West Coast Trail – by Irene Butler
Published in “Surrey Now” and “Coquitlam Now” newspapers July 2006
Knowing we would be at the whim of nature’s moods for eight days, my husband, Rick and I, plus four of our adult offspring set out to test our endurance trekking one of the most difficult trails in North America. The West Coast Trail, on the south west coast of Vancouver Island, covers 75 km of rough and raw terrain, drawing hikers from around the globe.
Upon registering, we were granted permits to the Pachena Beach access to the trail. On a daily basis between May 1st and September 30th, 26 hikers are allowed to start out from Pachena (north); plus 26 from Gordon River (south). With the exception of a single exit at mid-point along the trail, all who undertake this feat are committed. A mandatory briefing by Pacific Rim National Park Reserve staff detailed trail etiquette; the “do”s and “don’ts” of an encounter with a bear or cougar; and if injured, especially in bad weather, to expect 24 hours for the rescue team. Armed with a trail map and sheer determination, we took the much anticipated first step past the “Start Here” sign, weighted down with all we would subsist on until journey’s end.
The route follows the shoreline, either along the beach or through the lush, steamy temperate forest. Suspension bridges set my heart racing as I peered at the turbulent waters below. Other rivers were equipped with manual cable cars that required hand-over-hand muscle throbbing pulls to carry us across. Endless ladders; some with over 200 rungs were tantamount to scaling a 20-storey building. Mud, and more mud; camouflaging slippery roots that often sent one of us sprawling. The beach had its own variety of obstacles; hurdling piles of logs washed ashore or cartilage-crunching leaps from boulder to boulder for a mile stretch at a time.
Our tide table chart became our bible. We consulted it faithfully before venturing out to a cliff-backed section of beach, to assure we would not be caught up in the crashing ferocity of an incoming tide.
Setting up camp took a pitiful two hours the first few days. Our inefficiency at tent pitching, water purifying, meal preparation, and clean-up was honed down to a remarkable three quarters of an hour as the days rolled by. The last chore was always to bundle the food and hoist it up a tree away from the campsite and above a standing bear’s extended paw.
Our daily grind was richly rewarded by the awesome wilderness unfolding before us. The air was suffused with the heady essence of delectable pine; the breeze off the ocean was a salty intoxicant. Eagles soared above giant cedars; seals frolicked in their briny home. Each day brought with it unique experiences.
As we approached our designated campsite one evening, we found fresh cougar tracks near the river crossing the tenting area. Deciding the felines had first dibs, we moved on. Our planned eight hours of slogging turned into ten before we saw another suitable spot to bed down. By midnight our tent took on a five-star hotel rating. I was quivering with exhaustion and must have passed out the moment my head hit my rolled-up-fleece-pillow. I awoke to a loud rumbling sound and felt pressure against the side of our tent.
“bear, bear, help, bear!” I screamed, frantically pushing against the caving-in nylon. The bear transformed into the firm grip of Rick trying to contain me, the growl had been him zipping the tent flap.
“Just a bad dream,” I sheepishly hollered to our fearless sons who were now standing outside of their tents in their tighty-whiteys, armed and ready to ward off the intruder.
Boardwalks spanned deep ravines along part of the trail taxing our balancing abilities.
“Watch this wonky board,” warned Rob, our son in the lead. He bounced a bit to demonstrate, then disappeared. Rushing to where he last stood, we peered into a 24ft chasm. Nothing.
“Hey, over here,” came a shaky voice. Rob was straddling a fallen log anchored seven feet below across the cavernous hollow. We hauled him up with everything intact but his pride.
One afternoon, we missed a buoy that indicates trekkers should leave the beach and continue along the forest trail. Our error brought us to a granddaddy of a sea-lion basking in the sun. He did not budge; only his head rotated almost 360 degrees to keep us in view. Meeting this old patriarch was worth the extra miles.
Clambering over the last embankment, we were filled with the incomparable euphoria of having met the challenge of this arduous trail unscathed; blisters, bruises, and minor cuts not counted. Physical fitness is only a part; one must be mentally prepared to fast from one’s regular diet of comforts in order to feast on nature’s beauteous bounty. I can never remember being grubbier or more elated as we trooped into a seafood restaurant near the trail’s end to celebrate.
WCT is not for unprepared or inexperienced hikers.
Expect approx. 70 ladders, 130 bridges, 4 cable cars.
Recommended time to complete 75 km : 6 – 8 days
Fee: 2006 – $140/person