blinking back at me. That’s the sort of wonder I want guests to carry home; it’s something you can’t capture in a single frame or hashtag.”
Keeping group sizes to 12 fosters dialogue and limits the boat’s carbon footprint; routing decisions also aim to conserve fuel. Emig believes the paradox of eco‑tourism—burning diesel to teach conservation—can be mitigated when the experience transforms behaviour.
“When people don’t know an ecosystem exists, they don’t value it,” he says. “Show them its beauty and fragility, and they start asking what choices they can make back home.”
Although RCE is barely into its second season, bookings for 2025 are already open, with summer and early‑autumn dates filling first because humpbacks linger longest then.
Tour options and booking information are available online at ruggedcoastexpeditions.com. For more information, call 604.483.6065.
