THE FOUR-HOUR RIDE THROUGH rural two-lanes and rutted logging roads is almost worththe price of admission alone. The driver, bendingthe “retired” heavy-duty US military personnelbus to his will, races us from Victoria throughthe thick spruce forests of southwest VancouverIsland like a man possessed. After a series ofwhat those of us near the rear of the bus are quitecertain are power slides, we’re relieved to returnto terra firma at secluded Pachena Bay and bidhim farewell. The slow walk to the Parks Canadainformation centre is blissful in its pace.

British Columbia’s West Coast Trail is an epictrek across seventy-five kilometres of coastaltemperate rainforest, and serves as a primevalreminder as to why we all got into backpacking inthe first place. The WCT provides the backpackerwith a true wilderness experience, but also paystribute to the region’s maritime heritage, affordingone access to a pair of iconic lighthouses, both ofwhich stand sentinel over the coast’s legacy as thefinal resting place of dozens of ships and hundredsof sailors.

The trail follows ancient paths and paddling

routes used by the area’s First Nations peoples.The treacherous, fog-enshrouded coastlinebecame known as the “Graveyard of the Pacific”among sailors in the nineteenth and earlytwentieth centuries for the numerous shipwrecksand drownings, and over time a dedicated “life-saving trail,” shelters, provisions, telegraphlines and lighthouses were put in place toassist shipwreck victims and their rescuers. Asnavigation technology improved, the trail grewobsolete, and in 1973 the trail was included in thePacific Rim National Park Reserve.

Our party of six had opted for the north-to-south route, starting at the Pachena Trailheadand working our way toward the Gordon RiverTrailhead over the span of seven days.

The headlands between Pachena Bay andMichigan Creek are impassable, making the firstphase of our route an exercise in, well, exercise.Ladder ascents dominate the early portion ofthe first day — we climb from the pale sands andsun-bleached driftwood of Pachena Bay and theClonard Creek drainage for some one hundredvertical metres to the root-strewn trail overlooking

the bluffs. Hand-sized banana slugs traverse thetrail with glacial urgency, and our lazy lunch atPachena Lighthouse is punctuated by the thrumof patrolling Canadian Coast Guard helicopters—astern reminder to not be among the hundred-plusinjured hikers pulled from the trail via variousmeans each season. As stunning as the scenery is,one doesn’t quite feel removed from it all just yet,sitting on the lighthouse grounds only six milesout with fresh legs, and numerous day-trippersalong the path.

The sharp report of sea lions greets oursteps beyond Pachena Point; a huge bull outon the rocks below announces to all comersthat he reigns supreme. At the 12km post weemerge from the wilderness to a vast expanseof coarse-gravelled beach. The massive boilerof the steamship “Michigan” looms in the tidalpools nearby. Along with huge portions of theWWII-era Russian freighter “Uzbekistan” anothermile further, it is among the largest objects of adebris field of huge anchors, barnacle-encrustediron plates, bolts, and other relics of an era past,stretching the length of the coast.

Destination: West Coast Trailby Craig Carey and Kenneth Wise

//CANADA/TRAIL BACKPACKING//15

2

40//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#152

Our first night is spent at Darling River, andunder increasingly-dark clouds our party watchesa mother otter entreat her pups back to the safetyof the underbrush while a bald eagle watchesfrom the boughs of a towering sitka spruce. Weswap tales and single malt with a crew of sevenretired California clergyman, and marvel at theengineering of the composting toilets placed ateach campsite. As the sun’s final light stretchesacross the Pacific, we confirm all otters accountedfor. Shortly thereafter the eagle soars into thewaning horizon, a fish wriggling in its talons.

The second day proves itself a veritable obstaclecourse, and quickly the lingering sense of notbeing “away from it all” dissolves. After breakingcamp we double-check the compulsory tide table,and opt for the beach route toward Tsusiat Falls.Ladder climbing and slippery log-crossings arereplaced by slogging across miles of heavy sand(as well as the genuinely fun cable car crossing atKlanawa River). As we reach the falls just past the25km marker, the cold of the cascading water isjolting and a fine chance to reflect on this coast’sisolation.

Halfway through our third day we cross theswirling waters of the Nitinat Narrows by ferryunder gray skies (a small hut there offers crab-and-beer lunches) and work along the longstretches of boardwalk toward the CheewhatRiver, and beyond, the camp at Cribs Beach. Therewe reunite with a Tasmanian couple with whom weshared our baptism by bus. Both crews agree: fora part of the world known for some nasty hikingweather, we’ve yet to hit any of the doom-and-gloom fellow backpackers had predicted—even thefog burns off most days by the time we’ve brokencamp. Some of the more local trampers are kindenough to inform us that a trek along this routewithout rain will make our excursion the “WussCoast Trail” — the region does, after all, average300cm of rain annually … and we’ve clearly notendured our fair share.

The next morning is more in line with whatwe’d expected: thick fog and everything is eitherdripping or slippery, or both. We keep to thebeach route until Carmanah Point, ascendingto Carmanah Lighthouse just before the 44kmmarker. At the lighthouse lies a collection ofbleached whale bones, and as we re-enter the trailthe forest is thick and dark. The descent back ontothe beach is abrupt and over-run with huge logjams, and we scramble over gigantic sea-scouredtree trunks until reaching another long stretchof beach. We take a collective moment to adjustour gaiters, as we know this is to be the longestday of beach trekking … but we’re buoyed by theknowledge of something waiting for us there,something lurking deep in the wood.

Wilderness legends abound the world over,of course — sasquatch, yeti, a truly palatablefreeze-dried blueberry surprise — and yet they’veall eluded definitive ID. One legend, however,proves true as we march along the wide swatheof beach. Chez Monique’s, a small tarp-coveredoutpost situated on Quu’as IR 6, a small pieceof designated First Nations land traditionallyinhabited by the Ditidaht, is manned by a colourfulFrench-Canadian frontierswoman. And traditional

backpacking diets be damned, we all sit down toa wonderful burger and beer and chat with theother crews we’re pacing. Dangerously low on vitalprovisions, one of the crew restocks with a new500ml bottle of whisky — after all, doing our partfor international relations has its price.

The next five miles of marching along the sun-soaked beach are made that much sweeter by ourlingering memories of lunch, and the lagoon atWalbran Creek is bracing, but after four days, awelcome respite. We swim in the cold water andlounge on the cobbles until it’s time to preparedinner. We awake to another heavy fog, and arenot expecting our luck to hold. As we descendthe ladders toward Logan Creek’s vaunted cablebridge just before lunch, the fog obscures ourview of the other end. That night at Camper Baywe search for firewood along the beach in thethick fog, and the next day continue through thesoup until the fork in the trail at the 70km marker,where we descend to Thrasher Cove for our sixthand final night. Here, the fog breaks and we haveone last sun-drenched afternoon before the fogredoubles itself and settles in.

Our final night on the West Coast Trail is thefirst night for half the crews on the beach; campis alternately populated by those who’ve had agood run and those hoping to do so. Some crewsarrive after dark, already aware of faults in gearor preparation and searching for a suitable spoton the beach … this, the night of the highest tideof the month. The bear boxes all filled, these late-comers struggle to hang their food, and at 3amwe awake to cursing, scrambling, and the soundsof mad digging as those too close to the surf areconfronted by the relentless advance of the tide.

The next morning, after one last fog-enshrouded trek through the final few miles oftrail, we sit in a small café in Port Renfrew withour heavy mugs of coffee, blackberries pickedfrom the roadside, and bare content feet proppedup when the heavens open. We try not to be smugwhen told rain is forecast for the next six days.“Wuss Coast Trail” indeed.

Getting there:West Coast Trail Express bus (+1 250 477-8700;trailbus.com) from Victoria bus depot (700Douglas St) to either Port Renfrew (2 hours) orPachena Bay (~4 hours).

Season: May to September.

Permits: Required (C$127.50 per person;reservations C$24.50), and can be obtainedthrough Parks Canada. Additional ferry feesfor the Gordon River and Nitinat Narrowscrossings (C$15 each) must also be paidat the time of registration. A maximum oftwenty-six hikers (twenty reserved and sixwaitlisted) in each direction are allowed on thetrail on a given day during peak season (June15–September 15), and reservations ahead oftime will ensure a timely start. Max group sizeis eight.

Camping: All designated campsites are alongthe beaches; camping in the wilderness properis strictly forbidden.

Maps: International Travel Maps’ 1:50,000“West Coast Trail” (itmb.com) is a finereference, though Parks Canada wardenswill issue their “West Coast Trail Map,” as itincludes specific tide height data key to thesafe passage of certain beach stretches, whichthe ITM map does not.

Contact: www.pc.gc.ca/pacificrim

42//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#152