Pachena Bay Trail Head - End of WCT1999.
Click on picture for more pictures by Barry Philippson, Marlene Etherington & Chuck Murenbeeld
West Coast Trail Summer 1999
Story and pictures by Frank Chow and others.
In the summer of 1999, a group of seasoned Bruce Trail members and adventure thrill seekers ventured forth to test their physical and mental toughness against the infamous West Coast Trail. This 75 kilometre wilderness trail is in the Pacific Rim National Park on the west coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada.
Charles Whitlock of Walkaway Treks, Kitchener, Ontario organized and led the nine day backpacking expedition. Dr. BackpackerTM , Al Brawn of Calgary Alberta, guided us on our trip from the southern trail head in Port Renfrew to the northern terminus in Pachena Bay. The rest of the motley crew comprised of Adele and Barry Philippson of Mississauga, Ontario; Frank Chow, Marlene Etherington, Chuck Murenbeeld, Kim Bruni, and Barb Woods, all of Toronto, Ontario and Big Frank Pravitz of St. Catherine's, Ontario.
Each person had a different perspective of the entire experience. In the following pages, each person shared with the group, his or her memory of one day's experience on the trail.
Pachena Bay Trail Head - End of WCT1999.
Click on picture for more pictures by Barry Philippson, Marlene Etherington &
Chuck Murenbeeld
Day 0 by "Father" Charles
Whitlock: In the beginning, an idea blossomed forth.
Day 1
by "Brother" Al A. Lujah Brawn: Victoria to Port Renfrew.
Day 2 by
Adele Philippson: Port Renfrew to Thrasher Cove.
Day 3
by Frank Chow: Thrasher Cove to Camper Bay.
Day 4
by Marlene Etherington: Camper Bay to Logan Creek.
Day 5
by Chuck Murenbeeld: Logan Creek to Carmanah Creek.
Day 6
by Kim Bruni: Carmanah Creek to Tsuquadra Point.
Day 7
by Barry Philippson: Tsuquadra Point to Klanawa River.
Day 8 by
Barb Woods: Klanawa River to Michigan Creek.
Day 9
by Frank Pravitz: Michigan Creek and beyond.
We are grateful to Bruce Wolf of the West Coast Trail
Express Bus who sacrificed dinner with mom and ‘sis’ to pick up AL at Victoria
Airport and then drive the whole gang to Port Renfrew. But, we will always remember
our hero, Bruce, for meeting us at the end of the West Coast Trail with cold beer!
Finally, who can forget Brian Gisborne and Monique who made it possible for us to
collectively shed 30 or more kilograms of supplies from our backs. To our new found
heroes, we salute you in our customary way: "Hip, Hip, Hooray! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Hip,
Hip, Hooray! Bravo, Bravisimo!"
Editor's note:
We caution all readers who share our journal to remember that the West Coast Trail is a
wilderness experience that should not be attempted without thorough preparation and an
honest assessment of one's physical and mental ability to face the challenges of surviving
in an incredibly beautiful, yet potentially hostile environment. Serious injuries,
including loss of life, are possible. As fellow hikers and adventure enthusiasts, we
caution that you do not attempt what we did without seriously considering the
potential dangers and take measures to minimize the risks before heading out.
Acknowledgement and thanks to Andrew Negus who
scanned in the photos, so that we could share some of the visual delights we encountered.
E-mail: Charles Whitlock
While walking the White Mountains in New
Hampshire in 1997, my wife Joy started mumbling to people, including me, about a dream to
walk the West Coast Trail in British Columbia. Upon our arrival home in Kitchener, I
started collecting information from Parks Canada as well as from every friend I knew who
had been to Vancouver Island. By the fall of 1998, the trip for the West Coast trail
appeared in print in my Walkaway Treks brochure. It was still a leap of faith
because there were many unresolved details, like whether we would obtain trail
permits. Participation was not an issue. The trip was soon full with a waiting list.
Throughout the winter, the difficulty in obtaining trail permits remained unresolved as Parks Canada accepts reservations for the coming season on a first come first served basis on March 1st each year. I spent many evenings roving the Internet for potential guides and by March 1, 1999 I had made contact with Back Of Beyond to obtain permits, engage a guide and to secure West Coast ground logistics. It was going to happen.
More evenings were spent planning menus, checking equipment and pouring over maps. It was going to happen. Soon, Joy and I were buying food and our equipment room in the basement began to look like a depot for disaster preparedness. Excitement was mounting and I started a rigorous walking exercise. I purchased an airline ticket for Victoria, B.C. It was going to happen. Too many Saturdays were spent searching for the right backpack, but eventually it was found. The first weekend in August, all supplies and food were weighed, packed, re-packed, adjusted and finally all food bags were ready for distribution. All participants were invited to our house for a delightful outdoor meal and to receive their supplies.
The food bags were too heavy. No one
wants to be hungry and to be adequately nourished, we had to carry the weight.
Nevertheless, there was excitement because the trip was really going to happen.
Soon, we were on airplanes heading west, transferring in Vancouver and arriving in
Victoria. The time had arrived. The adventure was about to start. But, our West
Coast Trail guide, Annette, had to rush back to Calgary because of a family emergency.
Top
Charles
Whitlock
Well, what a surprise and blessing to have the opportunity to lead/guide such a group of adventurers from the Toronto area. Never did I realize how much I would learn (and enjoy) from this group of friends on one of my favourite hikes, the West Coast Trail.
It all started with a phone call on Wednesday afternoon (August 25th) from Back of Beyond in Canmore, Alberta. "Did I know of anyone who could lead a small group of intrepid ‘easterners’ on the WCT, starting Thursday at noon?" Well, my university classes were about to begin and I had just come back from the trail 3 days earlier, so I certainly didn’t have time! After I suggested a few names and contact numbers to Gena in Canmore, and contacted a few professional WCT friends in Calgary, I left it to Gena to find an excellent person to guide you on the Trail. Well, as the good Lord would have it, no one was available on such short notice, except Dr. BackpackerTM , aka Al A. Lujah! (the Lord works in mysterious ways…).
Thursday morning I took off on Westjet Airlines to Victoria, after some rapid scrambling to re-arrange my university commitments and to pack my recently cleaned gear. Smiling Bruce was at the airport in his West Coast Trail Express van and he scooped me up and we were off to the Crystal Court Motel to meet the "team". I was greeted by a bunch of "wild", enthusiastic "Father" Charles groupies! I changed into my WCT duds and re-packed my pack and we were off to Port Renfrew. En-route, we stopped at Kathie’s drive-in at the Jordan River for milk shakes, ice cream, fries, etc. It was a quick trip (thanks, Bruce) and we were at our night’s accommodations at the West Coast Trail Motel and at Peter and Connie’s, Trailhead Resort. In the evening, we enjoyed a delicious dinner at the Lighthouse Restaurant. Then, we re-packed our food in "Father" Charles’ room so we could drop off some food et al at Chez Monique’s near Carmanah Creek on the West Coast Trail via Brian Gisborne’s boat. We quickly retired after that "challenge", and my roommate, Frank Chow, Barb, Chuck and I retired to our rooms in the WCT Motel.
Big, warm "thank you" to "Father" Charles, Frank C., Frank P., Kim B., Barb W., Barry and Adele P., Chuck M., and (certainly last, but NOT least) Marlene E. for the wonderful, God-given opportunity to meet and laugh with such a super bunch of "easterners"! I hope and pray that we’ll all meet again in the near future for more laughs and adventures. May the good Lord guide, protect, inspire and bless each one of us on our journeys in life. Love always…
Top Al Brawn, Dr. BackpackerTM
The big day finally arrived. For most of us,
it is the culmination of months of physical and mental preparation and countless treks to
the outdoor stores in search of the lightest gear, in our endless quest to reduce our load
to the absolute minimum weight. "Brother" Al, our new found, last minute
replacement guide, was instantly elevated to hero status when he arranged for a food drop
at Chez Monique’s, the famous café on the West Coast Trail near Carmanah
Creek. This shaved about 3 kilograms off everybody’s pack load. After all, we
were about to embark on our West Coast Trail adventure covering the hardest section of the
trail when our packs would be at their heaviest.
After lingering in what was to be my last hot shower in seven days, I made last minute adjustments to my pack and headed out for breakfast at The End of The Line Café. We all indulged in a great breakfast of eggs, bacon, home fries and pancakes. Without being asked, Barry’s plate came "sans oignons" while everyone else has chopped, green onions on their home fries. How did they know that Barry hates onions? This was taken as an omen of good things to come. After breakfast, we all returned to the Trailhead Resort to make a last visit to the great white porcelain bowl, gather our packs and catch our ride with Evan to the Gordon River Information Centre. When Evan returned to the Trailhead Resort to pick up the remainder of our group, we had to wait for Charles and Laura to do some last minute shopping for gaiters and walking staffs.
After registering with Parks Canada and viewing their video on the trail, we were spared the usual "spiel" as we were in good hands with veteran Al who was about to begin his 24th escapade on the trail. We walked over to the ferry that took us the short distance across the Gordon River to the trail head. As we got off the ferry, we immediately got a taste of things to come. We had to be extremely careful getting off the boat onto slippery, barnacle encrusted rocks. We were finally here, the actual start of the West Coast Trail. We were about to begin our adventure into wilderness and the unknown, but certainly in good hands with "Father" Charles and "Brother" Al to lead us along. Al rounded the team into a circle for a minute of silence to gather our thoughts and pray to the backpacking gods for a safe journey. As we posed for our "before" group photo, the sun was shining down on us, a definite blessing for we were about to enter a rain forest.
And so we began what some describe as one
of the "most gruelling treks in North America" on Friday August 27 at 10:30 AM.
We quickly found ourselves in mud holes up to our ankles, climbing hills and ladders,
keeping our balance, (despite the heavy weight on our backs), crossing narrow and slippery
logs and concentrating on each and every step. The trail was already well on its way to
living up to our expectations. We progressed slowly. The forest we were walking
through was certainly awe inspiring even though this section of the trail is second growth
forest. The sun was shining through the tall trees creating a beautiful play of light and
shadow on the forest ground. We passed an old donkey engine that was once used for the
logging operations in the area. We stopped for lunch at 1:30 PM at the highest point on
the trail, a mere 183 meters above sea level. Frank Chow was happy to stop as he was
experiencing major cramping in his legs.
The afternoon was more of the same, tough
going through muddy and challenging terrain. We crossed paths with a group on the last leg
of their journey who couldn’t wait to "get off the F#$**!!! Trail. I
couldn’t help but wonder what exactly I had gotten myself into and if I would feel
the same way as they did when I too get off the trail.
And so, 5 hours and 6 kilometers later, we began the steep muddy descent towards the ocean ending with 101 steps down a set of ladders to Thrasher Cove, our campsite for the night. The site was already quite busy as this is the main junction for hikers starting and ending the trail. We quickly set up camp and prepared our first freeze dried repast of vegetable soup with Mediterranean pasta. Charles invited Kanut, a young, German trekker attempting the trail solo, to join us for dinner as it was quickly apparent that we had way too much food. Dinner was followed by butterscotch pudding for dessert. But this was a special evening. On this day 17 years ago, Barry and I had embarked on a journey of our own: we got married. So, to mark the special occasion, "Father" Charles brought out the "piece de resistance" - some biscotti to accompany our pudding and Marlene gave lollypops to everyone. Then Charles presented us with a beautiful card, hand painted by Joy, showing a trekker climbing a ladder on the West Coast Trail and best wishes on our 17th anniversary from Charles, Anna and Joy. The day ended around the campfire with Kanut, Laura and Mary joining us. Everyone’s spirits were high, satisfied with our accomplishments of the day and looking forward to the challenges yet to come.
As a perfect ending to a wonderful beginning, I lay comfortably in my sleeping bag letting the ocean waves lull me to sleep.
Top Adele Philippson
We woke up from our first night camping on
the West Coast Trail at Thrasher Cove to the sounds of "Father" Charles and Big
Frank setting up for our first breakfast on the trail. It was 7:00 AM and we
optimistically planned to be on our way by 8:30 AM so as to take advantage of low tide and
hike the beach route instead of rejoining the WCT by climbing up the steep access trail we
used yesterday to descend to the campsite. The rigors of climbing up to the highest
point on the WCT, weighed down with full backpacks, was cause for more than a few aches
and groans as we slowly ate breakfast and broke camp. "Uncle" Al was
anxious to get going and so began a ritual of count downs, ("It’s 8:05 but no
one’s counting!"), that became an integral part of our early morning
routine. The importance of a punctual start became very obvious later at Owen Point.
Finally, around 9:00 AM, we headed out across Hobbs Creek, walking on the algae coated ocean shelf littered with sea weed and fist size rocks (cobbles) polished smooth and slippery by the tides. Joining us was our new, found friend, Kanut. Barry and Big Frank had a bit of fun with the long, cylindrical sea weed left behind by the receding tide. Could the sperm whales have left these behind they speculated? As we walked along the sandstone shelf, we peered into tide pools looking at the life forms revealed to us. Charles called out a warning about the slippery footing and immediately became the first casualty when, suddenly, his legs went out from under him. He fell and received an ugly gash to the palm of his left hand.
The shelf gave way to a field of large boulders through which we carefully picked our way, standing precariously on top of a rock wondering where the next step should be, hopping from one boulder to another while fighting the sway of the backpack threatening our balance, pulling ourselves up and over on hands and knees and, time and again, reversing our direction to find an alternate, more passable route. In the distance, we could see a sandy beach. However, to reach it, we needed to overcome a final challenge thrown at us by this rocky obstacle course. The boulders guarding the entrance to the beach were mammoth and after trying several unsuccessful passages between these gigantic rocks, the best route was to make use of a large, driftwood log that the waves had long ago tossed into the rock pile and jammed it between the boulders. The log had once been a tree ten meters or more in length and half a meter in diameter. We climbed onto this log, (not an easy task), and some of us carefully walked the length of the log as if it were a narrow balance beam while others risked needle sharp splinters by straddling the log and slowly crawling forward. Chuck’s backpack shifted while he was traversing the log and part of it fell to the boulders below, but we managed to rescue it. At the end of the log, it was a tricky climb off the log onto the boulders below. We lowered the backpacks from person to person and pointed out footholds in this tricky maneuver. Having conquered the difficult passage, it seemed like a relatively easy descent off the remainder of the boulders onto the beach below. Without warning, Barry lost his balance and spun around as if performing a slow motion pirouette, falling onto his back and wedging himself between two boulders, helpless as a overturned turtle. His backpack cushioned his fall and fortunately, the only casualties were a cut finger and a bruised ego.
Past the rocks, the gravel beach gave way to a sandy beach. Though walking on the soft sand was difficult, it was a welcome relief compared with the uneven, rocky terrain that we had just traversed. We saw Siobahn and Steve who we met at the campsite last night. They had started out this morning an hour or more ahead of us and now stopped for a well deserved rest after "doing the rock pile". "Uncle" Al had dropped his pack and scouted ahead. We began to savor our recent conquest over the rocks and admire Cleft Falls that splashed down from the cliff overhead and the West Coast Trail somewhere up there. "Uncle" Al returned just as we were prepared to settle in for a leisurely lunch on a sandy beach bathed in sunshine. He gave us five minutes to get ready and follow him and we had to hurry to catch him.
At Owen Point, we stared in awe at the caves carved by the relentless action of the tidal waves, but our "Kodak moments" were cut short by the urgency in "Uncle" Al’s voice. The tide was rising quickly and we had to wade out into the ocean towards him where he stood next to a ledge, the cold water already above his calves and lapping at his shorts. To get onto the slippery ledge and above the ocean, we used "Uncle" Al’s knee as a foothold for the boost up. After the last person scrambled onto the safety of the ledge, we pulled "Uncle" Al out of the waist deep water. A chorus of "Hip, Hip, Hooray!" for "Uncle" Al was followed by sober thoughts: we had beat the tide, just barely!
We continued along the ocean shelf, walked on the eroded sandstone that had a "moonscape" appearance, then hiked along the beach past sandy coves and finally used one of the beach access trails to climb up the steep embankment to the West Coast Trail. We followed the trail, walking on newly constructed board walks and bridges that smelled like a cedar chest as well as older sections with missing boards, covered in mud and decay. Where there are no boardwalks and bridges, there are slimy, mossy, decaying trees split lengthwise into two to provide an elevated path above the tree roots and the mud, both of which are poised to snare an ankle or suck the boots right off your feet. On either side of the trail, there is lush undergrowth typical of a rain forest. At the last beach access before Trisle Creek, we came upon a clearing where there was a group of trees that soared fifty meters or more above the forest floor and two or more of us joining hands could not encircle the trunk. We followed the beach access down to the sandstone shelf to look out onto the Pacific Ocean, look back along the coast in the direction from which we had come and to pause and reflect on our day before climbing back onto the trail and making haste to our next camp site.
We continued along the trail over the "blowdown" area without too many challenges to overcome. Finally, from a height that allowed us views of tree tops, a series of ladders led us down to Camper Creek which gave us our first sighting of a WCT cable car crossing. We followed the creek bed down to the beach and set up camp for our second night. We finished the first of many "wet shoe days", tired, exhilarated and eager for more adventure. Fortified with Tomato Basil soup, Turkey Teriyaki with sweet corn and Vanilla Pudding, we were in fine form as we sat around the campfire telling tall tales, singing off key, doing stargazing and sipping some ‘courage’.
We awakened to the sound of gentle sprinkles
of rain on the tent. Alas, had the rainy weather so common on this island descended
upon us? We struggled to get up and investigate - light rain fell on the parts of
the tent not protected by the tree cover. Fog shrouded the beach and forest.
Not heavy rain, but probably wise to put the covers on our backpacks, just in case.
Good time to find out how the cover fits over a full pack with various
‘appendages’ attached. Very gray.
Breakfast was consumed in the usual fashion - hot coffee and herbal tea, (the latter for Chuck and me), followed by juice and the soon to be familiar, filling hot oatmeal/granola/fruit and nuts mixture. Then cleanup and packs on for the day’s adventure.
Today, we do the shoreline. No inland trail for us! Setting off with excitement and a lot of anticipation for the adventures ahead, we set out along the shore a little late (okay 30-45 minutes). Today’s terrain is less rocky and technically difficult. Largely sandstone shelf like a lunar landscape with the fog slowly clearing away. After yesterday’s adventure at Owen Point, we are no longer hesitant about the ‘puddles’, for they are no longer obstacles. The footing has varied challenges, and our trekking poles are our best friends. Barnacles provide a gritty surface. The bare ocean floor is comfortable but mischievously challenges with unexpected slippery spots. The vibrant green carpeting provides a cushion and the seaweed fronds are to be avoided, or trod on very carefully. Tidal pools reveal wonderful natural aquariums with sea urchins, anemones and sea stars, surrounded by mussels.
The ocean is noisy and ‘there’. A variety of boats, planes and a helicopter occasionally go up and down the coast. Is that Brian with our food? Wish we had given him some extra ‘refreshments’ to drop off at Monique’s. The sun appears and the rain covers and coats disappear back into the packs.
We crossed a minor surge channel, to get us ready for the big one tomorrow. After Lunch, the challenge of the day presented itself. Coming to the end of the shelf, we looked down at the tide swirling in, about three meters below us. We obediently followed Al’s instructions. Remove pack; it will be lowered separately to dry beach. Notice I said the packs would be lowered to dry beach; we are not so lucky. We will dry more quickly, I guess. "Father" Charles is the first to descend, with a rope around his waist, looking somewhat bemused in my photo. Sliding down on his bum he reaches a set of boulders now somewhat submersed in water. Removing the rope, he slides down into the ocean and wades out of sight to the shore. Kim is next. Then the rest of us, one by one. I got drenched by two rogue waves and once on shore quickly put on my coat and space blanket to avoid a chill. Hadn’t noticed the wind before! Adele also gets soaked. I can see why Tim Leadem, (‘The West Coast Trail and Other Great Hikes’), says that hikers going from north to south would have trouble getting up on the shelf at this location with packs on. he packs are lowered and the group finally reassembles at the mouth of Sandstone Creek.
Remember what I said about not being concerned about the water in our boots? To get up to the main trail, we hiked up the creek. The water is braceingly cool, but doesn’t go much higher than mid-calf at its deepest. Then, another challenge: the deadfall blocking the trail access. With full packs, we maneuvered through the downed trees like knitting needles creating an intricate cable pattern, up and over and through. Then a climb up to the trail.
On we go now, fairly easily to Cullite Creek where we descend a set of ladders down to the creek bed. After a brief snack and wading across the creek, we climb up the other side on more ladders. Is my deodorant still working? Then, we move onwards; at one point, we use new and old boardwalk to pass over a muddy bog whose plants Tim Leadem says are always struggling to stay alive in the acidic, low nitrogen ecosystem. Then, a nice long descent on the ladders to Logan Creek - 204 rungs! As Frank P. descends cautiously, Charles sings to keep him focused on his mission: make it down in one piece with pack and trekking poles.
There is a wonderful long suspension bridge over Logan Creek, but we will camp here instead of moving on. Barry performs the role of photographic model on the bridge for me.
This campsite has a toilet, but we must cross back over the creek to get to it. No problem as long as you can bear the cold water. The kitchen setup is quite comfortable for the cook (me). Tonight’s menu is vegetable soup, pasta with a pretty darn good pesto sauce, (fresh parmigiana, pine nuts and olive oil will always enhance), followed by more pudding - vanilla. Since we only had snacks for lunch, everyone is hungry! While we did our communal tasks, (pumping water, collecting firewood and preparing food), we heard a wonderful sound, looked up and saw our first bald eagle circling above. What a sight!
Post dinner chores are completed (dishes washed, food bags raised out of temptation, faces washed, teeth brushed and the packs placed out of reach of little rodents). The campfire is a hit as usual, and we end the evening with a sip of ‘courage’, shared with Al. Benedictine, Sambuca, cognac and brandy are offered which he graciously accepts. The stars are wonderful and not what we city folk would regularly see. Then off to bed. What a life!
Top Marlene Etherington
ADRENALINE Surge and Life's A Beach
Adrenaline Surge - all ears tuned to "Uncle" Al's voice as he described the crossing. It was Sunday evening and all eyes focused on Al, illuminated by the camp fire. Adrenaline was the BIG sea chasm. A father and son camped across the way had checked it out many times and said it could not be done. Parks Canada said not to do it, as people have died attempting this crossing. The guide books emphasized that this was a very dangerous crossing, to be done only at low tide, with a high degree of caution. Al assured us we could all do it. The surge channel at the base of Adrenaline Falls could be crossed directly if the water level was low and the ocean calm, by wading across the 4 meter wide channel. The alternate route would be to hug the base of the waterfall above the south side of the surge channel and cross over to the dry end of the chasm at the base of the cliff and from there cross the channel. He would take us across the northern waterfall, above the surge channel at low tide.
And after spending the last few days with salt water soaked boots and socks, we would have the chance to wring our socks out one more time at the surge channel crossing.
When we arrived at Adrenaline Surge, the water level in the channel was waist high and rising rapidly with the incoming tide. The swirling water that rushed in and out of the narrow channel warned of serious undertow. Wading across was not an option. We crossed Adrenaline Surge by the alternate route sans boots, wearing our squishy wool socks so our toes can feel for toeholds in the crack along the ledge at the base of the waterfall. The waterfall trickled gently over our head, but we hardly noticed it since our concentration was focused on finding the toeholds to let us walk across the ledge and holding onto a rope, anchored at one end by "Uncle" Al and at the other by "Father" Charles. It stretched out at chest level to provide a guide across the slippery rock face and a comforting hand hold. Below was the dangerous surge channel which would submerge a careless person falling in it and easily carry him or her out to the ocean. We crossed slowly and were both relieved and excited to have completed the crossing. A rousing chorus of Hip, Hip, Hooray! almost caused a rock slide to cascade down on us.
Low tide revealed the magic world of tidal pools along the tidal shelf. These were enchanting circular aquariums with sea anemones the size of a large grapefruit, and a variety of sea life including a star fish, a purple sea cucumber?, etc. We stepped carefully along the slippery green slime coating the tidal shelf, gripping our hiking poles firmly to avoid a fall.
Slowly, the clouds parted. The sun came out. We had one more challenge ahead of us. Our final surge channel was about a meter wide. The tide was coming in. As the waves broke in the narrow channel, water showered high in the air. The take off spot for leaping across the channel was a slippery, slimy slope with a tiny barnacle encrusted patch. A wrong slip meant a slide into the surge channel, pack and all. "Father" Charles on one end, and "Brother" Al on the far side anchored a rope to provide a handhold guide for us. As we leaped across, Al and Kim grabbed our arms to pull us firmly out of danger.
The shelf gradually gave way to sandy beach. We encountered a large colony of seagulls. The beach continued to Walbran Creek where we enjoyed a leisurely lunch. This was the end of what the guide books describe as the most physically demanding part of the trail. We were half way, in walking time, to either end of the trail: 53 kilometers to the north or 22 kilometers from our southern starting point. Walking time, we were 3 days minimum from either trail head. From here on, it was going to be a beach holiday. Our bandannas and caps morphed into Arabian head gear as we walked in the bright sunshine along the sandy shoreline. We stopped frequently to enjoy the view and the weather. Eventually, the Carmanah lighthouse came into view. Al led us across the fast flowing Carmanah Creek to our campsite for the evening along the edge of the creek.
And then a time of great decision came upon us. Did we want to see a 700 year old tree in the Carmanah Valley, or did we want to go for a beer?. Our guide Al was going to produce ice cold beer for us, but where? About 2 kilometers away, along the beach was Chez Monique’s, a café on Indian Reserve land. Monique is a French Canadian woman with native heritage. She sells ice cold beer, pop, hamburgers, hot dogs, chips, chocolate bars, fresh fruit, bagels and various other culinary delicacies that a hiker may start to fantasize over after several days of freeze dried everything. The Sitka spruce tree lost out to cold beer.
The kitchen at this campsite was somebody’s labour of love, fashioned from the ample driftwood and flotsam, into a veritable work of art in the wilderness. Nevertheless, dinner that evening was the infamous beef stroganoff. My stomach pains to describe this fiery repast. Barry would likely remember this campsite as the place where Adele discovered that her wedding ring is missing. Did anyone, by chance, bring a metal detector?
Around our evening campfire Father Charles settled us down with his soothing Latin chanting of the many well known and lesser known Christian Saints.
And as we dozed gently in our tents, August 30th passed over to August 31st under a clear starry sky.
Top Chuck Murenbeeld
It was a cold Carmanah wake up with dreams of
rain and falling rock and memories of past hikers kitchen renovations, a psychedelic /
schizophrenic Al made fire and a real hike to a double privy where a bucket of water took
the life of 2 deer mice.
Pack then unpack at Monique’s, "our spiritual" find. Up the stairs around the corner, down to the lighthouse towards Our Mothers playful Sea Lions belching harmoniously. Continuous eye finds sea stars, colonies of purple urchins, an incredible sand ledge walk, an interesting experience at Dare Ledge, the white and red boat left behind.
The clan can't pass up a few mug shots on the eagle peaks, on to the cribs where we stopped for a much needed break with our gull pals; this is where our "Poor Bare" stopped taking pictures. Barb to the rescue!
Al takes us on a special tour, a much needed human stop, at hamburger John Egmont town equipped with a sauna, a drying hut, a dry bar and a dreamy mirror...(we didn't look too bad!)
Now we turn inland from the "one of a kind" beaches and walk past lookouts that were indescribable - must experience the beauty, certainly too difficult to explain.
Oh boy, 6.5 more kilometers before we meet Carl Edgar, a native Indian and his children at the boat to take us across the Nitinat Narrows. Al tells us Edgar’s family has lived there for how many years? Edgar was so accommodating: fresh crab for sale, a cooler with beer, pop and a ride across the way - just 40 more minutes to camp. We finally arrive at the camp on the beach where there is a stranded seal pup that we encourage back into the water where she joins her family.
We all enjoyed a great dinner, wonderful songs and dreamy thoughts of sleeping in till 9:00.
Goodnight.
Top Kim Bruni
Peering out of my tent, I was met with a
palette of vibrant colours in the sky: morning at Tsuquadra, in my opinion, the most
beautiful campsite we have seen thus far during our "Trek on the Edge". The
morning dew slowly disappeared as the sun lets her gentle rays warm our bodies chilled by
the fresh morning air.
"Exactly what is an inter-tidal flush", we all said with innocent curiosity. Not capturing every detail from "Brother" Al, I did, however, feel confident that I would learn as I go (excuse the pun). Off I went, ziplock bag in hand. Alas, my first inter-tidal flush was one to be proud of. Hey! What is that mound in the sand? Oh yeah, Barry was there!
We got to sleep in this morning because "Father" Charles and "Brother" Al are rewarding us with a short hike today. As the sun rose in the sky, the smell of omelet permeated the coastal shelf. The battle raged between courageous Kim and the ferocious omelet. Unfortunately, the omelet won and was laid to rest in the inter-tidal zone. Now we have two mounds.
We bid farewell to Tsuquadra at 10:15 to begin another "Walk on the Wild Side". Just minutes into the hike, "Brother" Al led us to the caves. Of course, a photo opportunity. We continued our walk on the beach. In the distance, we approached an arch, the "Hole in the Wall" at Tsusiat Point. Wow! Truly one of the most beautiful sections of solid rock carved by the powerful ocean over many years. Like young children, we quickly scampered up the rock for our next photo opportunity.
Can the sky be any more blue than it is today? Walking is tough on the sand as we approach Tsusiat Falls. Lunch is being served. Can’t beat this lunch spot. The beautiful cascade of water flowing into a beach side pond . Can you believe it? Here’s Kanut! Where have you been buddy? Mary and Laura are also here. "Father" Charles (a.k.a. Florence Nightingale) performed first aid on Laura’s feet. Wow, they are in really bad shape. Her spirits seem down, but they improved when Dr Kildair patched her up.
Off shore, a huge sailing ship is anchored. Three rowboats slowly approach shore. Can they be Frank Chow’s cousins? No such luck. About 25 to 30 young people hit the beach. Hurry up "Father" Charles and "Brother" Al and finish your swim before the young sailors see the live version of the Full Monty.
During lunch, we watched the young sailors enjoy the falls and the swim. What’s this we see across the pond? More hikers - wait a second, they don’t have anything on! Don’t look, Frank! (He did.)
Can we spend the night at Tsusiat Falls? We all wanted to stay, but Kim insisted on moving on to Klanawa about 2.5 km up the trail. Not to disappoint Kim we decided to leave the cool water reflecting the brilliant sun. (Kim, just kidding! You were right; in hindsight it was a great spot.)
Up the ladders we climbed and we were back into the forest on the coastal cliffs. We arrived at Klanawa or was it the set for the Hitchcock movie, "The Birds"? "Brother" Al said, "Are you going to let 5,000 to 10,000 seagulls push you around?" Hell no! We deserve to be here just as much as they do. Have you ever seen 10 adults running up and down the beach blowing whistles and waving their arms like a bunch of lunatics? If big Frank P. only had his video camera with him now. Thanks to Barb, our chief seagull wrangler, the birds moved down the beach, but not before the gulls did their own inter-tidal flush in the Klanawa River. Not to worry, "Brother" Al and "Uncle" Chuck hiked down the trail to get the children their drinking water.
We finally settled down for dinner. The chef special: Honey Lime Chicken (I hope it wasn’t one of the gulls) and tabouleh.
Dusk was quickly approaching. Hurry, wash the dishes and brush our teeth. Then, Kim, Marlene and Adele felt the urge. "No inter-tidal flushes for us," they said. " We are classy women. Ride the cable car across the Klanawa and to the outhouse we shall go."
Frank C. and I found a small creek to filter water. Our quiet discussion of the pluses and minuses of MSR and PUR filters was abruptly interrupted by screams. What in the heck is that? Have the girls been attacked by a bear? More screams and laughter. I guess the cable car ride was a bit more exciting than they thought it was going to be.
Sitting around the fire, sipping our ‘courage’, we laughed and talked about our glorious day together. Slowly, one by one, we retreated to our tents and the warmth of our sleeping bags to dream of the wonderful experiences that lay ahead for the "Father", the "Brother" and the "Children".
BRAVO BRAVISSIMO!!!
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Barry Philippson
The final full day of the trip dawned bright
and sunny like many of the preceding days. The overall mood of the group vacillated
between relaxed appreciation for the surrounding natural beauty and a reluctant sadness
over our fast approaching departure. Such opportunities to step out of the daily routines
of life are meant to be savored as the deeply felt treasures that they are.
We experienced our first cable car crossing over the wide Klanawa River amidst squeals of delight that could, no doubt, be heard up and down this lengthy, but calm tributary of water. The bear tracks and scat found on the edge of the ocean only meters from our campsite were somewhat disconcerting, but not to worry; this is, after all, the last day of our escape from civilization and the rigors of city life.
The ladder rungs built into the side of a felled tree at Valencia Point provided a much appreciated opportunity to laze on the sun warmed rocks below the trail and, at the same time, watch the whales frolic freely in the restless ocean waters.
Further along the trail, Kim and Al went for a refreshing dunk in the clear depths of Orange Juice Creek while Charles longingly reminisced about proposing to and marrying Joy. Lunch was eventually consumed on the banks of Darling Creek after which we had a revitalizing swim in it’s energizing depths.
Continuing high on the trail towards the exit at Pachena Bay and feasting our insatiable souls on the numerous panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean, we encountered two native teenage boys, hired by Parks Canada as Friends of the Park. Their job, they eagerly told us, was to provide trail maintenance to the north end of the park and administer first aid to hikers as necessary. Luckily no one in our fit group required first aid treatment!
Thanks to Marlene, the night of the
blueberry cobbler finally arrived and the much awaited treat was quickly enjoyed by
everyone. As we relaxed around the campfire at Michigan Creek, our guide
Al’s verbal expressions were remembered and enjoyed:
‘Frank…Over Here!’
‘Great job, Mar!’
‘That’s a good question, Barb!’
‘Take a good look around; check your spectacles, testicles,....’
‘Five more minutes, but no one’s counting?’
‘Yo..... Berry!’
‘Heavens to Betsy!’
‘"Father" Charles, are the children well fed?’
Well.....it’s never too soon to start thinking about the next trip’s destination.
Top Barb Woods
The Grand Finale
Our last camp was the beach at Michigan Creek, named after the site of the 1893 shipwreck of the schooner Michigan. This was the last day for many things. This was the seventh time and final day to choose between regular, maple or apple cinnamon instant Cream of Wheat. It was the last day to break camp, the last outhouse, and, as we started the march out, it was the last time we would hear, "Frank,......over here!"
After an ascent right at the beginning, this was to be an easy walk - a light(er) load, no ladders, a soft, flat trail and thoughts of beer dancing in our heads. It was another sunny day in the rain forest.
Soon we reached a junction in the trail where we dropped our packs for the Pachena Point Lighthouse visit. The complex is an ensemble of brilliant, white structures with a finely manicured lawn surrounded by a forest of deep greens and a sea of blue. Of course, we signed the log book, adding our names to the list of people from around the world who have attempted the West Coast Trail. There was a sign posted at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage announcing fresh goodies for sale, but we had no takers - everyone wanted to move on.
Not only did we see brilliant, white structures, we also saw brilliant, white shorts worn by a woman who was on her first few hours on the trail. They were an English couple on a tour of Canada, having just come in from the Rockies. We must have been a motley looking crew to these two neatly dressed hikers, safely armed with jingling "bear bells". Barry informed them that we saw bells just like theirs in the middle of a pile of bear scats. They were not amused.
After a short walk, we dropped our packs again, and descended on a side trail. Another surprise awaited us, when a few minutes later, the deep wails of the dozens of sea lions were heard from the Flat Rock sea lion colony. They occupied the rocky outcropping that hugged the Pacific shore. We explored fascinating rock formations along a pounding ocean surf and snapped the last "group pictures" before the end of the trail.
We returned to the main trail and soon stopped yet one last time. This time, the descent took us along a winding, overgrown trail, to a fun climbing rope, and finally to our last beach frolic. On the beach, "Father" Charles and "Brother" Al search for potable water and sadly ruled out this beach as a potential camp site for future expeditions. "Father" Charles lost his footing on the drift wood logs and added another bruise to his battered ego. Then, again it was back to the main trail, but this time for good, as we made our final push for the trail head. The trail soon became a gentle, rolling highway where we could walk two abreast. Nevertheless, the forest beside us remained ever mystical, with layers of mossy green, seemingly impenetrable mountains of logs and tangled roots and trees. Many towering pines were so huge, we could have all circled the trunk holding hands and still could not entirely surround the tree.
After another hour, we could see Pachena Bay in the distance. We could sense that the end was near. A little further, and a gorgeous, sandy beach marked the last few metres. Then one last giant bridge, a sign, a turn to the right, and there was the Parks Canada Information Centre. We made it - from Port Renfrew to Pachena Bay (near Bamfield). The entire 75 kilometers were completed. Amazingly, today we completed over 10 kilometers before 1:00 PM. We dropped our packs, took our "end of trail" photos, removed our boots'n gaiters, mocked the "unprepared" who were about to attempt the trail, and then went in search of our beer.
Thank God for Bruce Wolf, as he had waited patiently at his van, guarding a cooler filled with the appropriate refreshments for a group that he had dropped off some eight days ago at the southern end of the West Coast Trail. Our packs were quickly loaded up and off we headed via a series of gravel roads to Port Alberni. Our van traveled through forests, past some partially clear-cut mountains, sparkling blue lakes and inlets. It was three rousing cheers for Bruce every time he squeaked past those mammoth logging trucks - Hip, Hip, Hooray! Poor Bruce, he never had to turn on the radio, for we entertained him with a solid program of music, ( though, only one line per song), all the way from Pachena Bay to Port Alberni. Several Bravo, Bravisimos! interspersed the musical chorus. Of course, who could forget "Father" Charles’ rendition of the "House of the Rising Sun" and the group’s masterful performance of "Old MacDonald". Can you match the individual to the animal? And can you remember the taste of those greasy delights at the Port Alberni A&W?
From Port Alberni, it was paved roads all the way back to the civilized world of Victoria. It was back to where we started, at the Crystal Court (roach) Motel, for a loooooong hot shower. After a little re-packing and dressing up, (as best we could), we headed for a wonderful wind-up diner at the Villa Rosa restaurant, where we ate, drank, made funny faces, and did other stuff which is best not mentioned.
Then Bruce gave us a little guided tour of Victoria and day nine came to a final close. So too ended our wonderful trip on the West Coast Trail. Thanks to everyone for making it so memorable - Bravo, Bravisimo!
Top Big Frank Pravitz
Please click here for all the pictures of our trip.