W have paddled our kayaks to Little Kaikash Beach on Vancouver Island and are sitting on the rocks eating lunch when one of the guides shouts: "Whales!"

A pod of orcas appears in the distance, then another and another. Food scatters and we jump into our kayaks and paddle out. The whales are surfacing and blowing across the strait, gliding between the fishing boats, when one pod veers toward our cove. They're really coming this way. They're within 100 yards. They're so close we can hear them blow. Suddenly a big male cuts toward us. Out of nowhere, a purse seiner fishing boat barrels between our kayaks and the lone orca, chasing him away. It's breathtaking, maddening and totally worth the price of admission.

The teenagers have lost all trace of blasé cool and everyone's whooping and oh-wowing at the display.

We're on a guided six-day camping/kayaking/whale watching trip with Sea Kayaking Adventures in the Johnstone Strait between mainland British Columbia and Vancouver Island. The mountains on Vancouver Island look massive enough to sink it and across the channel, mainland British Columbia's snow-dusted peaks hunker in the distance. The water and the sky are competing with each other for the finest shade of blue, the beaches are nearly empty, the tourist-toting ferries are preempted by fishing boats. Luxury hotels and inns are scarce and fishing lodges are plentiful.

This remote Canadian passage is an orca freeway to the Robson Bight/Michael Biggs Provincial Ecological Preserve, a favorite summer destination for the black and white whales who like to rub their bellies on the rocks in the Bight's shallows. Hundreds of the Free Willy look-alikes make their way through this strait, feeding on salmon and playing along the way.

ADVENTURE FOR ALL

The night before the adventure began, we met our guides and paddling companions at the Haida Way Inn in Port McNeill. SKA's Sarah Hauser, Eric Reid and Paul LaPerriere are confident, friendly and all have years of outdoor and kayaking experience.

The client group included three families and a solo woman. Lucinda Olson, her 21-year old daughter Camille and 17-year old son, Reid, are from Sedona, Arizona. The Kaplans, parents Ann and Larry, Carl, 14, and Alex, 15, are from Los Angeles. Ilona McCarty lives in Idaho. My husband Bob, our 16-year-old daughter Leah, and I live in Eastern Washington. The group has an assortment of outdoor experience: no sea kayaking but lots of camping and backpacking, some white water rafting.

The common thread: teenagers. As take-me-anywhere children grow into teens, their point-and-click attention span and general intolerance of adults make it pretty difficult to find a destination or an activity that won't send their eyes rolling. Since all of our kids had perked up at the idea of whale watching and sea kayaking, we were optimistic.

However, joining a guided, structured vacation went against the grain of all of the adults who pride themselves in their travel savvy and independence. Once underway though we realized that as inexperienced paddlers unfamiliar with the terrain, weather and tides, we couldn't possibly have executed this trip on our own.

Safety and paddling issues aside, who would have organized, packed and cooked all the food? Our three chefs/guides effortlessly produced hot breakfasts, plentiful lunches, and one surprising dinner after another — fresh salmon (donated by a passing fisherman), chili rellenos casserole, pineapple upside cake, brownies and more — all on a propane stove and a Dutch oven.

GETTING IN STRIDE

Family dynamics kicked in the first day. More than one parent exclaimed "Pitch in, don't just stand there," as we loaded a mountain of gear into the fleet of jelly bean-colored Seward kayaks. The 21-foot long, 30-inch wide boats carry enough food and fresh water for 14 people (including three teenage boys, remember), tents and sleeping bags, an entire camp kitchen, three small dry bags per person and a porta potty. It took over an hour to load the gear.

Our new kayak attire consisted of yellow, red or blue PFDs (personal flotation devices), goofy looking neoprene wet shoes and even goofier looking spray skirts (attached over the cockpit to keep us dry).

"Ha-ha, you're wearing a skirt!" Carl Kaplan taunted his older brother. "Well so are you!" Alex replied. "Yeah, but...." This banter was the background soundtrack of the entire trip.

Paddling out of picturesque Telegraph Cove past the whale watching boat loaded with tourists, we felt pretty smug that we were Orca hunting under our own power just a foot above sea level. The unearned cockiness dissipated when we hit the strong wind and foot-high chop in Johnstone Strait. The guides kept us in a fairly tight group, there was always a spotter in the rear, and everyone paddled hard. Brothers Carl and Alex maintained the lead, no surprise there. Their parents stroked in unison, long, lean bodies belying the fact that they spend most of their time as a schoolteacher and an executive.

Our first sighting wasn't whales though. "Porpoises!" one of the guides shouted. They swam by in unison, their dorsal fins gliding through the chop. "See the white patch on their fins — those are dall's porpoises," Eric shouted. Tidbits of information like this came from all of the guides as we poked through tide pools, hiked in the woods or watched for whales. The gee-whiz tone worked quite well with teenagers whose brains were on summer vacation.

MUSICAL SEAWEED

Paddling, eating and camping together are instant icebreakers, but the guides helped by instigating summer camp games whenever there was a lull. Eric organized beach baseball and bocci, Paul taught us "Ichi-Mini-Hoi," a laughter-inducing game that involved walking like a penguin, and Sarah kicked off "Three Truths and a Lie."

"OK, you have to guess which of these statements is a lie," she said. "I was once on the cover of a magazine. I broke my collarbone when I was a kid. My brother and I stuffed our little brother in the clothes dryer." (It's the dryer.)

Toward the end of the week, the guides gave us a quick course in Seaweed 101. Not only is it medicinal and edible, you can make music with it. Chop off the end of the long tube-shaped bull kelp, put your lips on the slimy opening and blow. Age differences were erased as we tooted and honked onto common ground.

The orcas put on a final show the day we crossed Johnstone Strait to Hanson Island. We were lazing around letting lunch settle before a hike when someone saw a veritable Orca freeway. The massive bulls, which can weight up to 10 tons, saluted with five-foot high dorsal fins. The calves surfaced as if glued to their mother's side, and the juveniles spyhopped and waved their tails.

The last night the parents compared this guided, physically demanding, outdoor adventure vacation to previous family holidays that had included long plane rides, foreign countries, first-class hotels, history, culture and a lot of independence.

"Being outdoors 24-hours a day is a lot different than a car or plane trip," Larry offered. "A lot of stuff gets flushed out, gets out of the way."

"Leah needs to find out what she's capable of," Bob said of our daughter, who is tentative in all things involving large animals, speed and big water. "Exposing her to a new and fairly demanding environment does that."

By week's end, Larry and Ann had seen their rambunctious sons quieted at the sight of purple starfish and sea urchins. Lucinda watched Camille help carry the 150-pound kayaks across slippery rocks and hold her own paddling in choppy surf. She recognized a new maturity in Reid, the oldest teen in the group, who hung out with the guides. Bob and I realized that Leah is a lot gutsier than we ever imagined.

For the teens: the whales were awesome, meeting new people was fun, trying and succeeding at kayaking made them proud of themselves, getting away from home and hanging with their parents was "cool."

On the last night, Reid hauled his sleeping bag to the bluff, distancing himself from the campsite. I overheard him say he wanted to stay awake to see all the stars come out. After nearly a week of paddling, it was a struggle for any of us, kids included, to keep our eyes open past 9 o'clock, but Reid managed. And I'll bet he saw a shooting star.

Award-winning writer Linda Hagen Miller lived in Honolulu and Micronesia for nearly 20 years and now lives and writes from Spokane, Washington.