The West Coast Trail – A city boy’s perspective

By the end of the day as we arrive in Thrasher Cove, we’re feeling pretty cocky.  We’ve completed the first six kilometers in record time for a Sea to Sky group and we proudly brand ourselves with the hubristic moniker, Team Wow.

I don’t know much about back packing, but I sensed that something was amiss  on the night before our departure when my pack weighed in at forty three pounds. I knew that I had to add ten pounds of food and five pounds of water before setting off, so I’d be looking at a 58 pound pack!

As he did several times after that, our Superguide Mark Waldbillig from Sea to Sky Adventures stepped in and saved the day. Out went my tarps and extra sweaters, out went most of my soap, half of my underwear and extra rain gear. He even cut my paperback novel in half! And who knew that for the next eight days, my only eating utensil would be a lowly spoon.

I dropped about eight pounds of stuff into a bag to pick up later and set off to conquer the trail.

Day one:  Embrace the Mud!
Okay, I have nice clean boots and brand new gators, shiny new walking poles (really cool ski-pole type affairs that absolutely saved my bacon on many occasions) and only one pair of pants to my name. Knowing this, we step out onto the trail from Gordon river and the climb begins. Lots of elevation on day one, which makes for a great aerobic workout. Not as grueling as I had anticipated (I assumed I’d be fainting) but a challenging and beautiful start. So we finally get to a flat bit, and guess what, it’s a sea of mud. Superguide Mark, turns to the group and announces that scampering around the puddles is not allowed. “You’ll never get there if you don’t embrace the mud, so get used to it!” With that he headed into the centre of the deepest puddle and waded knee-deep through the muck, screaming a call to arms from Braveheart, complete with raised fists and Scottish brogue. Yeah, we’re not in Kansas any more Toto….

The trail was fist cut in 1889 to run a telegraph wire to the remote lighthouses on the coast and we can actually see the much of the primitive copper cable (1/8 inch with no insulation) and many of the mounting poles and glass insulators which are still nailed to trees along the route. I can only imagine how challenging a job it would have been to cut a trail through this impassible rainforest – without power tools!

By the end of the day as we arrive in Thrasher Cove, we’re feeling pretty cocky. We’ve completed the first six kilometers in record time for a Sea to Sky group and we proudly brand ourselves with the hubristic moniker, Team Wow.

Day two:  Boulders are Us
Sleeping in a tent isn’t really as tough as you might think. It’s kind of just like sleeping on the floor. Well it’s a little wetter and bumpier than that, and you can’t stand up, and it’s really easy to get everything covered in sand, but otherwise it’s pretty cool. Waking up in a tent is interesting too. Especially at 5am in the pitch dark. Okay, this makes sense, we have to get up in the dark so we can quickly pack up, skip breakfast, and scramble over two kilometers of huge boulders and pass Owen Point before high tide so we don’t drown. I know it kind of sounds like boot camp hell, but in fact it was a breathtakingly beautiful morning and great contrast to yesterday’s tromp though the mud. We arrive at camper cove early in the day, which gives us plenty of time to set up camp and explore the beautiful rock formations around the cove. And some time for fishing – which to date had proven very challenging due to the distance of cast required to reach any depth and to the abundance of sticky, gooey weeds that instantly attach themselves to our lures. Much to our surprise, we pull up two stunningly colourful rock fish in short order. Good enough for a bit of a thrill and a photo op, but too small to keep.

Then, a mere 200 feet from us, another, somewhat larger fish broaches the surface. I stare in awe as Todd yells “Whale!”. Kind of stating the obvious, but you do that sort of thing when the enormity of nature knocks at your door. We watch, dumbstruck as the beautiful grey whale surfaces, blows, and dives for krill (that’s a crustacean that they eat, says Todd) and keeps an eye on us. We assume that there may be salmon out there, also feasting on these little shrimp, but our casts fall short and we’re again reduced to catching kelp and other sorts of weeds.

Day three:  Snakes and Ladders
After walking the sandstone shelf to Camper Cove, we felt like we were finally getting some miles behind us, but now we were heading back into the woods.

First we’re treated to the ascent of Sandstone Creek, named because the entire creek bed is a solid, flowing sculpture of sandstone. We walk gingerly up the slippery creek bed, often stopping to offer or take hands of assistance from fellow hikers. Teamwork and careful foot placement are necessary to make this ascent and the reward is to experience a truly unique geological formation.

Oh yeah, did I mention that there are some very steep canyons on the WCT? Most of the land is sandstone or soft rock and there are creeks running out to sea about every kilometer, so it stands to reason that these creeks would cut deep canyons all over the place making the terrain completely impassible. When Parks Canada came to the rescue of the trail, they had a great idea. What if we built 500 foot ladders up and down these canyons so the trekkers could scamper down into the creeks and back up the other side with ease? Great in theory, but in fact you still have to dangle yourself over the precipice, balancing your pack, poles, water etc, and then descend what is often a slippery and sometimes rotting wooden ladder down into the darkness of the chasm below.  (Okay, I’m being dramatic, but if you think the ladders were easy, just ask Paul). Then, of course comes the heart pounding scramble back up the other side. You drop to your knees to catch your breath and gaze back over the gorge you’ve just traversed. It’s a rush! Only six more of these to go today.

After eight hours of this, we’re all more than ready to embrace the beautiful beachfront campsite at Walbrand Creek. No one has really said much on the subject, but the truth is that by now we all smell pretty bad. I mean three days of sweating under the burden of our packs has left us, how can I put this, a little cheesy. Time for a bath. The creek looks inviting, but we know that water is cold. Just have to dive right in, we suppose. It’s not cold, it’s take your breath away and race your pulse freezing! After a few strokes that could not really be considered swimming, we clamber ashore and quickly attempt to soap ourselves down before the chattering of teeth sends us up to the campfire. Oh yeah, Todd had to show off by swimming about 100 feet across the creek, but the rest of us were satisfied with a quick dip. John decided to soak his aching feet in the creek for a few minutes after the swim and he had to retreat to his sleeping bag for an hour just to regain the feeling in his limbs.

One account suggests that over 500 ships have met their end on this rocky stretch of wilderness. We learn that the steel hulled steamship, the SS Valencia had run aground at Pachena point in 1906 during a winter storm. 136 lives were agonizingly lost as she slowly broke up in the surf. The next year, the trail was improved and renamed the Dominion Lifesaving Trail so that rescuers could get to shipwrecks more quickly. I can only imagine rescue crews being dispatched on foot, with all their gear on their backs, scrambling through winter storms toward a wreck that could be 50 km away. Not exactly as reassuring as the coast guard helicopters that regularly buzz past us today, but it was the best they could do with the existing technology.

Day four:  Once More Unto the Beach
Today is going to be a piece of cake. We’re back on the beaches for a short 5km jaunt and planning to put down stakes at Carmanah Creek, where, somewhat incongruously, we’re told there’s restaurant!

Okay, it’s not exactly the haute cuisine establishment that the name may suggest, but Chez Monique is a unique burger joint situated on the beach underneath the towering Carmanah light house. And by the time you get here, it’s gonna taste like the best burger you’ve ever encountered – especially after four days of boiled, re-hydrated trekker fare. Monique and husband Peter have been operating for almost twenty years and enjoy special ‘grandfather’ rights that allow them to operate a food service business in the park. The only access is by water, so the proprietors of Chez Monique have to bring all their food supplies in by zodiac from Port Renfrew. Fresh salmon burgers, and classic bacon and egg breakfasts are their specialties and  they do not disappoint. The place is staffed by volunteer organic farmers or WWOOF’rs as they are officially called. Our Australian WOOFr chef, Michael, has prepared chicken breasts wrapped in bacon and a massive and somewhat eclectic buffet of sides that includes mashed potatoes from the garden, sliced kiwi fruits and deviled eggs just like mom used to make. And he serves beer! We stuff ourselves beyond all reasonable doubt, and roll off back to the campsite.

Back at the campsite a strange thing happens. The mist and low cloud cover that has cloaked the coast since we started suddenly lifts and we find ourselves under a dazzling star lit sky. No moon, just the gauzy swatch of Milky Way streaking across what looks like millions of intense stars. There is so much to see that it’s actually difficult to spot the usual constellations. Even Polaris is disguised among  the multitude of lights. Lying on our backs for over an hour, the magnitude of the universe lies before us, providing awe, entertainment and a couple of real doozer meteors to boot.

Day Five:  Are There Yet?
At the Carmanah Lighthouse, the keeper welcomes us, gives us fresh drinking water and treats us to a spectacular view from the high cliffs. At this point we can actually see Pachina Point about 35km to the north. This is within 10km of our final destination, which puts our trek in perspective. On the one hand, it’s great to get a visual fix on our ultimate destination, on the other hand, it looks like an awfully long way to go.

Oh yeah, the keeper also informs us that there’s rain coming, and he’s right. We dawn rain gear and trudge north toward Stanley Beach. Stanley is on native land and closed to camping, but by special permission, Sea to Sky has arranged our own private beach for tonight. But all the pull in the world can’t stop the rain, so the motley crew bent heads down and sang ‘every song that driver knew’ from California Dreaming to American Pie. None of us are very good with lyrics, but that doesn’t stop us from hamming it up big time as the rain falls on our backs and weighs our packs with a few extra pounds of water. For the life of us, no one can remember the opening verse to American Pie which drives us to distraction. I actually had to Google it on the iPhone as we drove into town two days later…  A long, long time ago, I remember how that music used to make me feel… yeah that’s it.

Stanley beach is named after a one-time inhabitant who was apparently named Stanley. Stanley’s house is still there, although it has completely collapsed and is partially overgrown, it was once a beautiful little bungalow complete with framed windows and cedar shake roof.

At the beach, we do our best to dry off under tarps by the fire, and explore the spectacular sandstone formations complete with surge channels and a blow hole. Oh yeah, and there’s no toilet here, so we’re treated to the experience of the ‘low tide latrine’. That’s right, you dig a hole below the tide line, do your business, and bury the evidence. I don’t know what this experience would be like in fine weather, but in pelting rain suffice it to say that it’s a pretty unique sensation.

Team Wow is now officially renamed, Team Wet.

The beach is marked with a rusting wreck of a steel hulled sailboat, tossed up on the rocks by a winter storm years ago. The wreck is slowly succumbing to the forces of nature, yet her name remains brightly emblazoned on the stern – “Defiance”. One gets the distinct impression her owner ought to have chosen another name, out of respect for the sea.

As we head off to bed, I’m actually glad that we’ve had the rain. After all, how can you say you’ve done the West Coast Trail if you don’t experience the legendary weather?

Day Six:  Rain, Rain Go Away
It’s been raining steady for the past 12 hours and the thought of getting out of bed and packing up this soggy mess and carrying it on my back is not a pretty prospect. But we do it. The only thing that really gets us going is the knowledge that we’ll soon be huddled up to a wood stove and feasting on fresh crab which is hauled out of the water before your eyes and quickly boiled to perfection by Dwayne, the proprietor of the NitNat Narrows official ferry service. They sell beer here too, but it’s too early, even for me, so I buy one and throw it in the pack for later. What’s another pound of weight when there’s a beer at the end of the day? Dwayne reminds us that we’re on native land, and that if this were 150 years ago, they would have chased us away with threat of death if we set foot in their hunting and fishing lands. But since it’s 2010, we might as well lighten our wallets and enjoy some crab. And we do.

Dwayne also refers to the climatic conditions as ‘mist’. Apparently it isn’t called rain unless gale force winds are driving the water horizontally into your body. Okay, mist, rain, whatever, enough already.

Dwayne ferries us the 100 yards across the narrows on his aluminum boat, and we slog northward toward Tsusiat Falls. Although the rain has dampened our bodies as well as our spirits, Superguide Mark remains undaunted. We see the famed ‘hole in the wall’ a massive sandstone arch that has been cut out of the rock by the crashing waves, but the tides push us inland before we can reach the landmark.

Arriving at Tsusiat we search out a large cave where we light a fire and begin the long process of drying off. Mark is preparing dinner up in the back of the cave, when a passer by suggests he sees a whale. We’ve seen lots of grey whales, so it’s not exactly a momentous occasion, but we stretch our eyes seaward anyway. In that moment, six orcas emerge out of nowhere, pounding their way southward through the surf!

Mark leaps over the fire and runs toward the beach screaming “Orca, we’ve got orca – hey Bill, there’s Orcas out there!” To which Bill replies – “don’t forget to stir the rice.” We all watch in awe as the magnificent creatures hurtle through the water. And then, as if on cue, the rain stops. Aaaaah.

Day Seven:  Onward to Michigan
The light dew that dampens our tent fly is quickly shaken off and we’re almost dry as we pack up for our second last day of hiking. Michigan Beach is the destination and we’ll do as much travel on the beach as the tides permit. Starting inland, we encounter more ladders and more mud, but by this point, we’re all old pros on that stuff. The rocky shoreline provides plenty of vista views as we traverse one inlet beach after another. Tidal pools full of anemones and urchins burst with colour in the afternoon sun and days of rain quickly become a memory. After lunch, it’s all back on the beach and we fall happily into our tents for the final night sleeping on the ground.

Day Eight:  I Feel So Broke Up, I Want To Go Home
We have 12 klicks to go and damned if we’re gonna do it slowly. We’re heading back to civilization, which means we have a ferry to catch and other schedules to watch beyond the ebb and flow of the tide. This part of the trail is still muddy and hilly, but it’s a freeway compared to some of the ground we’ve covered. We pack hastily and book it out toward the trailhead. About half way there, we start to feel the miles under our feet and each kilometer marker is met with loud cheers and anticipation. By noon, we’re on the beach in Pachina Bay and stop for a quick photo op, which is a bit of a comedy of errors in itself. I guess we’re all giddy at this point, but for some reason we find it absolutely hilarious as Todd attempts to plant his camera monopod in the sand and set his camera for a group shot. After a few false starts, a lot of giggles and many witty remarks, we get the shot – a full colour rendition of the hairy, smelly crew they call Team Wow. A mad dash to cover the last 100 meters and we’re at the park office where we collapse on the lawn. Strangely, we feel disoriented and listless as we try to sort out our packs and throw them into a waiting van.

The van ride to Port Alberni is quiet and subdued, punctuated only by a few blood curdling screams as we dodge the huge off-road logging trucks that ply their trade on these gravel roadways. Yes, they do own the road and we’re little more than a bug avoiding the windshield as we swerve our way toward town. We have an hour off in Port Alberni where we wander aimlessly around the scenic parking lots and mini malls searching out sustenance – finally selecting Subway as the diner of choice. We choke back a greasy foot-long and reflect on the recent events. We’ve been wet, we’ve been sore and we’ve been challenged, but we’ve traversed a momentous and rugged coastline that is as rich in history as it is spectacular. For my first backpacking experience, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Cal Shumiatcher, October 2010