Hiking the West Coast Trail: Day One

I don’t know when I first heard about the West Coast Trail, the 75km trail that winds its way along the southwestern stretch of Vancouver Island. Having grown up in Crescent Beach, B.C. roughly one hour outside of Vancouver City proper and twenty minutes to the Tsawassen ferry terminal that leads to Vancouver Island, it was something I figured I would one day do. I didn’t personally know anyone who had backpacked the trail, but if there was one person that would be up to accompanying me, it’d be Nick.

At 75km, the West Coast Trail (WCT) is intended to be completed in a 5-7 day period. Most people choose to camp at one of the dozen campgrounds situated along the trail, choosing to hike at their leisure and enjoy the trail. By no means is the trail ‘easy’: with hundreds of ladders, bridge crossings, 6 cable cars, miles of mud and roots to clamber over and around, and the possibility of rain (and lots of it), it’s not, quite literally, a walk in the park. Add to that the cost ($200 per person, in addition to the gas and ferry costs it will take to get to the trailhead) and the 6-month reservation and it’s not an easy trip.

But it’s so worth it.

Day One: 75-62km

“How much do you think they weigh?” I asked, eyeing the hanging scale at the corner of the ranger station. We had arrived at Gordon River, the southern trailhead of the West Coast Trail the previous night after two days of travel that included two planes, an hour drive to the ferry terminal, an hour ferry to Vancouver Island, an hour drive to our motel, six hours of sleep, a three hour drive to Bamfield, a four hour wait for the bus, a three and half hour bus ride and a night of camping on the beach.

Although the sky threatened to rain on us, we were too busy cooing over the elk in the adjacent meadow and scanning the sky for bald eagles and cheeky kingfishers to worry much about rain. The only damper I noticed was the bulky green pack sitting at my feet.

“I don’t think I want to know,” Nick responded, plopping his washed-out pack on the ground. Still, I hung my pack on the scale and after I had weighed my pack, Nick hung his, too.

“We’re way below what I read the average was,” I said, happy that we had managed to pack somewhat light. 30 pounds for me and 41 for Nick seemed light, right? In the days to come, I would learn that backpacking and hiking/running are two very different things.

A few minutes later, we boarded a small fishing boat with our permits in hand. Roughly fifteen other people piled on in the boat, which wasn’t a surprise–the West Coast Trail is so popular (and fragile) that the park limits the number of people who can start the trail each day. We failed to heed the advice to book as soon as reservations open in the spring and instead waited a few months, believing that there would still be plenty of openings. Unfortunately, August 28th was the only date available so we jumped on it, paid our fees and crossed our fingers that things would work out. Luckily, they did and we were able to hop on the trail two weeks early in order to coincide the trip with Nick’s race, Fat Dog 120 in Manning Park the following week.

However, pre-race hype was still a week away and we had made a promise to ourselves to enjoy the trip for what it was: extreme peace and focus. With a five day window, we vowed to let each moment happen as it was meant to happen.

And it happened, first by surprise.

“Wow, this is hard,” I muttered as we clambered over one of the myriad roots covering the trail.

“This is exactly why Gary Robbins is so good at HURT,” Nick said, referring to Canadian Ultrarunner Robbin’s prior success at the HURT-100 mile race in Hawaii.

While the few articles I read online suggested that hikers opt to go from north to south, the intended direction and the smarter route (as the trail gets progressively more challenging the further south you go, your pack is heaviest during the easier sections and lightest during the difficult last kilometers), the opening was for south to north. Within the first hour we passed maybe twenty people in small groups of three or four, but after that the trail remained quiet. The hours ticked by as we went up and down ladders, over bridges, through mucky sections we attempted to avoid but were ultimately unavoidable, and enjoyed our first rain shower on the trail.

Without watches, we had no clear idea of what time it was but the arrival of our first cable car and, just past that, a settlement of tents lining a rocky beach shore, suggested that it might be time to call the day. Camper Cove, at kilometer 62, is a popular spot for WCT hikers, especially going the opposite direction. For many it is their last or second to last night on the trail and as such, most people looked tired and ready to be done. As Nick and I staked out a spot to camp, we felt a few sprinkles of rain and hurriedly bundled up inside our tent. We’d know for sure if it was waterproof now, if we had any doubts before. I don’t remember having to try hard to fall asleep, but stories about seeing cougars on the beaches would have kept me in my sleeping bag regardless. I dreamed of rivers and beaches and whales I hoped to see and, towards dawn, the promise of morning sunshine to dry a damp, cool night….

Daily Animal Count:

elk, bal eagles, american robins, stellar’s jays, rock wren, ravens, turkey vultures, banana slugs, belted kingfisher, hooded mergansers, surf scoters

Check out day 2 here!