One must breathe deep, swing arms wide, then fully embrace adventure before launching a 400-mile sea kayak voyage down California's North Coast. John Weed, Bo Barnes and I will do exactly that on Tuesday morning.

We plan to kayak along this region's most remote reaches, sharing our discoveries with Chronicle readers, as we paddle from the Oregon border to San Francisco Bay.

The North Coast's natural beauty is widely celebrated, but far from fully grasped. Driving through it is no way to do that. But creeping along under paddle power is a unique opportunity.

This region has a distinctive human topography too, blending new settlers with direct descendants of the pioneers, and Indian tribes crafting a path through the 21st century. The way these denizens settle resource and cultural issues may hold lessons for us all.

Besides, this is my 20th year of providing outdoor sport and environmental coverage for readers of The Chronicle. I love the drama of the North Coast's rugged shoreline, deep forests, and the culture of the small towns up there. This is a chance to steep myself in those things to a fare- thee-well.

My team and I will make our journey along this occasionally quite wild shore in increments. We'll cruise at a 3 mph pace under average conditions, perhaps exceed 5 mph if current, wind and wave combine in our favor -- something offshore fishermen term "going downhill."

Of course, should conditions turn adverse, we may have to find a cove where we can hole up or be forced to battle our way through.

Big waves, harsh wind, dense fog, rough rocks, mean sharks. But any hazards we meet still won't match those that met pioneering travelers -- such as Jedediah Strong Smith, California's greatest overland explorer.

As my companions and I set out Tuesday morning from the mouth of the Winchuck River in southern Oregon, we'll feel that we stand pretty close to the moccasin tracks of Smith, who camped with his little band of fur traders on that exact site in 1828.

This plucky chap had to survive two strong attacks by American Indian tribes, assaults by grizzly bears, and bouts of near starvation to reach this point.

As we punch heavily laden sea kayaks out through surf at the river bar, we'll reverse the land route that Smith blazed north from San Francisco (then known as Yerba Buena port) with his packhorses.

We hope that we can travel with just a smidge of the dauntless spirit and cultural openness of our hero, who left behind maps that proved invaluable to those who would follow, as well as a journal that recorded the observations of a keen and sympathetic eye.

Smith made primary reports on Indian tribes "before they were pulverized by advancing civilization," wrote biographers Dale Morgan and Carl Wheat. "He described them with care and attention, and with a degree of compassion not common in his time."

We can't admire endless virgin forest, sparkling streams and abundant wildlife to anywhere near the degree that Smith did. But we will be able to traverse the most pristine areas left on our coast. We hope to take a measure of our times by exploring this gorgeous landscape, and many of the changes wrought between Smith's pioneer era and our own.

Coastal wilds Smith penetrated have grown wreathed with roads, dotted with towns, thick with settlers and their works.

But tribes for whom Smith was the first contact -- the Tolowa, Yurok and Wiyot -- still live on parts of their ancestral ground. We can meet them, hear how they seek to reclaim old ways, even as they join all the rest of us in also striving to master challenges of the 21st century.

The formerly easy harvests of lush forests and thronging fish have given way in our time to struggles to preserve remnants, to restore resources where possible, and to devise new economies where it's not. And so we'll also meet up with citizens of the newer communities, where the can-do spirit and self- reliance of the pioneers still surface in modern times, as they work to craft a life in isolated locales.

We'll forage, fish and camp -- and sample the culinary delights of the occasional waterfront village bistro. We figure about 40 days for the voyage, paddling up to Crissy Field beach in San Francisco on or around Oct. 16. The trip will include a few layover days, in the most attractive locales and hidden coves we can find.

About 72 miles of this coastline remain rough, remote and roadless. About 26 of them are along the reach famed as the Lost Coast, north of Shelter Cove -- though it has certainly been "found" by hikers in recent times. The 16 miles south of Shelter Cove may be wilder now, as are bits like the 12-mile reach north of the mouth of the Klamath River, and an 8-mile stretch along the mouth of the Eel.

But we also look forward to making landfall in charming coastal towns such as Bodega Bay, Point Arena and Mendocino.

So, let's not kid ourselves here. Our trip should be an ongoing mix of the sublime and the spartan.

Grizzly bears that charged out of underbrush to scar Smith's head and terrify his horses are long gone, of course. Formidable sets of jaws still cruise through the seas where we will paddle, but great white shark attacks on kayaks are unlikely.

Only two such cases occurred in recent times, off the Sonoma County coast in 1993, another off San Mateo County in 1992. Both times, the sharks swam away after nipping tough and tasteless plastic hulls. The paddlers were not injured.

Merely investigative bites are common. Since 1950, on the California coast, there have been nearly 100 attacks on people; only 10 proved fatal.

Yes, we'll scout a bit sharper as we pass seal and sea lion rookeries (like one off Punta Gorda), where the sharks love to lurk. Pinnipeds are great white soul food. But we'll count ourselves lucky if we so much as glimpse a big shark.

A more serious hazard is suggested by a flattened saxophone.

That comical, two-dimensional instrument belongs to my friend John Lull, a blues musician and member of the Tsunami Rangers kayak club. Six years ago, Lull camped on a beach up this way. He awoke, left his tent, went to the campfire for coffee.

A few seconds later, a hunk of cliff broke away and thundered down toward camp.

"Rocks as big as engine blocks fell from about 100 feet up," Lull relates. "They hit a ledge, bounced, landed on my tent."

Lull went back to dig out his gear. His flattened sax now hangs on his living room wall, a reminder to take great care when selecting a camp near steep and friable coastal rock.

The Cascadia and San Andreas faults, able to launch some of North America's biggest quakes, underlie much of our route. But even a tiny temblor can make a Coast Range hill disgorge spare parts.

A more clear and present hazard will be our daily surf zone landings and launches on remote and often rocky beaches. I once had my ribs crushed after surfing in on storm waves off Cape Hatteras. Shoulder dislocations are possible. We'll always need to stay focused and judicious about entries and exits from the sea.

Heavy fogs and high winds could greatly complicate navigation. Any medical emergency will have to be handled with gear we have on hand.

But while raw and elemental forces will remain a constant presence, we will also be fortunate enough to carry high-tech tools. This equipment would have flabbergasted Smith and his crew.

We're not only talking butane lighters, National Geodetic Survey charts and maps, but also GPS (global positioning system, using satellite signals) navigation units, cell phones and submersible VHF (very high frequency) radios.

And, not to put too fine a point on it, risks are actually peripheral to our endeavor. They're mere hurdles to get over en route to the good stuff. After successfully skirting pitfalls, we'll find ourselves paddling through paradise.

We should encounter scenes that make our hearts leap: shifting mosaics of nature's grand and unaltered light; rugged vistas of a mighty, eroded shore; strolling elk, bellowing sea lions and soaring seabirds of every feather.

We'll visit remote coves where (as the joke has it) the hand of man has rarely set foot. This notion has strong appeal for me, as it did for Jedediah Smith.

"I wanted to be the first to view a country on which the eyes of white man had never gazed," Smith penned in his journal, "and to follow the course of rivers that ran through a new land."

That was shortly after Smith jumped to answer an ad addressed to "Enterprising Young men ..." on a page of the St. Louis Gazette in 1822, then lit out to join the fur trading company of Gen. William H. Ashley on a trip up the Missouri. That's when the serious fun began.

The people in my party are not young. Yet, we do endeavor to remain enterprising. The poet T.S. Eliot says even old men should be explorers. Explore is from the Latin verb "explorare," meaning to cry out in the wilderness, much as hunters do while they travel in search of game.

So, we'll shout out to you by means available in modern times, in newsprint, on the Web, via podcast, broadcast (CBS5-TV) and radio (KCBS-AM).

Those frequent bursts of electric communications back to our home port alone make our experience vastly different from Smith's. But we still hope to find that old Jedediah's bold spirit, his avid and accepting curiosity, his resourcefulness and independence, can be ours if we choose them, if we seek situations in California's great outdoors that nurture them. After all, such things are part of the legacy of the West in general, and our North Coast in particular.

So, as we tread near Smith's trail to begin our own trek, we'll focus on re-exploring this shore. We've done a ton of planning and preparation. Now we enthusiastically look forward to what we can discover and share.

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THE NORTH COAST, FROM A SEABIRD'S EYE VIEW

After months of preparation, Chronicle outdoor writer Paul McHugh sets off this week on a 400-mile kayak trip down the North Coast of California, from the Oregon border to the San Francisco Bay, reporting on its rugged beauty and on the people who make their lives there.

Coverage of his journey begins with today's prelude, and regular installments will appear beginning Wednesday.

His adventure can also be followed at sfgate.com/northcoast. There is also a K-12 curriculum guide on the Web site for teachers who want their classes to follow the series. For more information on The Chronicle in Education program, go online to the same site, or call (415) 777-6797.

Look for companion pieces on CBS 5-TV during the voyage.

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McHugh builds a partnership: As I picked a team for a 400-mile sea kayak voyage along the California coast, finding people of great experience was my top concern. So, I ended up with three grizzled veterans, all in their 50s: John Weed, Bo Barnes and myself.

John Weed

Age 52, born in San Rafael. Muscles on this tanned, lanky guy are not masked by an ounce of superfluous fat.

He's a former high school and college track star, but Weed does limp when he walks. Understandable, because 33 years ago he got run over by a semi truck while out on a bicycle ride.

Stick him in any kayak, and he's transformed into a swift and graceful paddler with lots of race ribbons to his name.

Victories include many wins at the Tsunami Rangers open ocean race, Eppie's Triathlon in Sacramento, the Sea Trek Regatta in the Bay Area, the Yukon downriver race.

Weed was also a member of the U.S. wildwater team.

After years of running a group home for disadvantaged youth, Weed became a paddling instructor for Current Adventures in Coloma (El Dorado County) on the American River.

He spends winters conducting exploratory solo expeditions on the Sea of Cortez.

"I love to beachcomb and to go adventuring in new places," Weed says. "It will be great to get to know the California shore better, and myself a little better as well.

"What draws me to adventure is that daily testing of survival skills.".

Bo Barnes

Age 59, born in Kansas City but raised in the Bay Area. A popular outdoor sports guide and instructor, Barnes is instantly recognizable to thousands of former clients. He sports a shaggy mane of blond hair, and a boisterous laugh that resembles the klaxon of a diving submarine.

In high school and college, he lettered in track and swimming. In summers, he worked as a city lifeguard and surfed at Ocean Beach. After earning a degree in history, Barnes taught high school, but discovered his true metier as a co-founder of Outdoors Unlimited at UCSF. This volunteer-run program took students and members of the public on cooperative ski, kayak and backpack trips and the like for 30 years.

Barnes has long excelled at telemark skiing and snowboarding, as well as sea kayak races and expeditions. Marine exploits include voyages on the coast of Maine, Chesapeake Bay, British Columbia and Baja California. He kayak races only occasionally, but is a formidable and feared competitor whenever he shows up.

Barnes now works part-time as a kayak instructor with California Canoe & Kayak in Oakland.

"Hitting 60 is a great turning point," Barnes said, "I need an epic of some sort to mark it. This trip fills the bill. Getting ourselves way the heck up and gone along the California coast will be a great challenge, an ultimate wilderness experience.".

Paul McHugh

Age 54, born in Homestead near the Florida Everglades, I rode my motorcycle to California and moved here in 1973.

I went to seminary in Miami, intending to become a priest. After six years, at age 19, I left to finish college at Florida State, graduating summa cum laude with a bachelor's degree in English poetry.

When I came to California, I focused on becoming a writer, a specialist in outdoor sport, resource use and environmental issues.

The Chronicle started its Outdoors Section in 1985, and I had put myself in the right place with the right background.

Of the three teammates, I am the only one currently married. I wed former investigative reporter Dawn Garcia (now deputy director of the Knight Fellowship at Stanford) in 1998.

I had been a canoeist in Florida, and began paddling whitewater kayaks in California in 1976. Soon, I added ocean surfing and sea kayak racing. I was on the U.S. Kayak Surfing Team when we won a world championship in Ireland in 1988. I often do well enough in sea kayak races to ribbon.

My voyages included two weeks off the coast of Chile, and a 150-mile, five-day descent of the Eel River from Ukiah to the sea.

For my 50th birthday, I paddled 270 miles of the Grand Canyon. I ran my first marathon at age 53.