West Coast Trail 1999

If you just want to wander through photos, 500+ can be found on my Flickr site: Saskatoon Does the West Coast Trail (1999)

The rest of this page was put together by Bill and Warren, with comments and derision from all others.  For useful, up to date  information on the West Coast Trail, I recommend:

• Rick McCharles’ Best Hike – West Coast Trail
• Blisters and Bliss by David Foster and Wayne Aitken

Intro

The seeds of this hike were planted in March 1997. Our group of friends were all up at the Emma Lake cabin for a weekend of winter sports. In front of a roaring fire, Joan quietly admitted that she had been thinking about hiking the West Coast Trail (before hitting the ripe old age of 50!). Rick had heard about this earlier and had brought along a book, “Hiking the Edge”. Warren read it then and there, and was sucked into the adventure by the photos. We decided we would try and do the hike. Not soon, but 16 months from then. We started planning. And 16 months later we were on our way!

Note that this trip report is a long story. Don’t feel obligated to read all the text. Skim it and look at the pictures.

Who are we?

• Chris Baraniuk
• Dana Brass
• Warren and Sandy Long
• Rick McCharles (yes, Mr. Best Hike himself)
• Joan Bobyn
• Sheryl and Jeff
• Elaine Tyerman
• Bill Wallace

We spent the next year acquiring information and gear. Warren stumbled on to David Foster’s email address, and acquired a unique, autographed “Blisters and Bliss” (you can too, visit Dave’s site here!) . Warren and Chris also made detailed Excel spreadsheets, listing everything that should be brought, and their associated weights.

Most of us prepared for the hike pretty diligently:

• 5 to 15 hikes
• 50% to 110% of expected pack weight
• 2 to 6 hours long

90 days before our hoped for start date, Elaine used her charms and got the exact booking we wanted… just about impossible for a group of 10!.

A month before the hike, we met to decide on how to divide up food and other shared items (stoves, tarps, climbing ropes, etc.) We tried to keep everyone’s packs down to 30% of body-weight. For the most part, this was easier for the men just because they were bigger. A bare minimum pack came in at about 35 pounds, which left a 115 pound woman with very little extra.

Food-wise we did something unusual. We dehydrated almost all of our own food. No prepackaged dehydrated meals were to be found in our group. To make meals more of a group thing, each person was assigned a dinner, or a few breakfasts. People were responsible for their own lunches and snacks. This meant that when we sat down in the evening, we all ate the same meal together. It also meant that one person was saddled with the cooking that evening. But, in compensation, all the other evenings you were free to just eat (and maybe do dishes!). Since everyone carried their own group meal, it made your pack a lot lighter once you had cooked your meal, and gotten 10 pounds or so out of your pack! This worked so well for us, I can’t imagine doing a trip any other way.

As an aside, most people in our group dehydrated their own fruit. It was incredible and so far superior to the purchased stuff, that we will never go back to store- bought. We had strawberries, mangoes, pineapple, peaches, etc.

Getting There – Day (–2), July 27^th, Tuesday

Drive from Saskatoon to the Shuswaps

Bill, Rick, Warren, (Keiran), Elaine, Dana and Sandy

We left at 7 am Tuesday morning, Warren, Joan and Bill travelling in one Pathfinder, while Elaine, Rick and Dana were in the second. Took the route through Rosetown and Kindersley through colorful fields of yellow rape & bluey flax, but skipped Drumheller and Calgary.

Across the prairies

Took turns driving, swapping every two hours and swapping people between Pathfinders at every stop.

We stopped in Cochrane Alberta at 2pm for lunch and ice cream. Rick begins the testing of his general theories, beginning with number 1: when should one eat desert? (i.e., is pie to be eaten prior to or following the main course?) We followed lunch with ice cream then headed south to the Trans Canada and on to Banff.

We avoided Banff but did stop at the Spiral Tunnel for a wee peek at the peak and a pee. Elaine was a virgin when it came to this part of the Rockies so Warren and Bill provided history, geography, and physics lessons along the way. Thus, the Information Pathfinder was christened, and, as a counterpoint, the other was appropriately labelled the Comedy Pathfinder. Sufficient ahs and muted squeals of delight, and an occassional “Wahoo” from the “Virgin of the Rockies” suggested pure unadulterated awe. Elaine provided examples of Northern Saskatchewan English and suggested it was universally used. All were surprised at the many uses of ‘seen’, “I seen”, “we seen”, “they seen”, etc. For example, “I seen those sinners waiting for the liquor store to open”.

Rick tested another of his theories (that all politicians are crooks) by inquiring of a local Revelstoke gas jockey if his premier was in prison yet. The youth’s practiced customer smile was quickly replaced with a confused look and he avoided all subsequent eye contact and hurried about his business hoping to avoid another question. Rick and Dana’s opinion of the residents of Revelstoke rapidly diminished when we were directed to a closed liquor board store. Rick claimed: “They’d have to be idiots to close a liquor store at 6pm!” Our journey continued with heavy hearts west to Salmon Arm where we were blessed with an open drink establishment. This was greeted by the chant: “Cold beer wine, cold beer wine!” from the Comedy Pathfinder, which was beginning to panic when the Information Pathfinder drove right on by it. Rick offered his services to two too young teenagers parked at the entrance, on the condition that they not tell their mothers. This comment was again responded to in that typical confused fashion. At least they didn’t ask us for money after that. Joan selected the fine eating establishment of Herbies Burgers for supper. Rick in his rather unorthodox manner ordered breakfast which was probably the smartest thing he did that trip. Joan was not allowed to choose again as even Warren almost spewed his burger. Outside, Elaine admired a “young man in uniform” (kid in army fatigues). Rick came back with: “Coupla years he’ll be old enuf to shoot up the high school.”

Comedy Pathfinder took the lead to find the campground just outside of Salmon Arm but we ended up on the shores of Shuswap lake at Sorento. Warren had overheard the original instructions to the hoped-for campsite, and predicted that we would get to a campsite, just not the one we had gotten directions to. Navigation was not a strong point of the Comedy Pathfinder, hence their name. We arrived at Stalag 13 camp just before the gates were shut and the dogs were released. The camp ground was run by Bob & Doug McKenzie (all sentences ended with “Eh?”), who kept us amused around the fire with their entertaining tales of duct tape, jet-ski accidents, fightin’ and fishin. Wine was also present which might explain the amused part of the evening. Uneventful was the evening except for Dana trying to clothesline small children with her tent pole.

Getting There – Day (–1), July 28^th, Wednesday

Drive from Shuswaps to Victoria

Up early, 6 ish in order to beat the general RV white Anglo Saxon community to the showers. Things didn’t look good for an early escape however: the chain link fence and gates were locked. We were trapped. So, we went and cleaned up. Excellent showers had by all, for a mere quarter. Sometime during the showering, the gates were opened by the sleepy guard and we made our escape by 7am.

Stopped at that Canadian Institution Tim Hortons in Kamloops for breakfast. Rick tested Tim Hortons employee of the month comment “we have all flavors of bagels” and asked for the Salmon and Kiwi. Unfortunately they were all out of that particular flavour. Rick then asked for the nearest Starbucks… Something had died in men’s washroom, cloaking the path to the women’s washroom in a thick fog. Christ was found to be online in the parking lot and drives a mini van with shag carpetting.

Rick provided a Far East driving lesson (fewer movements the better) and proved a Pathfinder can do 90 kph in 2nd gear. Bill tries to out do Rick by putting Pathfinder in reverse while traveling in a forward direction at 90km/hr. Bill succeeds in making cool grinding noise but does not make it into reverse. Rick wins. Warren very amused by antics of Bill and Rick while driving his Pathfinder. Bill and Rick make Elaine look like a professional at the wheel even though she hasn’t driven a standard before. Overeater’s anonymous motor cycle gang passes by in opposite direction. Appears to be a pecking order as the closer you get to the end of the group the larger they are. Rather a frightening experience.

Headed southwest along highway 45 to Merit then on to the Coquihalla to Hope. Stopped for a break along the way and watched climbers preparing for assent of local peak. Very smooth peak results in many slides during the winter.

Stopped in Hope for fuel and viewing of a well endowed young man providing a display of high pressure peeing (much to Joan and Elaine’s amusement). No one was ready with the camera, in spite of the five minute duration. Rick was brought to his knees when Joan broke her wine bottle when it fell out the of the back of the Pathfinder. In his grief, he searched desperately for a cup to catch the wine as it dripped through the brown paper bag. He came to his senses when he realized that now was not the time to ingest broken glass. From Hope we took highway 1 to 10 then onto 17 and the Tsawwassen ferry terminal. Although the Information Pathfinder was in the lead, the Comedy Pathfinder with Dana at the wheel passed us several times while making (cell) phone calls. Luckily they were in the other lane… We stopped at Chapters/Starbucks for Dana’s cappuccino, latte, half twist IV. Bought a couple of books and headed for the ferry. Arriving just in time, the boys try to ditch the chick Pathfinder. In spite of the effort, the Comedy Pathfinder still makes it on board, but they are the second last vehicle on. Chicks were very excited about the ferry ride and made a scene by hanging out of Pathfinder and shouting rude and suggestive remarks at passing males.

The unknown van which had broken down and caused all kinds of problems loading the ferry also caused unloading grief: we had to wait for the tow truck to come aboard and remove it. We wondered why BC Ferries was putting up with this shit. Turned out to be that it was a BC Ferries van which had broken down. We chatted up a BC Ferries Anchorman and quizzed him about his job.

Warren, Dana, Elaine, Joan and the AnchorMan

Group got a little calmer once we realized he did at least know which end was the front of the ship. Photos were taken and we went to find a deck area to recline and enjoy the trip across. Everyone impressed by a woman and child we met. Child was huge and so were her boobs. Expounded her vast knowledge of hiking and kayaking the islands then proceeded to incorrectly identify every island we passed. Lots of sun resulted in red faces all around. 

Drove to Island View campground located a few miles from the Victoria airport. We are beginning to see a trend when it comes to Tent and RV operators. The Deliverance school of Tent and RV site management seems to be churning them out. Rick takes the time to explain the difference between a tent site, overflow tenting, and a storage area and suggests a name change from Island View to Overflow and Storage View. Fat white Anglo Saxons and their RVs dominate the ocean view while we tenters are ostracized to the overflow / storage. Bathrooms were pitiful, more in tune with a Woodstock site.

In the driftwood, surrounded by RVs

We set up tents and then went for a short walk along the beach. Deliverance theory was put to the test when Bill attempted to pay for campground (No, you cannot use Interact and talk on the phone at the same time). Bill the expert computer guy solved the receipt problem by suggesting they add more paper. Warren, Joan, Rick and Bill headed to Victoria to wander around while Dana and Elaine went to the airport to pickup Chris. Elaine is very impressed with the US navy (the nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Stennis was in port for 6 days) and the quality and youth of its sailors. We all meet at the Sticky Wicket for beer and Nachos, then head upstairs for dinner. Joan attempts to pickup pre-pubescent sailor in Dana’s name and Dana subsequently blames Elaine who is oblivious to the whole torrid affair. Dinner was good, food was fine and sailors were cute. Elaine sadly left with her wicket still sticky. We returned to our campground with spirits high. We walked along the beach to watch the moon-rise accompanied by Rick sipping from his wine bottle. 

Rick was determined to keep up his alcohol quota to just below stagger. Joan replaced Rick’s hard candy with rocks, but he wasn’t fooled. Actually, it wasn’t much of an attempt, since she didn’t even wrap the pebbles in used candy wrappers. All hopes of stealing a beach fire were dashed, as the RVers were vigilant.

Getting There – Day (0), July 29^th, Thursday

Drive from Victoria to Port Renfrew

We woke early, eager once again to snatch all the hot shower water from the clutches of the RV-ers. Elaine, in a state of high anxiety due to the large number of sailors in Victoria (and maybe having just spent her first night with Rick) took a cold shower. After not having listened to Warren’s hints on using the showers the previous evening, she also refused to read any of the instructions. She arrived back at our tents, shivering and furious at the RVers for using up all the hot water. Her expression upon learning that there was plenty of hot water was memorable to say the least. She couldn’t even speak English for the next 5 minutes, and we questioned if she really belonged with the RV clan.

Elaine after a brisk morning shower

We packed up and headed for Victoria to saddle up for another coffee-latte capa-something IV. After coffee we wandered around Market Square and bought some last minute things for the trip. Joan and Bill bought fleece vests. Sandy’s flight didn’t come in until 11:30-ish so we headed for lunch at Red Robin. It didn’t open until 11:30 so Warren, Joan, and Bill decided to skip it and headed for the airport. We had decided to take the cell phone just in case Sandy had problems with her connections but Dana’s withdrawal symptoms proved to be be too much and we gave it back to her. We left the other Pathfinder in search of Rick as he had escaped.

It began to rain as we headed for the airport, a rather ominous sign as we waited for Sandy. Until this time the weather had been sunny and warm. However, it wouldn’t do for Sandy to go camping, canoeing or hiking in nice weather, so the rain was just in time. Plane was late arriving so we went off to Whitespot for lunch. We picked Sandy up at about 12 noon and were off to meet up with the other Pathfinder. It turned out that Sandy had been expecting rain all along, in spite of our glowing weather reports to her the evening before. We finally found the other Pathfinder along the road to Port Renfrew when we identified an idiot practicing his golf swing on the meridian as Rick working on the golf swing he learned from the Dalai Lama. He had a curved stick and was batting/driving pine cones and rocks out into the traffic. The looks from the construction workers were well deserved and his technique did begin to improve, though Dana advised him, “Don’t quit your day unemployment.”

Rick improves his golf swing

Highway 14 to Port Renfrew is narrow with numerous curves. The longer we drove, the denser the rain and fog became. The 90 kilometers took approximately an hour and a half to drive. We followed the other Pathfinder on a wild goose through Port Renfrew and then decided that they are lost. We gave a few honks of the horn, and then pulled a U-turn and drove directly to the West Coast Trail Registration centre. The Comedy Pathfinder slunk in 10 minutes later. We were still an hour early for the 3:30 orientation so we set up our tents in the forest and went in search of Jeff and Sheryl. The orientation took about one and a half hours. The ranger discussed the trail and updated us on the weather, reading tide tables, trail conditions, animal sightings, rescue procedures etc. We paid the $96 dollar fee, $72 for the trail and $12 each for two ferry crossings. The ranger proudly stated that she normally did our planned first two days of hiking in 7.5 hours… This perked us up. It shouldn’t have. But the good weather forecast for the next two days is a relief and a boost to our morale. At least two days with no rain. We also met Craig and Kristy from Edmonton at the orientation. After that we drove to the End of the Line cafe for a fresh halibut dinner. Warren was a bit overcome by fish fumes but was rewarded with an excellent chicken dinner, while Chris had a most excellent hamburger. We arranged for the vehicle drop off with Stan, who ran a fenced compound for hiker’s vehicles. Big Mike, (who worked with Brian, the water taxi man), upon discovering that we were flatlanders proceeded to bet on our ability to avoid sea sickness on the water taxi. Sandy agreed to bet 25 cents. Spent the remainder of the evening fussing with our packs, final check and re-packing. Everyone partook in the last shower for 7 days. Once clean, Rick, Chris, Bill and Elaine build a beach fire to replace sickly soap smell with smoke. Rick planned revenge on some obnoxious local youths driving yet another Pathfinder (which seemed to be incapable of not spinning its tires and spitting gravel at us every time they let out the clutch) but they leave before he can egg them. All for the best. It turns out that we will need all two dozen eggs he has packed.

Halfway through the night we are invaded by a noisy Boy Scout troop. Tents appear to be 1930 vintage so we don’t have the heart to burn them due to their historical significance. Noisy Boy Scouts have lots of coolers full of beer, which require opening (and slamming) the lid every 4 minutes.

Continue to: West Coast Trail 1999 – First Half

Day 1, July 30th, Thursday:

Port Renfrew to Thrasher Cove, 6 km in 7.5 hours

Map of Day 1

Everyone is up early to welcome the bright sunshine. The clouds and fog circling over the hills on the other side of the Gordon River were ignored. We packed and were off to the End of the Line for a breakfast of French toast and Eggs Bennedict. Our private dinning room was saved for us from the previous evening and is already prepared. Elaine proceeded to test group’s crisis management skills by losing her wallet. She had gotten the group all wound up and was off to wake up the local constabulary when, driving back to the campsite to search the bathrooms for her wallet, a forgotten bag fell forward and hit her on the back of her head. It contained the lost wallet. This was to be only one of the lucky breaks the group would get on our trip. Bill, Chris and Warren take all the packs to the ferry, which will take us across the Gordon River. Bill stays to guard the gear while Warren and Chris drop off the vehicles and get everyone else. Pack weights from the weigh-in the previous evening:

• Bill – 68 lbs
• Rick – 68 lbs
• Chris – 55 lbs
• Warren – 56 lbs
• Elaine – 50 lbs
• Joan – ? lbs
• Sandy – 48 lbs
• Dana – 45 lbs
• Jeff – ? lbs
• Sheryl – ? lbs.

This was our first encounter with Linda and Marilyn. They were from Olympia Washington, and henceforth were known as the Olympians. They were registering that morning and hoping to get on the trail just after us, on the next ferry over.

Just before the ferry crossing, Dana and Sheryl decided to make a last minute visit to the last flush toilet they would see for a week. The locals graciously allowed them to inspect the local bachelor pad toilet facilities; Dana and Sheryl and are scared straight. They are jokingly threatened with a baseball bat to clean the premises before they leave. There was some confusion regarding Craig and Kristy. We had expected them to be on the ferry with us, but they were nowhere to be seen. We heard a rumor that they were actually hiking the trail in the opposite direction and were on the water taxi going north to Bamfield.

About to cross the Gordon River, all 10 of us.

The ferry (with very pleasant captain and crew) took us across to the trail head at about 9:30am. Spirits are high and optimism prevelant as we headed off. The trail is steep and seems to climb up and up, over, around and under mud, roots, trees, slugs, and streams. This section of the trail is said to be the most difficult with no straight or level sections.

Narrow, slippery, twisty.

Our first log bridge: Chris shows off his flexibility.

Elaine and Sandy under a large uprooted tree.

We remain in high spirits because we feel we are doing well. Three and a half hours later, we still haven’t seen the donkey engine. It marks the halfway point, and by now we should be approaching the ladders to go down to Thrasher Cove. We continue to pick our way gingerly along and hope that we have somehow missed the donkey engine. The group is somewhat demoralized when 4 and a half hours into the day we finally encounter the donkey engine at 2pm. We stop for lunch and re-focus.

The donkey engine is behind us. Everyone except Warren in the photo.

No ocean views but the terrain is amazingly rugged. There hasn’t been any real rain for a few days but mud is still prevalent. The Olympians catch up with us as do Craig and Christy. At this point, we talked to Craig and Kristy and discovered that they had been abandoned at their hotel. No-one had picked them up.

The donkey engine is a large piece of equipment and makes one wonder at the efforts required to move it to this location on the trail. The 2-inch diameter wire rope is still evident, as is the telegraph line. The engine was used to haul logs down to the water. It is built on a huge set of log-runners and got to its present location on the hill by dragging itself up the hill. Must have been quite a sight.

We returned to the trail after a short lunch and a much needed rest. Warren provided a loose definition of a ‘turtle’ and attached it to two slips, one by Chris and one by Bill. As the day wound down Bill disappeared over the horizon and wasn’t seen again for the rest of the day. Group spirits were somewhat dampened and any attempts at a round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” are dashed. We finally arrived at the ladders leading 500ft. down to Thrasher Cove late in the afternoon, sometime around 5pm. The group collapsed at the bottom of the ladders after 7 hours and 30 minutes of hiking (including breaks). Our attempt to double the average time it takes to hike this section had been successful.

The males began to setup camp, pump water, gather drift wood for a fire, etc.

Meanwhile, a mass girlie-wash was organized and executed in the nearby stream. (Oh, the pink haze of estrogen.)

The campsite was beautiful.

We ended up looking across Port San Juan towards Port Renfrew on the other side of the bay. Our tents were set on sand amongst the drift wood logs. Supper was Joan’s Tandoori beef. This was to be the first meal at which everyone ate like pigs and eventually led to the average weight gain of two pounds per person. A grey whale was observed 100 feet off the shore and a bald eagle flew over the camp. Rick had hiked the whole day drinking tequila instead of water; he highly recommends it although you’ll have to supply your own tequila. (If it’s causing a problem, maybe it is the problem) The rest of group considered an intervention. Elaine was in seventh heaven after the day’s hike. Chris thought it was a challenge. Everyone’s spirits rose as we got cleaned and fed. Rick scaled to great heights to secure a bear tree (there was a set of nails in the tree which made it resemble a ladder). Warren had to have a go too. This was our first encounter with the modern solar composting outhouses. All were suitably impressed with the facilities. Bill was the only male to wash while others revelled in the smell of labor and the outdoors (Joan wouldn’t let Bill into the tent otherwise). Joan lectured Bill on trail etiquette and on how abandoning one’s friends in the middle of the forest is frowned upon.

Rick confirmed that all his eggs were still intact, but we questioned whether his brain was scrambled for bringing two dozen fresh eggs. This boded well for the morning’s breakfast. It was also good for Rick, who was looking forward to getting some weight out of his pack. The battle for lighter packs meant that it was a continual contest as to whose meal would be eaten next.

We met and talked with a group of Brits, easily recognizable in this environment. The group of youths had two leaders and were off on a multi event trip, including hiking the Chilkoot trail. Elaine contemplated abandoning us for them.

Joan provided foot massages for any and all.

Sitting around the campfire, summarizing the day

Day 2, July 31, Friday:

Thrasher Cove to Camper Bay, 8 km in ? hours, low tide 9:55

Looking at the tide charts showed that we were to be gifted with the ideal tides for passing through and around Owen Point. The full moon a few days before meant that the tides would easily be low enough. We planned the start of next day’s hike for 7:30am with low tide at 9:55am. Since time was short, we made Rick carry his bacon and eggs for one more day and partook of Dana’s oatmeal instead. 

Joan looked particularly radiant this morning!

We packed up and hit the trail by 7:50am. This was the start to a slow slide in our estimated departure times. The Brits were long gone, already on their way to the end of the trail and thence to Alaska. After more discussion and consultation with other hikers who had arrived via the sandstone shelf route, we confirmed that we did indeed want to do it. We would question that decision later as we struggled along at an agonizingly slow base. We rounded the point from the campground and encountered the Boulder Garden from Heaven (Hell for some of us). It was very slow going, large car sized boulders, massive logs, slippery seaweed and water were obstacles to our passage.

Most found it slow going, challenging, and not enjoyable. However, days later, some regarded this section as one of their favourites. The logs became highways over the boulder garden but one had to watch ones step. Those afraid of heights need not apply. The perky people ran back and forth carrying packs for the less confident over the most treacherous slippery sections. House-sized obstacles required cooperation and support from the group. Craig and Kristy caught up to us once again, whereupon Craig presented us with our first full, flat on your back, legs in the air turtle, much to the glee of the group. 

Joan on a small beach in front of our first stacks.

Finally out of the boulders, Warren kisses the sandstone shelf.

We reached Owen point and the sea caves around noon after 4 and 3/4 hours. At this point, the boulders from Hell were forgotten and everyone felt the beach route was the right one. This was definitely the highlight to date, with oohs and ahs and much picture taking.

View towards the ocean.

Bill peering out of another small cave into the main one.

We stopped just around the point, still in the tidal danger zone for a quick lunch. We were on schedule, and high tide seemed a long way away. Rick made a hot snack, pulling out his stove, tortillas, cheese, apples and butter-flavoured oil. Yes, “Quesadillas ala Chicken” for all.

Well, not really all. We got nervous hanging around the point, and so decided that the slower people should continue hiking. The faster ones stayed behind and scarfed more quesadillas!

The group was reunited a short distance later on the sandstone shelf. The hiking was easy and quick, just like sandstone shelf hiking was meant to be. We spotted sea lions and a small bald eagle along the way. With the tide coming in, we continued our trek along the sandstone shelf which spans the entire distance between Owen Point at km 67 to the beach access at km 64.

Hiking on the moon.

This was much more relaxing than the boulder gardens although the seaweed in the small surge channels occasionally made the footing difficult.

A few slips and stumbles later, Warren slipped and sat down briefly on a boulder while placing a log to help the others cross a small channel. For this, the rest of the group declared a turtle, although it was NOT a turtle according to the official Warren Long dictionary definition ( a “turtle” is flat on the back, with arms and legs in the air. A Full Turtle requires assistance from others to get up, and usually happens in thick undergrowth).

Geology

Into the fog

One real surge channel crossed. Not much of a challenge but it did slow us down. The beach access at km 64 was steep but accessible. Impassable headlands eventually forced us on to the inland trail.

While Warren and Rick waited for the group to catch up before going inland, they decided to sit on a great big driftwood log. Rick slowly and gracefully fell over backwards and turtled. On the way over, he made several grabs at Warren, but Warren was too quick and avoided the grasping hands (in retrospect, it might have been better to catch him and put him down gently). Rick, in full blown turtle position tried to roll over, but would have snapped Warren’s treking pole, so Warren pushed him back onto his back, moved the pole to a safer location and watched as Rick rolled over on to his front and got upright. We both knew that the status of the 2 dozen eggs was in question, but didn’t have the heart to open his pack up and find out.

The trail was muddy but the numerous boardwalks made walking easy. We had expected the boardwalks to be slippery and in poor shape. These were in excellent shape and not slippery at all.

A number of good long logs to tiptoe across were a welcome change from the boardwalk monotony. Jeff decided to access nature’s spa and partook in a mud bath. This was the yet another indication of Jeff’s prowess, agility and excellent vision. Someone let Bill loose and he disappeared around a bend. We reached Camper creek, where we had to climb down the ladders and wade across the stream since the cable car was broken. The creek wasn’t deep so it was relatively easy to cross. The first few risked it all; they left their boots on and rock-hopped across without getting wet. Rick then decided the rest of the gang might be better off with a more secure path across, so he spent 10 minutes throwing boulders in to complete a stepping stone path across the creek. Chris carefully took his boots off before wading across, but then almost submerged them anyways.

Camper creek outlet was a windy but welcome site. We camped around the corner up against a wall of rock. We selected it because of its good cooking area. Tents were put up, water collected and supper begun. Order was issued from the Les Femmes committee that all hikers without exception required baths. Rick did laundry and approached bathing with considerable modesty. Bill retained some modesty but did moon Rick on occasion. Chris abandoned all decorum and scared Bill and Rick straight with a full Monty. Rick apologized to Dana for mooning her along the trail after having been mooned by Bill. This would not be the last of vulgar flashing on the trail. Everyone smelled pretty now, the uprising by Les Femmes had been avoided. All the males were now clean and pert, and yes, shrinkage did occur. Jeff and Sheryl avoided the frigid stream wash and retired to their tent for a warm sponge bath in the vestibule.

Warren and Chris built a stepping stone bridge across the creek to the delta on the side of the creek, much to the derision and hoots of laughter from the campfire. However, it seemed like a good idea because all of the driftwood was on the other side. Bill joined in and threw a few more rocks in. Bill and Warren then scampered across, collected a bundle of firewood each, and re-negotiate the irregular and incomplete bridge back (Warren cheated by bring one long log that could be cut up using the saw). On the way back across the stream, Chris decided to provide the crew with a juggling demonstration of small logs at about mid stream. The assembled crowd was well pleased by this demonstration which also consisted of much arm waving and weak javelin throws to the opposite bank, most of which only made it to mid-stream and thence drifted out to sea. The campfire was lit and in an excited and triumphant manner, Elaine presented the group with a grill she had scavenged from the surrounding shrubbery. We all attempted looks of amazement, muted hurrahs and bravos over Elaine’s find. We attempted to heat water on the grill. Pretty feeble and slow compared to the stoves.

Someone, once again, pointed out to Bill the definition of a group, the point being that one does not a group make. Once again, Bill absorbed this open discussion wholeheartedly and with good humor.

Bill tends to the only blisters we got!

The broken eggs only amounted to 3 out of 24. The Dalai Lama was indeed, smiling upon us (well mostly Rick). Joan used the broken ones in her soup (waste not, want not). We all looked forward to bacon and eggs for breakfast tomorrow.

Craig and Christy dropped by our campfire to warm up. Craig had decided that long pants would have been excessive for this trip (translation: he forgot to bring any) and was shivering in his shorts. He refused all offers of a place to sit, citing that he wouldn’t be able to get up again, and that we were too small and puny to get his big boned body back upright. In addition, our glazed hungry eyes spooked him into believing that once he was down, we might just eat him. He said he was more at home with his church group of two. We reminded Craig, “No sex, it weakens the legs!” but he retorted, “Not if you don’t move ‘em.” We left Craig and Christy to their own duties and attacked Sandy’s pasta with gusto.

Huddled around for dinner in the cool wind.

While the others sat around the campfire, Bill went for a walk out on the shelf to scout out the beginning of the next days hike. The creek had to be crossed twice since it makes an S curve at the mouth. Both crossings are shallow and sans pack, Bill was able to leap the gap at the mouth. The tide was out and the rock shelf tidal pools were full of life. A Dutch couple directed Bill to a point where a mother and baby harbor seal were. They were very inquisitive and popped up a number of times, just to look Bill over. Bill then wandered down with the Dutch couple to view the next day’s surge channel. The tide was higher than it was expected to be for our crossing the next day, so it only presented an approximation of what we could expect. It didn’t look too difficult except for the fact that the sides were rounded and very slippery. Bill returned to the camp about 9:30pm to find most asleep. It was another pleasantly warm night once the wind had died down.

Sandy phoned home every day to check on Keiran.

Day 3, August 1st, Sunday:

Camper Bay to Walbran Creek, 9km in ? hours, low tide 10:05am (0.6m)

Our planned 8:30 departure became 8:49. Most rose at 6 am to begin take down camp and help with bacon and eggs ala Rick for breakfast. Bill took up his position and wisely relegated himself to the back of the group. Most of the group wore their Tevas to make the double creek crossing and glared at Warren for being the last to leave camp. However, Warren and Bill had put their trust in water proofing and boulder hopped across both streams staying quite dry.

Warren leaving Camper Bay, the view from our campsite

Once across the stream, Warren and Bill then sat down and waited 15 minutes for everyone else to change into their hiking boots. Eventually, everyone got their boots on and we headed out along the sandstone shelf. Warren and Bill waited for Rick and then caught up with the rest of the group 100 yards later, when just around the corner, the first real surge channel of the day was encountered. The Olympians have once again passed us (while everyone was putting on their boots) and were already halfway across the channel. The path across the surge channel was short but covered in seaweed and slippery rocks. The climbing rope was brought out to give a helping hand to those who needed it. It was used to help stop people slipping sideways down into the water along the first part of the ledge, ledge which was sloped and very slippery.

Although the slope looks minimal, this was much tougher than it looks!

Once past that section, everyone crept across a few more slippery boulders and then climbed out the other side. Once again, the testosterone-charged hikers ferried packs across for a minimal fee.

A waterfall, oozing down the cliff.

The sandstone shelf was cratered with tidal pools, all full of sea life. The sea anemones were numerous, green and suck. They provided great entertainment for those willing to stick their fingers where they shouldn’t. The crabs put up a great show of foolish bravery and resistance in an attempt to chase us off the shelf. The amazing geology along the shelf is amplified by the accelerated erosion of the softer rocks, while the harder ones resist. The cliffs echo the same geology.

Rick adds scale to the geology.

Warren ferrying packs (must have done all the work at this surge channel)…

And then back to help hikers over the lip.

The last hurdle at the end of the shelf was the choice of a steep rock or a small cliff down to the mouth of Sandstone creek. The cliff was impassable without a rope. The rock was slippery and steep and the gap to it large. Bill went down the rock with his pack, while all other passed their packs to Warren, who dangled off the edge of the cliff, passing packs down to Craig and Rick. Warren then did a very clumsy rappel down the cliff. The Olympians (real rock climbers) found our process entertaining and took numerous photos.

At the mouth of Sandstone creek was a major logjam. The ranger had told us that it was much worse than usual; it didn’t seem too bad to us.

Sandstone Creek: the normal logjam.

However, the route back to the main trail was up the creek bed. This looked to be different at least. After a short scramble across the logs, a steep slope had to be climbed. A short rope provided a fun way up. Elaine, extremely pumped, used a jolly jumper technique with a sideways variation. Joan bushwhacked her way up the creek; there didn’t seem to be any real trail.

Wading up Sandstone Creek

We then discovered the real new logjam that the ranger had warned us about. Many trees, all relatively new with thick branches and leaves and needles blocked our path. We crisscrossed the creek bed climbing over and under logs, through trees and around pools.

Elaine fell on her face in two inches of water. Twice. This was a problem for us. We didn’t have the vocabulary to deal with it. The term “turtle” had been given to us during the orientation by the rangers, but a full face down fall had not been anticipated. We searched and pondered for a while and finally came up with the term “belly-flop”. Anyways, Elaine did two.

The new logjam.

The total distance back to the main trail was only about 500 m but, just like everything else we did on this trip, took more time than anticipated. The final step was a steep climb up a rock face to the bridge and inland trail. Ropes are provided (and needed) for climbing up these steep faces. Great fun and a pleasant change. There were 2 ways up and out of the stream gorge. One was a long haul up a steep muddy trail with lots of roots. The other was up a sheer, wet, rock face. Most chose the steep muddy trail. Sandy, Warren and Elaine chose the sheer rock face. Sandy went first up the sheer rock face, then turned and advised Elaine to lose the pack. It was steep enough at the end so that it became pure arm strength. Elaine struggled solo up the rope, leaving her pack to Warren. Much to Warren’s disgust, she also took the rope up with her, looped around her leg. A nearby rusty steel cable enabled Warren to climb (with Elaine’s pack) up to the end of the rope where Elaine had left it, some 20 feet up the stone face. The main trail was a relief to get to, and everyone skipped along it, even when the path became what had previously been thought of as steep.

Roots on the trail.

At least until we hit the ladders. To get out of Sandstone creek we were faced with unending ladders. Dana’s knee began to bother her and Chris raised the stakes in the Hiker Extraordinary competition by taking some of the weight from Dana’s pack and also doing double duty on the ladders, first taking his pack up and then making a return trip for Dana’s.

Ladders down to Cullite

The trail between Sandstone and Cullite creeks was short and pleasant, consisting of boardwalks and the odd mud bath. The climb down to the cable car and up back up the other was yet another series of unending ladders (the highest series of ladders anywhere along the whole trail). The cable car ride was fun.

Teamwork on the cable cars.

Since the one at Camper Creek had been broken, this was our first chance to play on one. Pictures were taken by all. We finally had a chance to use our “ladder gloves” as the pulling ropes were quite rough on the hands. We had brought “ladder gloves” because we had expected the ladders to be slippery and splintery. It turned out that the ladders were neither; the wood was pleasantly soft to the touch, and splinters were almost impossible to get (naturally, some people did manage to get a splinter or two, but only from driftwood or from some of the brand new construction, done with pressure treated lumber instead of the fragrant cedar that seemed to be everywhere here).

We climbed up and out and moved on towards Logan creek where we had planned to stop for lunch. The trail again consisted of swampy areas with lots of boardwalk and mud pools.

The bog was quite dry and reminded everyone of Saskatchewan.

Now the log bridges didn’t come with hand-ropes!

Hanging onto roots to avoid sliding down a muddy slope.

Logan has a wonderful suspension bridge, which bounced and oscillated nicely. Some of us liked the movement and some of us were not so enthusiastic. Dana was in the latter category. Joan and Bill had crossed first, and then watched the negotiations between Dana and the bouncy pair of Chris and Rick. Dana explained that the crossing should take place without excessive jumping on the bridge. Chris and Rick were having none of that, but they did wait for Dana to cross first and start up the first ladder. They then proceeded to bounce themselves across the bridge. However they had neglected to notice that the bottom of first ladder (which Dana was still on) was not connected to the canyon wall but rather hung out in mid-air where it was connected to the bridge some distance from the canyon wall. This meant that movement of the bridge caused the ladder to move as well. Needless to say, Dana’s screams of “joy” did not go unnoticed by those who had already crossed. Her shrieks, threats and cursing echoed up and down the canyon, easily heard by everyone, even those more than a hundred feet above.

Joan poses on the suspension bridge at Logan.

Chris did take time for a photo op on the bridge: an L-sit with a 55 pound pack on. Predictably, his triceps seized after 2 seconds. At the top of Logan we paused for a short lunch. The Olympians, as was their custom, passed us as we ate lunch. Some of us felt slightly inadequate that 2 women (one of whom was 55 years old) were outdoing us. A fellow hiker took a group photo of us. Luckily we asked him to take two. The first one turned out very blurry.

The last part of the hike was through a bog resembling areas of northern Saskatchewan. Lots of boardwalk and mud again. We stopped for a break mid-bog and sat down all over the trail. We were still sitting in a disorganized group, cracking jokes and swapping snacks when three rangers appeared, as if from nowhere.

How the rangers found us… Totally blocking the trail

The rangers first comment was “Usually groups aren’t having this much fun in the middle of the bog”. They checked our passes and showed off their studded gumboots! It seems likely that ranger’s boots do most of the damage to the boardwalks and ladders. Two of the rangers were from the West Coast Section of Pacific Rim National Park, while the third was on an orientation and was to be eventually located in the Long Beach area. Rick, in true Rick fashion, quietly asked if they had any drugs to sell him. We knew he was joking but… Elaine was dazzled by the young ranger, Sebastien. Bill pointed out that he had no calves to speak of, but Elaine drooled copious amounts anyways. To Elaine’s joy, we continued to run into him throughout the rest of our trek.

Jeff presented the group with great enjoyment as he pulled a full 1 1/2 turtle. Sheryl and Elaine rushed to his side. “Are you hurt?”. When Jeff replied: “No, not at all,” Elaine managed to squeeze out: “Wait there, I’m getting my camera!” between fits of laughter and then proceeded to photograph the poor man lying in a heap prior to extending him a hand to get up. Jeff had thought it would be impossible for the two girls to get him up, and started bellowing “Get the rope!”. Somehow, the two girls got him up unaided. The rest of us listened to the whole thing from around the corner. We felt that wasn’t likely to be worth the effort of going back downhill just to see a turtle.

Wandering through the bog must have stimulated some obscure part of Rick’s brain or perhaps he was simply going through detox, having gone without a drink for the last hour (his 26 of tequila was running low). In this befuddled state, Rick decided that we should start placing white crosses along the route. These would mark specific locations along the trail where fatalities had occurred. A poetic and sadistic touch and oh-so Rick-like. His subsequent “Hat-on-the-Mud-Slough” idea was created with only 2 ounces of alcohol left. The idea was that a hat floating on the top of some deep mud would look like a hiker had sunk down below the surface.

A 3-km walk to Walbran Creek ended the day. We set up the tents above the high tide line (lots of warnings about this!) at the top of the beach. A beautiful ocean view and a great cooking spot protected by a huge a driftwood wooden barrier. The creek hits the beach, turns 90 degrees and then parallels the ocean for a 200 yards, before turning again and heading out to sea. This creates a peninsula of beach bordered by the creek and the ocean. This is advertised as a nice warm spot to bathe. We found it beautiful, but quite cold. Walking on the largish pebbles was unexpected painful with bare feet.

A marvelous bathing spot, right in the strongest current, with several large, smooth and curvy sandstone shapes under the water was found, and every one washed thoroughly in the pleasantly freezing cold water. A water fight helped Warren and Chris get satisfactorily wet. Public nudity (full monty?) was rampant and initiated by Joan. We suspected that Joan was either inspired by Rick’s previous full moon or was just feeling randy. Joan flashed her boobs at Chris, who was left speechless. Eventually, he recovered enough to moon her back.

Joan flashes, Warren admires, Chris is flabbergasted! (safe for public version)

None of our campsites had that pleasant “tents-in-wilderness” look about them. We had the most lived in look of any of the campsites on the beach. This time, Bill and Warren erected an engineering wonder to hang clothes on. This prompted everyone else to bring a short bit of string and even more laundry. This greatly added to the ghetto look of our compound. No wonder it took us two hours to get ready in the morning.

In spite of all the bathing excitement, Chris still managed to make dinner, consisting of chickpea curry and rice, with chocolate granola bars for dessert. Jeff the Cook added in a veggie rice for those who might need more sustenance. As was becoming her custom, Joan made rice pudding with the leftover rice. The serious amounts of drift wood made an excellent fire.

Everyone went to sleep in good spirits, in spite of Rick’s questions about the meaning of life. Some tried Dana’s “Melatonin” pills, but we weren’t convinced they worked any better than Sandy’s “Lookin’ Good in the Morning” pills.

Sunset.

Day 4, August 2nd, Monday:

Walbran Creek to Cribbs Creek, 12 km in 8(?) hours, low tide 10:45 (0.7m)

It was Bill’s turn to make breakfast and he produced Muesli with hot or cold water.

Warren discovered  blisters on his shoulders…

We packed up and were on our way. Bill and Warren noted that no attempt was made to stick to the schedule which had been agreed to only the previous evening. Once again, Bill and Warren forded the creek while the rest wimped out and waded with Tevas.

Waiting for everyone to get their boots on after fording the creek.

Tough, sucking, gravelly sand along the route made this a long day.

Chris examines a log boom tug (?)

We stayed on the sandstone shelf as much as possible but were frequently forced onto the sand when both the shelf and the inland trail disappeared.

Cougar tracks?

Once Carmanah Creek was forded using a short tree bridge, lots of hard packed sand was available to the joy of all.

Resting

Bill and Joan had started out in front but Rick smelled beer and put it into high gear, quickly followed by Chris. Horses lead you to water, but Ricks lead you to beer. Even once Chez Monique came into view, it still took another 45 minutes of walking along the beach to get there. Burgers and beer were had all round at Chez Monique’s.

Under the orange tarp at Chez Monique’s

A collapsing chair caught Jeff by surprise. An attempt to lure Elaine into the same demise failed, when the booby-trapped chair failed to collapse. Sheryl’s wait, with camera at hand, had proved to be fruitless. Some members of the party may have consumed excessive amounts of alcohol. Some left after one or two; but Sandy, Rick and Elaine proved to be too hard to get moving. Eventually, the rest left, and those with a drinking problem promised to catch up.

Rick, Sandy and Elaine insist on more time for drinking.

The sober party headed up to Carmanah Pt lighthouse. They spent a few minutes up top wandering around the lighthouse and looking at the view. They hesitated for one second before abandoning the non-sober party to their own means; since the trail had already forked, and they were too lazy to go back to the fork and wait for an unspecified amount of time, they didn’t feel they had any choice. From the lighthouse, they headed down the steep steps to the beach and watched the sea lions playing on the rocks.

Looking back at the Carmanah Lighthouse.

The hike along the waters edge was purposeful, the tide was comming in. Indeed, when one stopped and watched the waters’ edge closely in locations sheltered from the action of the waves, the movement was perceptible and continuous.

Passing a stack, with the water rising.

The drunks wandered aimlessly around the light house and successfylly badgered a youth into letting them play with his telescope and watch whales. Later they also headed down to the beach. Once Rick had turtled off a ladder, they resolved to find a small island that they could sober up on.. They then sat down and waited to see how long it would be before Warren started worrying and came back to rescue them. However, it turned out that Warren had no intention of heading back until well after dark. The rising tide came in. The Olympians came by and asked them how they had gotten out to their present location. In their befuddled state, the three of them (Elaine, Rick and Sandy) didn’t really notice that they were now trapped on the island. They did ask the Olympians to deliver a fake message to the rest of the group stating that they were still at Monique’s drinking. Some time later, once they had sobered up a touch, they realized that they were stranded on an island, awaiting a rescue that was not coming. Eventually the threesome realized that no rescue was in store, took off their boots and waded ashore. They skulked into camp after their fake message had been pretty much ignored.

This turned out to be another nice camp site at the top of a nice sand beach. Cribs Creek runs along the back of the beach and eventually disappears as it sinks down into the sand and then through the beach to the ocean. The sand was soft and hot enough to burn ones’ feet, the stream was warm and everyone had a good bath. After the rough pebbles of the previous site, walking around barefoot was a joy. The sober party spent a relaxing hour or two lying around in the tents.

Looking over at our camp, from across the bathing pool.

Warren met and spoke with Kathleen and Linda, another pair of women making the trek. They had started at the north end and had many questions about the southern portion of the hike. They were surprised by Warren’s confession that this was actually our first hike. It turned out that they had done lots of preparation for this one, including taking a camping course. Bill spent time time talking to the Olympians while Elaine and Joan poured their knowledge into Kathleen and Linda..

The cooking area was good and well protected from the wind by a wall constructed of huge driftwood logs. Jeff the Cook and Sheryl cooked a nice spicy Beef Creole. Warren, Sandy, Joan and Bill went for a long walk down the beach. The line of driftwood logs turned out to be at least a kilometer long and trailed off into lots of smaller debris. Sandy collected copious amounts of driftwood which she used to adorn her pack. Warren and Bill were only able to pretend to be interested for a limited amount time, while Joan was able to feign interest indefinitely. Sand fleas occupied surf line by thousands. Since this was the only real place on the beach where the sand was of a walkable consistency this meant that you were walking in a cloud of jumping sand fleas. It was impossible for us not to have been stepping on them, which made for guilty walking.

We heard via the grapevine that our water taxi has broken down. Apparently this wasn’t too unusual and all the locals expected him to be up and running by the time we get to the trail head.

Another day, another incredible sunset.

The young, barely post-pubescent males chatted up by Dana joined our campfire for an evening of drink, wit and intellectual conversation. Rick is able to converse fluently on the evenings’ topics, consisting of which alcohols cause better hangovers than others. The varieties of cheap beers figured more prominently in the conversation than expensive ones.

Continue to: West Coast Trail 1999 – Second Half

Day 5, August 3rd, Tuesday:

Cribbs Creek to Tsusiat Falls, 16 km in 9.5 hours, Low Tide 11:25 (0.9m)

Breakfast at 7:30 was instant oatmeal by Dana and Chris. All the clothing on the line may have dried overnight, but if it had, the morning mist had soaked it again anyways.

The sun hits our campfire smoke.

Warren used the fire to dry his hiking clothes for the day. It was dramatic watching the steam/water vapour flowing out of clothing dangled a foot or so from the fire. The sun came out and it looked to be a beautiful day, but fog was just around the corner. At 8:40 we left camp and crossed the log bridge across Cribbs Creek. We then clambered up onto the Cribbs Breakwater and headed for the point.

From the Cribbs, looking back at our campsite, with the fog rolling in.

Some sections of the Cribbs had the waves rushing through underground and appearing on the beach out of nowhere.

We rounded the point and stepped into the fog and the campsite disappeared from view.

Into the fog… Again

Bill provided a display of using the inter tidal flush but was somewhat overzealous and was forced to abandon his first position as the rising tide splashed his butt.

Inter tidal flush?

The sun came out occasionally but was only barely visible through the fog and clouds. We were forced inland prior to Dare Point as a small shelf used to traverse the surge channel had been broken away. The rangers had warned us about this one but Warren was tempted anyways. Eventually, clearer heads prevailed.

The Olympians at the “unpassable” (?) surge channel (look closely)

We all headed inland at that point intending to return to the beach at the first opportunity. Once having hiked some of the inland trail again, half the group decided it was pleasanter, so the group split into an inland group and a beach group.

Chris and Dana on a viewpoint, the edge of a 100 foot cliff.

At km 37 (after 2.5 hours on the sand and 1/2 hour on trail), the inland group stopped for a meal break at the club 37-beach resort. Rick felt that the beach group should be informed of this decision, dropped his pack and ran off to try and persuade the beach group to join them. The beach group was reluctant to stop so soon but ended up caving in for coffee, pancakes, burgers, coffee, grilled cheese (plus an outhouse). Since the inland group had already ordered their food, all were going to have to wait until the eating was done anyways.

A second breakfast (?) at the 37km Club.

Elaine and Bill refrained from this display of commerce blighting the scenery and retired to the beach. Finally, the group was once again reunited and up and moving again along the beach. Again, we were forced inland, this time to cross reservation land and the Cheewhat River. The suspension bridge across the Cheewhat and lots of boardwalk make this section a quick and easy hike. Sometimes it was a little tedious as we seemed to be walking along the bottom of a deep ditch, bordered by thick impenetrable hedges.

River otter tracks under the Cheewhat suspension bridge.

Warren stumbles along a crumbling boardwalk.

Everyone was pleased to arrive at Nitinat Narrows and Carl Edgar Jr.’s ferry ride across the river. Carl provided beer and soft drinks, for a price which we were willing to pay, for all.

The group, clockwise from bottom left: Jeff, Sheryl, Chris, Carl, Warren, Joan, Bill, Rick, Elaine, Dana and Sandy.

At this point, Dana thought that she might be slowing the group down too much, and attempted to abandon us. She was finally convinced that she wasn’t slowing us down, and that we could deal with it. Joan, Sandy, Rick and Chris all buy a crab each, which Carl pulled from a pot right by the dock. He also took us for an extended tour down stream to show us the river, where his summer home is, a river otter, a harbour seal and the mouth of the river. In response to Warren’s question about why the reservations seem so small and separated, he gives us a small history of the Hudson Bay Company, their survey methods, his family, salmon in the river, whales, the sandbars across the mouth and how to pronouce DiTiDaht??? (Deee-Teee-Daaht-?? The ?? sounds like Bart Simson being choked by Homer.) As an aside, did you know the Tsusiat means “falls”, and therefore it is kind of stupid to say “Tsusiat Falls”? It was a great ride and everyone enjoyed Carl, even the Stoners from Quebec (another pair that we seemed to blunder into over and over again).

Warren teases Sandy’s crab.

Chris, thrilled to have a beer on the trail.

However, from that point on, the hiking seemed to drag on and on. The trail itself was okay but everyone was very tired. The views from the trail around Tsuquadra Pt were wonderful.

Jeff helps Sheryl up a rooty section.

The group was forced down to the beach so that we would have a chance to see Tsuquadra Cave. We found lots of secluded beaches and rocky cliffs. We even found a dead whale on the beach but now no-one was hungry.

Better to stay upwind of this whale!

Just as people were starting to mutiny (some wanted to get back on the inland trails, while others found the “beach boogie” easier), we reread the books and noticed that Tsuquadra Cave was inland on the trail, and the we might have already have missed it. But, we were lucky and found the cave immediately upon getting back onto the trail. The cave didn’t look all that attractive, but undoubtedly we would have had a very different opinion in the pouring rain.

Rick hangs around Tsuquadra Cave.

Rick found a rope to swing on, and we got some stupid pictures of him. Not a lot of reactions from the group as most were on autopilot. “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” was still out of the question. Joan decided that she was only willing to hike on the inland trail, so the group said “Okay” and headed inland (Bill and several others who would have prefered to walk on the beach were outvoted). However, the inland trail was quickly discovered to be more difficult than the easy boardwalk jaunt we had come to expect. The back of the group, Rick and Sandy bailed out, and returned to the beach.

Sandy and Rick sneaked back down to the beach.

The rest of the trail crew suffered and hiked up over a headland, along rough trail and then down long ladders to Tsusiat Falls. The “Beacher Combers” (Rick and Sandy) arrived well before trail crew and in much better shape.

Joan heads down the ladders to Tsusiat Falls.

It was very windy and crowded at Tsusiat falls, but we found a bunch of driftwood, right at the bottom of the ladders where we were able to set up as a group. This was fortunate because no-one was going to walk anymore anyways. Our camp was nestled deep in the logs and Warren was particularly proud having found a spot that only his tent could fit in!

Warren’s tent, between 2 logs and under a third.

We then setup an eating tarp, mostly so that we could eat dinner sheltered from the wind. The wind also made bathing out of the question, for all of us. The cooking was done in the wind shadow of some big logs. Elaine cooked up a storm and made Tandoori glop. We discovered a worrying lump on Joan’s back. All the health care professionals were consulted, but to no avail.

Tsusiat Falls themselves were neat. Unfortunately, we were all too burned out to appreciate the spectacle.

Tsusiat Falls, our camp is buried somewhere in those logs.

Rick meditating?

We huddled under the eating tarp and scarfed down our rations. Warren went back for thirds…

Eating dinner, huddled in our wind shelter.

The crab eaters now crawled out of the woodwork. Joan cooked her crab first, dropping it into our biggest pot full of boiling water.

Joan and her crabs.

She had to stuff it down, and then hold the lid on to make sure the huge crab was held under the boiling water. As soon as it was ready, she entered the CrabZone… She eventually came up for a breath of air once the crab was nothing but a shell of its former self. Others then cooked their crabs. Sandy begged for and then got Warren’s knife (with pliers!) to crack open her crab. Afterwards she was unable to remove the crab stench from the knife, thus turning Warren into official bear bait. Rick and Jeff found it necessary to ask Joan for crab eating instructions. It was a very messy affair. However, the crew was somewhat revived. Apparently, the outhouse was a long way down the beach but well worth the trip, being decorated with all sorts of washed up items. Other people (NOT US) were seen taking photos of it, both inside and out. However, a stud muffin near the loo made the trip for Les Femme even more worth while.

Rick perfected the disguised whale watch pee (standing on the beach, looking out to see, shading his eyes with the free hand). Fooled all of us. Warren and Bill allowed the others to watch them sponge bath themselves using hot water straight from a pot on the fire. Although both wear shorts, the groping within the shorts led to looks of disgust from the crowd. Sandy shrieked when she thought she saw her face washcloth disappearing into Warren’s shorts, but relaxed when she discovered that hers was still safe and sound in her toiletries kit. Warren had used his own groin-washing rag. At least Bill and Warren smelled good that night. No one else did.

Day 6, August 4th, Wednesday:

Tsusiat Falls to Michigan Creek, 13 km in 7 hr 20 min, low Tide 12:15 (1.2m)

The day began and ended in fog and wet mist. Rick and most of the group were up at 6 am. Rick feared Warren and Sandy had died in their tent, as there was a total absence of movement from within. However, at 7:00 am, Warren crawled from his tent to embrace a brand new day. Breakfast was Rick’s English Muesli with warm lumpy milk. Warren missed out on the Muesli, but did have some of the leftover cold, lumpy milk for his coffee. Many people began the long hike to the bathroom. Once there, Joan and Sandy threatened to throttle a woman who stood in line just for the view and to take pictures of the inside of the outhouse. To this day, Joan still grumbles about the woman who said “I don’t really have to go, but maybe if I sit down awhile…”.

We left camp at approximately 8:30am. An agreed upon mutiny has resulted in Cheryl and Jeff staying behind. The climb out of Tsusiat was painful for all, but even more so for Joan, who arrived at the top contemplating suicide. Apparently, her pack was digging into her “bump”. Warren managed to adjust her pack so that it put pressure somewhere else. The result was instantaneous relief and archangel status for Warren. After crossing the bridge, Rick attempted to dangle his feet over the top of the falls.

Rick on the lip, in the fog. Yes, that is a long way down.

Between Tsusiat Falls and the Klanawa River the trail is all inland with many ups and downs, some long, some short. The occasional views of the ocean provided spectacular scenery. A pleasant hike through the woods it was.

Rick and Chris in the woods, in the fog.

At Klanawa we took another cable car ride since the water looked high and wide. Also because the cable cars are fun. This one required a lot more effort than the previous ones, especially pulling the cable car up to the platform at the end. Chris took a photo, and then complained that Rick and Warren weren’t pulling their weight.

Bill and Joan zinging across the Klanawa cable car.

A short trail length later, we wandered into the Klanawa campsite, watched a marten trotting along on a log and then continued along the beach to Trestle Creek. On advice from other hikers, Bill sent the rest of our crew up a very difficult beach access and trail section. Much to Bill’s surprise, everyone reappeared, twelve feet in the air, descending down a long log over the creek. This meant that all of us, in addition to having just done a difficult section of the trail, still had to the very difficult section about which Bill had just been warned.

Warren appears on the log…

All accepted this with much better than expected humor. The trail came then climbed steeply up a long muddy section. Rick completed the amusement with a Full Turtle less than ten seconds into the climb.

Rick turtles while Warren giggles from behind.

The trail from Trestle Creek to Tsocowis Creek was all inland. An easy hike and along this section we were rewarded with spectacular views from the Valencia Bluffs, another old donkey engine and then a grader. A stroll past the “Chicken Coop” reminded us of Rick’s old house back in Saskatoon. We crossed the swinging bridge across Tscowis Creek.

Joan looks down Tscowis Creek and the falls.

Then, with everyone still feeling quite good, we went down the steep path to the bottom of Tsocowis creek for a warm lunch (we had been in fog all day).

Looking at the falls and bridge through the fog.

We started up the stoves for a hot soup lunch (Rick shared his 4 (!!) extra packets of Ramen noodles with the unwashed masses). Warren and Chris explored the falls. The pool at the bottom of the falls had lots of floating driftwood, so Warren did a lumberjack dance on them, while Chris chattered from the sidelines “Don’t do it. You’re stupid.”

We then continued along the beach. The sand, which was really gravel, was not made for walking. Either the tide was too high, or too low, or the beach just sucked for walking. We did a brief stint on the sand and then Joan rebelled, and stated that she was going inland. We make a group decision and follow her inland.

The buoys made this one a really obvious beach access.

The inland trail also sucked. It was not heavily used (most people use the beach route), was narrow and went up and down way too much.

Warren eating trail mix while waiting for stragglers.

The wind came up and made the hiking cool. Sandy conducted secret talks at the back of the group, and convinced the tail enders to head back down to the beach. Warren followed, protesting all the way. This resulted in another split, half on the beach, half on the trail. Warren explained to Sandy that this was not how a group functioned: it was not kosher to sneak off from the back, and just do your own thing. Sandy agreed that this was the second time she had done this evil deed, and promised to never do it again. Much to Bill’s surprise, the group was finally reunited at Darling River where the trail becomes one with the beach: the front half of the group didn’t even know we had split up into two groups. Wandering along the beach we passed another cave.

This cave could be a great refuge from the rain.

Then it was an easy 2km jaunt along the beach to Michigan creek. Well, not so much beach as sandstone shelf. Sandstone shelf is very hikeable as long as the waves aren’t washing over it. The shelf was extra slippery with 3/4 of an inch of water and seaweed.

Slick seaweed.

In this case, even with tide coming in, it was an ideal place to cover some kilometers. We found the boiler from the wreck of the steamer “Michigan” on the shelf and as Bill sprinted around the far side for a photo opportunity, we noticed the thousands of sea gulls, sitting on the shelf just ahead of us.

Naturally, we all put our hats on, and walked directly into the flock. Luckily, we were taller than the average seagull, and they avoided flying over us. We all made it out clean (some more than others as will be seen soon!)

Warren in among the gulls.

The Dutch couple (met them over and over again too!) had thoughtfully left us the large campsite, while they hid around the corner. They even made sure that we stayed there by pointing it out to Bill, and saying it was the best site. We setup up camp and then sat down to watch Rick, a late arriver this day, play among the seagulls. He was doing his “Moses parting the seagulls” act. Eventually the incoming high tide caught up to him, and he started searching for the best way back to shore. A few seconds later, he slipped and presented us with a full turtle in 6 inches of water. While in the turtle position he was still relatively dry. But instead of waiting the 10 minutes or so for a rescue, panic set in and he figured he had better get up quickly. The only option available to him was to roll over onto his side. Yes, straight down into 6 inches of wet, yucky, scummy (and probably seagull shitty) water. A wet, stunned and somewhat injured Rick finally crawled ashore and retired to his tent to recover.

The Dutch couple sighted a bear around the other side of the bay and were foolish enough to come over and tell us about it. They then asked us if it was okay for them to hang their food bag over Warren’s tent. Warren said “OK”.

Some time later, Rick came alive and conducted the sea gulls in a symphony of flight and stupidity. Once he realized what simple creatures birds were, Rick changed his mind about being reincarnated as a bird.

Warren did supper, glad to finally get rid of the weight of his evening meal. The Indian Keema supper was wonderful and filling; we sat and ate while watching the whales feeding just offshore, near the kelp beds. Many blows and a couple of rewarding tails were seen. There was too much food. More so since we had left our big eaters at Tsusiat Falls (Sheryl and Jeff). Sandy took the leftovers and placed them on a rock for the seagulls.

The women played scrabble with Chris, while Bill read, Rick slept and Warren took everything out of his pack for a photo. A sponge bath was taken by most, some in full view, some not. Once again, Bill scared Sandy and Dana during his bath. This had become pretty much of a daily event. Some very clean and tentative (they crawled rather than walked across the log over the creek) hikers passed by our campsite, so Warren went out to greet them. The two young girls didn’t quite know what to say when Warren accused their pack rain covers as being “a little excessive”, especially in the light of the fact that we had yet to see rain. But they took it all in stride, smiled and continued along the beach.

Our campsite was set back in the trees with an excellent cooking area and out of the wind. The outhouse on the other side of the creek came equipped with $80 North Face shit wiping gloves (they turned out to be Chris’s).

A bank of thick fog could be seen streaming out of Pachena Bay but it wasn’t blown on to us at Michigan Creek. All in all it was a very relaxing evening. We were a little worried about making good enough time on the hike the next day. Overall, our speed on the trails was only impressive in how long it took us to get anywhere. Based on ALL our previous days hiking, it was not going to be easy for us to make it to Bamfield by 2:00 pm, for our reserved water taxi voyage.

Day 7, August 5th, Thursday:

Michigan Creek to Bamfield, 12 km in 4h, 22 min

We were up at 6am, packed and ready to go by 7… Well, would you believe 7:15? Breakfast was oatmeal and other assorted left overs. Warren still had some film left, so on the way through, he took pictures of the outhouse. Sandy, by herself because Warren was taking pictures, got lost about 10 metres past the outhouse. She then thoroughly investigated all of the many beach accesses in the bear territory before stumbling onto the correct trail route. We stopped at the Pachena lighthouse where the foghorn blares twice every two minutes or so. Warren climbed up a tower (had to, since it didn’t have a “No Entry” sign on it). Sandy scolded from below while Bill snapped a picture.

Warren then bought fudge for everyone from one of the lighthouse keeper’s little boys, using Chris’s money. Back to the trail where we ran into Sebastien the Ranger again. Warren gave him some fudge. We then wandered through the forest on a very easy flat and wide trail.

The fog and the silent forest created an ethereal environment.

Ethereal forest.

We saw no other hikers other than the the occasional group of day hikers coming in to see the lighthouse.

Ranger Elaine holds up a tree so that we can pass.

Warren wanders across the final bridge.

We arrived at the trailhead as a group at 11:43, checked out at the registration center and then got a group photo taken by the taxi driver.

Posing for the final group photo!

Back Row: Dana, Joan, Rick, Chris and Elaine

Front Row: Bill, Warren and Sandy

The weatherman was predicting rain for the next few days, which once again, reminded us of how fortunate we had been during the hike. We phoned ahead to confirm that the water taxi was indeed up and running again. It was, and was also supposedly on schedule. The shuttle to Bamfield was mercifully quick, what with our taxi driver (more of a good old country boy than a Canadian) and his 8 track country tapes.

The water taxi wasn’t scheduled to arrive until 2:00pm so we had time for lunch. We chose to eat at the bar. Turned out to be very good food. Everyone except Warren had halibut. We then checked out a few stores for souvenirs, and once again ran into the Olympians. It was easy to convince them to join us on the water taxi, especially as we could almost guarantee them the two spaces vacated by Jeff and Sheryl. We then headed down to the Government dock in the bright and hot sunshine. Bamfield is a nice town situated on two sides of the bay and was very picturesque. We were told to pull out any clothes from our backpacks that we might need to keep warm of the voyage back to Port Renfrew. It was hard to imagine being cold while we were standing and sweating in the hot sun. But, extract the clothes we did, and then helped store the packs below decks. Literally below decks. We pulled out the floor boards, and put the packs down below.

Rick observing Brian at the stern controls.

The trip on the water taxi was far more enjoyable than anyone had expected. No-one got seasick, even though the trip took and hour and a half longer than expected. The boat was heavily loaded and also had a new transmission, both of which combined to make it incapable of getting up on a plane. Brian invited anyone who was interested to join him in the cabin for conversation. We ended up talking at great length with him regarding the boat, whales, growing up on the coast, places to go along the trail, where the wrecks are, etc. Brian kept count of important events by taking a notches out of things on his boat’s dashboard. The steering wheel had two sets of notches: one for “whale kisses” (about 8), the other for “human rescues” (about 4, including ones that were DOA). On the passenger side of the dash was another set of notches, these ones numbering about 13. This was the number of passenger’s cameras that had been destroyed (by falling off a table or bench) or just dropped overboard. Brian also collects samples of whale feces.

We left Bamfield harbour in bright sun, and then cruised into a thick fog bank. This was not good for whale spotting. Without humans to see the whales blowing, it was much less likely for us to find them. Trip wise, the thick fog didn’t affect the boat at all; Brian had all the navigational gear, and it was fun to watch the GPS and Radar displays. The fog got even thicker and the sea rougher as we rounded the point and started heading south.

Huddled in the back of Brian’s boat: noise, spray and fog.

We were now out on the open Pacific but it was occasionally clear enough for us to see the coast in a number of areas. Brian took us by some of the wrecks and then relied on us to be whale spotters. Elaine was the winner, and spotted the first whale right where we had left them, just off the kelp beds near Michigan Creek.

Thar she blows!

Brian’s boat has been converted to be as innocous and safe for sealife as possible. The engines exhaust all their noise into the atmosphere where it deafened us, but not the whales. Brian had provided earplugs for all, no charge. No propellers or rudders extended into the water to damage the whales, instead, the twin diesels drove two huge jets, straight out the stern. We circled, chasing the whales. Most were seen from about 30 to 40 meters away, but one did surface less than 5 meters from us. The many hurried snaps probably resulted in lots of bad pictures of the back of people’s heads.

We then cruised down to the Valencia Cliffs, where we expected to see whales again, and we did. This time we got into the kelp, and got close to “High Kicker”. This California Grey whale likes to flick his tail into the air.

Just missed High Kicker’s tail flick.

We then circled the sea lion rock where we see, hear and smell them. About 40-60 sea lions, all fussing on the rock. As the boat neared them, a bunch dove into the water and chased the boat. We also saw lots of bald eagles and even saw a puffin! Puffins are rare in the area, so Brain made a note of it in his book.

It was very interesting to see the whole of the West Coast Trail, which we had just finished hiking that morning, from the water. A new perspective, and we saw lots more little inlets and falls we really should visit the next time we do the hike. We arrived in Port Renfrew sometime around 7pm, having left Bamfield a little after 2pm.

Unloading in Port Renfrew.

We watched a family of otters compete for fish heads and such on a nearby floating dock. The Olympians (Linda and Marilyn) joined us for dinner at the End of the Line. Once again, halibut all around except for Warren. Rick presented his “woman” (“the babe of all chicks”) with a small gift. Very small, and to explain it here would belittle it. We stopped and talked to Brain who had ended up eating in the other room. He would’ve joined us for dinner but had had to fill the boat up with gas, and by then, the waitress had mislaid his order. We said good-bye and went to the local store to buy WestCoastTrail T-shirts. They were closed, but our waitress told us that they would be thrilled to open up, just for our group. So, we woke the owner up but she was glad to see us spend money. We finally hit the road about 9pm.

Sometime later, the Information Pathfinder lost the Comedy Pathfinder. No matter, we would meet them somewhere in town. About three km from Sooke, Warren slammed on the brakes to avoid a cougar that had decided to cross the road just in front of him. Warren first saw the cougar as it loped along in the tall grass beside the road, and then, in the inexplicable manner of all wildlife, decided to cross the road just in front of Warren. The ABS cut in, and all passengers woke up just in time to see big cat as it cleared the road in two or three bounds, trying to ignore the squealing tires on the Pathfinder only 10 feet from it. The Comedy Pathfinder was stumbled upon as we passed McDonald’s, where they were making a McFlurry visit, with the world’s most confused order-taker. We arrived at the Travellers Inn in Victoria and were confronted with only a minor kerfuffle about rooms. The beds were huge. Rick and Elaine setup their tent on the bed with room to spare. We assume that they needed a little privacy, and were probably nervous about sleeping in the open. Showers were had all around, shaves were had by all, makeup was put on by some; we were back in civilization again.

Rick and Elaine in their hotel room.

Continue to: West Coast Trail 1999 – Getting Home