West Coast ‘trial’
Famous Vancouver Island hike is beautiful, but one tough slog.
efore dawn on the final day of our hike on the West Coast Trail, I woke to the sounds of waves from the ocean washing up on shore. A light mist was coming down on our tent. The air smelled fresh and clean.
It was our sixth — and final — morning on one of the world’s best hiking trails.
Like hundreds of people before us, we had hiked for five days through muddy bogs, up and down countless ladders, across cable cars and on the beach along the wild Pacific Ocean.
We heard sea lions, saw cougar tracks and came within minutes of encountering a bear.
But, unlike the rest of our group, my friend Renata D’Aliesio and I weren’t aiming for the finish line of the 75-kilometre hike on our last day. Instead, we were looking for another way out.
The hike with our 15-member group — organized by another friend Joel Kom and his wife, Emily Medd, and an eclectic mix of their friends that included law students, health professionals and journalists — late last August started out well enough.
After a required orientation session, we left the Port Renfrew side just before noon and made it to our first stop, Thrasher Cove, before dark. We spent the evening soaking up the sunset and telling tales around a roaring campfire.
By the next morning, however, it was clear our large group wouldn’t stay together. Some who needed to finish in five days sprinted ahead, while we would fall behind.
On the first day, Renata had stubbed her toe along the heavily rooted forest trail and, despite keeping her spirits high, was starting to move more slowly. Instead of delaying the group, we waved them ahead with promises we’d catch up.
It was a tough slog. A “monsoon” rain a few days earlier had left slippery sections and knee-deep mud.
After hiking eight kilometres, we stopped at Camper Bay where we heard about another hiker being evacuated after he twisted his knee in a mud bog.
Despite the slow going, the rest of our group powered through, using headlamps until late the second night and making it another four kilometres to Cullite Cove.
Renata and I started early on Day 3, thinking we’d catch up — until we found a note from our group hanging by tooth floss on a ladder of one of the cable crossings. It told us where they’d be camping each night.
It became clear we would never catch up; in fact, it was becoming clear we might not finish.
Renata’s feet kept getting worse.
For two days, she taped her feet and limped along the trail without complaint. But she was in terrible pain, barely making it to the end of the third day. It was a rough night. We arrived at Walbrun Creek, one of the most beautiful camps along the trail, just before dark.
As we cooked dinner, the mice came out to play and I lost my appetite (yes, I have an irrational fear of mice).
We retreated to the tent and discussed our next steps.
I suggested she consider an evacuation, but Renata refused.
She’s tough, and didn’t feel injured enough to warrant the measure.
So I offered another suggestion: We could try to make it to an earlier exit point I’d read about in the guide (it said you could hire a boat at Nitinat ferry crossing to get off the trail). She agreed. We had our exit plan. With three days to go and the most difficult part of the trail behind us, we’d be able to take our final 20 kilometres at a leisurely pace. Instantly, the trip became more relaxing. More fun, even.
We took the next morning off and recharged (she didn’t sleep well, because of her throbbing feet; I was kept awake by mice running over and around our tent. Yes, it actually happens).
The tides weren’t out until midafternoon and we wanted to hike along the ocean rather than wander back into the muddy forest. So we had time to wash up, reorganize our packs and, most importantly, tape up Renata’s poor toes (she ended up losing her toenails).
Soon, we were able to hit the beach. The hiking was easier, although different, and the views were spectacular.
We took our time, stopping to relax and enjoy the scenery. We took lots of photos and met some great people — including Kathy and Erik, the only other campers at Carmanah Creek.
As we cooked our dinner, they hiked up the beach to Chez Monique’s — a randomly located café — to enjoy a homemade burger. The four of us then spent the evening around a campfire, made from the driftwood that washes up on shore.
Renata and I hit the burger joint for lunch the next day.
After eating dehydrated meals for four days, I can easily say it was the … Best. Burger. Ever.
The fresh peach? Even more amazing.
We hiked only six kilometres on Day 5, stopping at Cribbs Creek early to read and relax.
We again ran into Erik and Kathy, and traded stories about our day.
Renata and I had a chat with a lighthouse operator, who has been at his post for 25 years; they came face-toface with a bear. They escaped the bear; we explained our escape plan. On Day 6, we would test the plan. With only 10 kilometres of easy trail to the ferry crossing and a plan to be there by noon, we left as dawn was breaking. We were the first footsteps on the beach, other than cougar tracks we nervously walked by. By noon, we were at the crossing. We asked the ferry operator if he could give us a ride into the village. Unable to leave his post, he said we’d have to wait until his shift ended at 5 p.m. — unless a local fisherman came by. We were stuck. Or so it seemed. After an hour or so, Phillip the fisherman stopped in and said he might be able to take us once he checked his crab traps. It felt like forever. To pass the time, we helped the operator. He lit a pot belly stove to help us stay warm. We talked to other hikers, many who stopped for a hot meal of barbecued crab or salmon before taking the ferry to the other side of the channel. They wished us luck.
Finally, Phillip returned. In an instant, we were zooming down the river to meet the shuttle bus that most of our group would be on. We whizzed past other boats. We cut through windsurfers.
On arrival at the dock, we threw our heavy packs into the back of Phillip’s truck for the drive to the bus. We still weren’t convinced we’d make it in time.
But Phillip knew exactly how much time we had.
Minutes after we arrived at the stop, the bus turned the corner. Our friends, uncertain what had happened to us, simply cheered.
We had found our way out.