The trouble with Canada’s well-known West Coast Trail is not simply that it’s being trampled to death, which it is. The problem goes deeper than that. It’s an eight day thrash through damp West Coast flora, squelching in and out of mud swamps, skinning knees and elbows on wet roots, suffering days of dripping fog, trudging hours across soft sand with a thirty kilogram pack, competing for moist tide line camp sites and avoiding copious amounts of unburied human waste, all in the name of wilderness recreation.
Folks, there has to be a better way to enjoy the highlights of this justifiably famous coastline, with its beach vistas, rolling Pacific swells and moss-draped forest edges but without all that rainforest hassle. Better yet, wouldn’t you like to experience the wild shore and get back to a hot tub in the evening?
It may take over a week to hike, slither, slide and climb those mud-encrusted ladders but, as the grey whale glides, it’s a mere two fair-weather days of paddling down the coast. Not only that, but the very reason you’re on the West Coast Trail (to see the beaches, headlands and inter-tidal zones) are all better seen from a kayak, than from the inside of a damp forest trail.
Starting this year, the luxurious Tyee Lodge in Bamfield is offering a fully supported sea kayaking package. It includes a twenty-six foot launch to whisk you rapidly along the shore to your chosen starting point and a certified paddling guide to help those who might otherwise be intimidated by the ubiquitous ocean swells.You then play all day among the cliffs and reefs and arches.Watch the surf burst and fly. Approach the sea lion colonies on their foamringed pull-out rocks. See whales spout and bald eagles hunt. And then in the evening that same launch brings you back to the lodge, with its hot tub, elaborate dinner and clean sheets. Can life get any better?
When is the wilderness not the wilderness?
In recent years the dramatic growth in outdoor and adventure sports has meant that more and more people are looking for wilderness. Individual definitions and expectations of wilderness vary, but any time the government declares a new park, the ink is barely dry in the Gazette before squads of wilderness groupies and adventure companies are swarming the place.
Just fifteen years ago, after a long struggle between environmentalists and logging companies, the Pacific Rim National Park on Vancouver Island’s extreme West Coast was created to preserve a string of spectacular sand beaches.At the time, amidst the euphoria about land saved and history preserved, there was little consideration of where the park was heading. In 1993 the land covering the West Coast Trail to the south was added to the park’s boundaries.
Less than a decade later the West Coast Trail hosts over 8,000 hikers during the official season between April 1st and September 30th. At any one time in the summer, there can be up to 400 people on the route, spread out over 77 kilometres. That means 5.3 hikers per kilometre. It’s a trail that draws trekkers from Europe and elsewhere in droves, and has been described in travel literature as one of the finest hikes in the world. That may be true, but the word wilderness should be used with caution.
Nor is this wilderness cheap. Why, I have to ask myself, would anyone want to line up to apply for a hiking quota ($25/person), then pay good money to the Parks to use the Trail ($70/person), to the ferry operators for the two water crossings ($25/person), and finally to the bus company to get back where you started ($55/person)?
Paddling outside the box
By contrast, a competent sea kayaker can start at Bamfield Village, take in Cape Beale as a bonus and finish at Port Renfrew in a long day, or two at the most, a distance of seventy-five kilometres. No long waits at the ferry crossings. No hassles at the cable car creek crossings and no mud.
Of course, there are always purists who say that part of the WCT’s pleasure is skinning your knees on logs, or falling off boardwalks into shrubbery. Camping in the rain is fun, they insist and watching the fog roll in is all part of the charm of the Trail. Sure, and removing devil’s club thorns builds character.
If it’s character you’re looking for, the Tyee Lodge sits atop the headland at the mouth of Bamfield Inlet. From the rhododendron-splashed hot tub, perched on the cliff’s edge, there’s a panoramic view that’s hard to equal. On the right, the village boat traffic is a constant source of interest. In front of you, ocean-going ships throb down the Alberni Channel, bound for foreign ports.
On the other side of the Channel, the Deer Group and the famous Broken Chain are archipelagos sprinkled in a tranquil sea, backed by late spring, snow-capped peaks. Both are popular destinations for those wishing to experience a sea kayak adventure in calm waters. Paddling those channels brings you to white beaches, rocky coves and islets crowded with tall trees.
To the left of the hot tub, a series of sand beaches and rocky headlands lead towards Cape Beale Lighthouse. Can there be a bet- ter place to call home, when paddling the rugged West Coast Trail?
Each morning after a civilized breakfast we descend to the Lodge docks, where skipper John Johnston loads a 26-foot launch with kayaks and gear, and we’re off into the wilderness (complete with all the creature comforts). The shoreline spins past at a magical speed. Two hours in the launch is the equivalent of eight days on foot. Hikers, believe it and weep.
One of the great blessings of being this mobile is we can choose our daily destination based on the weather. If it’s blowing a westerly, the swells off the WCT are large, the breaks awesome and it’s suitable only for experienced paddlers. Even climbing down into a bobbing kayak from the deck of the rocking launch can be tense.
Instead, we can tuck into the Deer Group or run out to the Broken Chain. But if it’s calm we can paddle some, or all, of the WCT coastline. How much is enough? Perhaps the morning is great but the afternoon gets up a blow. No problem. This is the age of communication; our guide calls up the launch and we move to a different area.
Is this the wilderness in its truest sense? Of course not. But then neither are cable cars, ladders and designated campsites. Remember, the Trail itself is there because the wilderness was too rugged. Shipwrecked sailors needed a route south to 19th century civilization in Victoria. And when paddling, we don’t encounter 5.3 people per kilometer. Plus the flexibility of the guide and launch allow us to experience the best of the West Coast Trail al fresco, while dining each evening a la carte.
All the literature on hiking the West Coast Trail stresses it’s not for the novice.The trail is long and hard, and wet at times.You need to be experienced.The same is true of paddling the coastline. It’s a rugged shore, where rocky capes and sea cliffs offer few landing points, even on calm days. There’s 10,000 km of fetch between Japan and BC’s West Coast and the swells are endless.Watching the surf curl and break on the shoreline gives you just a glimmer of an appreciation why this coast was known as the graveyard of the Pacific—the resting place of over 80 ships between 1850 and 1980.
Today, there are still numerous wrecks visible. The rusting iron boiler of the Michigan, which ran aground in 1893, lies exposed at low tide near Pachena Point. Parts of the 1943 wreck Uzbekistan can be seen at Darling Creek. Elsewhere, modern fishing vessels, obvious from their aluminum and fibreglass fragments, are wedged at impossible heights above the tide line, thrown there by an unforgiving sea.
But what makes the coast so dangerous in winter, also makes it come alive for the paddler in summer. One moment you’re in a valley of green water; the next you’re on a crest so high you can see for miles along the shoreline. Offshore breaks swirl as a wave top passes, then the level drops, exposing huge mussels, starfish, giant barnacles and bull kelp, clamped to an anchoring reef. Water pours off exposed rocks until the trough passes. Then the basalt disappears beneath another green surge. In a kayak you can stand off a few metres in perfect safety. As a mariner, it would send the fear of Beelzebub up your spine to watch those teeth appear and vanish in the restless swells.
And then there’s Plan B
As any back packer will tell you, the West Coast weather, even in summer, can be variable. If you’re out for a week and it turns wet, you don’t have a lot of options, apart from just keeping on going. Not so, if you have launch support and a home base.
If it dawns foggy or windy, a good way to spend the day is to slip across Alberni Channel (25 minutes in a kayak, 5 in the launch), and play in the Deer Group of islands. Several of these forest-capped out- crops are limestone, with arches, sea tunnels and deep sea caves.
There are surge channels so narrow you have to deck your paddles and push yourself through using your hands.
Inside these dark places it’s cool and quiet, even on hot summer days. The Pacific swells barely reach the twilight zones. The kayaks lift and fall gently, as though the ocean itself is breathing in some deep, dark rhythm. Brilliant sea anemones and purple starfish cling to the sheltering walls. At the back of the caves, gentle swells curl and break in diminutive surf, submerging polished marble boulders. Water drips from high ceilings, making loud plopping sounds. It’s a magical world, where visitors tend to whisper, as though they’re somehow intruding on a sacred place. Perhaps they are.
On a more urbane level, we’ll pass through the aptly named Robber’s Channel, where the burned out hulk of Greenpeace’s famous Rainbow Warrior lies at anchor. Still blackened from the bombing and subsequent fire that sent her to the bottom of a New Zealand harbour (courtesy of the French Secret Service), her rusting bow shows the marks of her trade.And on the bridge, smoke-grimed but still visible are the flags of ships rammed and sunk, during an age when environmental militarism was still in its infancy.
Getting the balance right
While the days are filled with the salt water and damp air of the West Coast Trail, the evenings don’t have to be more of the same. After a long hard soak in the hot tub at Tyee Lodge, we emerge to greet the sous-chef, who is bringing appetizers—nachos smothered in melted cheese and black olives, oysters baked in Cinzano and herbs and filo pastry rolls stuffed with BBQ chicken. To retain balance, it’s best to wash them down with Canadian beer and Australian shiraz. Hey, it’s a global village.
Later, a three-course dinner is served at the long table, while the sun sets into a blazing sea, sprinkled with island silhouettes. Between the steak and the dessert, a log-carrier passes slowly down- channel, carrying douglas fir, sitka spruce and jobs to foreign ports. Someone promises to write to Ottawa about the whole sad softwood mess here on the West Coast.Then the cheesecake takes our minds off such matters and an after-dinner liqueur at the bar puts the whole thing into better perspective.
We are indeed a global village. Out on the Trail, hikers from around the world are snuggling down into damp sleeping bags and saying good night in a dozen languages. Now more than ever before, the wilderness, the country, the whole planet itself belongs to everyone. Are those our jobs going out to sea? Is the WCT reserved for eco-purists only? Can we truly appreciate the beauty of this wild coast without experiencing the discomfort?
There are no easy answers, only compromises. Right now, it’s time for a last nightcap, a final coffee, and bed between clean crisp linen.
Rick Hudson started paddling whitewater in 1976. Age, injuries and common sense have turned him into a sea kayaker where accidents happen more slowly. He now lives next to the ocean on Vancouver Island, BC.
This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
