West Coast Trail Challenge

I have dreamt of visiting Vancouver Island for many years. It is a wild and untamed island in the province of British Columbia, Canada, in the northeastern Pacific Ocean. It was home to the Huuay-aht, Ditidaht, and Pacheedaht First Nations for thousands of years. Today, they are the Guardians of the Trail, helping to maintain, protect and share the culture and history of the land. Small communities dot the coastline, surrounded by ancient forests, pristine lakes, rugged beaches, and hundreds of smaller islands and islets.

More than 180 hiking trails are available to explore this splendid island. The most intriguing is the iconic West Coast Trail - for two reasons. One, it is an incredibly challenging course through difficult but stunningly beautiful terrain. Secondly, it has a lengthy history of ships foundering on its rocky shores and survivors attempting to find their way to safety, often without success. It is their tragic stories, particularly that of SS Valencia, which I will tell at a later stage, that eventually led to the creation of the West Coast Trail more than a century ago.

The trail is officially 47mi (75km) long, from the mouth of the Gordon River (near Port Renfrew) to Pachena Bay or vice versa. I was recommended a south to north approach to get the most challenging portion out of the way while the legs are still fresh, although the backpack will be at its heaviest.

I will hike through dense rainforests, over rocky beaches, and past stunning waterfalls. I'll be climbing endless ladders, crossing creeks in cable cars, enduring heavy winds, and, if unlucky, dealing with a lot of rain.

As I stand here at the start of the route, on the shore of Gordon River, I consider the practicality of this journey. I'll be on my own carrying a backpack with all my gear – food, stove, tent, first aid kit, and so on – weighing around 36lb (16kg). I'll be entering a very remote area where getting lost is not an option, nor is getting injured, since help could be hours or even days away. But at the same time, I wonder about the experiences I will encounter, the plants and wildlife I will see, and whether I will catch sight of any shipwrecks.

The day is overcast, and the air is cool. With my pack on, I head for the first ladder tucked amongst towering trees. This is my starting point, and as I stare up the vertical ladder, I mentally count 30-odd rungs to climb to a platform. Made of wood, the ladder is in good condition and well-maintained, an encouraging start to my hike.

I know this won't be a walk in the park, but I am brimming with excitement and ready for an adventure. Let's go.

Climbing up the ladder with a heavy backpack certainly set the scene for what was yet to come in terms of effort. But once I was on the platform, I was rewarded with a great view of the Port San Juan inlet. I briefly enjoyed the view and turned towards the trail, stepping into the forest. The path was narrow and uneven, with protruding roots and fallen logs littering the way. I was surrounded by tall majestic trees and lush understorey growth. The air was damp, as one would expect in a rainforest, and the colour was vibrantly green with shades of brown.

I carefully walked along the path, one eye on potential obstacles, the other absorbing my surroundings. I took deep breaths of crisp fresh air mixed with the scent of decaying tree stumps, both earthy and musty.

The trail led uphill, placing strain on my shoulders as the backpack dug into them, and my legs worked hard to propel my body forwards. It was a slow trudge with an elevated heart rate as I aimed to reach the highest point on the West Coast Trail. At 700ft (213m), I understood why it was suggested to hike westbound and put the hill behind me early in the trip.

The trail forked at around 3mi (5km), each direction marked with a yellow sign. Swinging left, the next mile (1.6km) was spent descending to Thrasher Cove using incredibly long ladders. You have to see these ladders, many in sets of 3-4 strung together, attached to the steep slopes, each about 40 rungs high. They're at dizzying heights.

Emerging from the forest, I stepped onto the cove's pretty sandy beach, though a little narrow. Driftwood and rocky outcrops took up much of the beach space, along with tents and fellow campers. Thrasher Cove is the first camping site, making it very popular and busy with hikers. I wiggled amongst all the tents to set mine up, then settled down to prep my dinner. Fed and tired but satisfied with the day's effort, I drifted off to sleep.

Bay Leap poem by Alan Duggan 1958

  ("The months rolled by and now we see the surplus in a heap. Towering high above the fields, the death of old Bays Leap.")

From Thrasher Cove, I took the coastal path around Owen Point, where the ocean waves carved out a series of sea caves in colourful layers of orange and green. Hiking the coastal route can only be done when the tide is low. The trail was rocky, crossing boulders of all shapes and sizes. Many of them were covered in algae, making them slippery and dangerous. Boulders eventually morphed into long, flat rock shelves peppered with tidal pools.

The path continued on much the same terrain until I found the ladder that led me back to the trail. I welcomed the wooden boardwalk, but the pleasure was short-lived. The further in I went, the more worn it was. Wooden slats were missing in many sections, meaning having to step onto the muddy ground to cross or jump over it with my pack on.

At least it showed me the way to my next destination, Camper Bay. Descending a few ladders, I arrived at Camper Creek, where I used the cable car to manually pull myself across to the other side and head for the campsite below.

Near the mouth of the bay lies the wreck of John Marshall. In 1860, the ship left San Francisco for Seabeck, Washington, when it was caught in a dreadful storm. Thought to have foundered further north, it was a complete surprise when its hull was sticking out of the water at low tide, and its rigging, spread all over the beach, was found at Camper Bay. There were no details about the crew, so it was assumed they survived and found help.

Another wreck lying between Camper Bay and Owen Point is that of William Tell. It was on a voyage from South Africa to Seattle, Washington, when inclement weather and heavy fog pushed the ship off course and it crashed into the reefs. Not far from shore, all the crew - 22 people - successfully disembarked and made it to the beach. Five of them went in search of assistance when they were seen by locals from across Port San Juan. Setting out in a canoe, the locals rescued the stranded sailors and returned later with more help to save the rest of the survivors.

Climbing out of Camper Bay was tough on the back and legs as the trail gained 426ft (130m) in elevation. Let me say that more accurately: I climbed ladders, ladders, and more ladders before the trail plateaued and then gradually descended. I followed a flat path for about a mile (1.6km) before ascending again at Cullite Creek to cross it in another cable car.

The rainforest was dense and often quite dark, but when the light filtered through, it brightened my spirit, knowing that the sea and daylight were never far away. And so I hiked on, and when I reached Logan Creek, I stopped mid-way on the suspension bridge to enjoy the lofty trees, the trickling creek, and a glimpse of the ocean.

Sometime later, Walbran Creek came into view with another cable car crossing. I didn't use it this time as I walked down to the beach to set up camp. The emerald colour of the creek was stunning and so clear I could see the riverbed. Opposite the campsite was a small cave that just had to be explored. The beach was clean and wide, and the ocean views were sweeping.

About halfway across the Juan de Fuca Strait is the invisible borderline between Canada and the United States. I could imagine ships intending to enter the Strait at Cape Flattery centuries ago but finding themselves amid raging storms, smashing into the rocky reefs of Vancouver Island. More than 2,000 ships and 700 lives perished over the last 300 years along the Pacific Northwest, earning this treacherous water the nickname 'Graveyard of the Pacific'.

I had the option of taking the beach route from Walbran Creek, but it required deep water crossings, and I preferred to stay dry. Instead, I rode the cable car across the gorgeous creek. I hiked through the forest to Carmanah Creek for another cable car crossing. But this time, I stopped halfway through to enjoy the stunning view of the ocean and the pristine creek cutting through the sand beach.

I took the coastal route here, and the beach was spectacularly wide. Weathered logs lined the beach's edge, separating it from the forest, almost as if holding back the trees from crossing. At the end of the beach, I was back on the trail for a short time while I passed by Carmanah Point Lightstation. Originally Carmanah Point was named Bonilla Point (c. 1790). However, fifty years later, surveyors mistakenly placed Bonilla Point eastward at the next point, where the name became permanent. The mix-up didn't end there. Another fifty years later, Bonilla Point was scheduled to have a lighthouse built on it, but the construction material was accidentally sent to Carmanah Point. Realising that fixing the error would take too much time and effort, it was decided to build the lighthouse where it stands today. The original wood structure was built in 1891, but it was replaced in 1920 with a concrete version. The octagonal tower has a balcony and lantern. It is 36ft (11m) tall with a range of 23mi (37km).

Back on the beach, I took my time climbing over and going around large boulders. I listened to the ocean lapping the shore and the wind rustling the trees and quietly enjoyed my surroundings. At Dare Beach, I took in its expansive size and pondered the fate of the ship that gave the beach its name. 'Dare' was a schooner that wrecked in 1890 due to bad weather. Fortunately, the crew made it to shore, and natives nearby helped ferry them to safety. All that remains of the schooner is the anchor, lying in plain sight on the rocks of Dare Point.

Camping restrictions were in place between Dare Point and Clo-oose for two reasons. First, the trail passed through First Nations territory, and camping was not permitted. Secondly, the area was known for a lot of animal activity. This was cougar and black bear country. Small signs were attached to fallen logs along the trail, and knowing what to do in the event of an encounter seemed quite important. These are some tips I memorised: never walk between a mother and her cubs; stow all food away in bear-proof boxes provided at camping sites or string them up high in the trees; keep plenty of space; don't make eye contact. As much as I'd like to see a bear from afar, I'll be sure to follow the advice.

The hike to Nitinaht Narrows was uneventful. More of the same through the forest, climbing up and down many more ladders. At the narrows, the trail ended suddenly, and the only way to cross it was by boat whenever it arrived (it ran on its own time). Taking a seat at the picnic table on the pier, I gazed down the narrows, its banks lined with giant conifers, their long branches hovering over the waterline. I enjoyed the serenity of the place.

Once the water taxi arrived, I had a short but pleasant ride to the north bank. I trekked past Tsuquadra Point and left the trail for more beach walking. One of the best things about the West Coast Trail beaches, excluding those at campsites, is their pristineness and emptiness. They are rarely used, so I walked on this one peacefully and somewhat dreamily.

Rounding Tsusiat Point, I ducked beneath the Hole in the Wall, a rock-formed archway resulting from sea erosion. Finding a path, I climbed atop the formation for a pleasant aerial view of the stunning beaches bordered by endlessly majestic trees to one end and the ocean on the other.

Yet sometime in 1899, the barquentine Uncle John had a much more harrowing experience. Inclement weather and heavy fog reduced visibility, and the crew could not get their bearings. Eventually, the Captain thought he spotted the Carmanah Point Lighthouse and sailed towards the Juan de Fuca Strait entrance. Unfortunately, he was mistaken. Instead, he spotted the Cape Beale Lighthouse (located near the end of this trail) and sailed the ship right into the side of Vancouver Island. Realising his error, he dropped anchor, but the rough seas snapped the chain. The crew climbed into a lifeboat. As they released into the water, it smashed against the ship, throwing them all into the sea. They managed to get on a rock and huddled overnight. The next day, they made it across using a pulley system tied to the ship and the shore. It took three days to be found and rescued by a passing boat. Uncle John's cargo was salvaged, but its hull was beyond repair and sunk.

Less than 2mi (3.2km) further, I walked into the Tsusiat Falls Campsite. One of the most beautiful and popular sites on the trail, it is also the busiest. And to no surprise. Right there on the beach was a gorgeous, gushing waterfall tumbling down a broadly stepped cliff with a pool at its base. I'd be tempted to jump in for a wash if it wasn't so cold.

I contemplated staying two nights here, as many others do. For now, I've set up camp, made myself dinner, filtered freshwater, and sat on a log with a hot cup of tea, listening to the waterfall spilling over the edge.

I gave in to temptation and spent two nights at Tsusiat Falls. Refreshed, I packed my gear, hauled the pack on, and backtracked until I found a bunch of buoys hanging off trees, directing me to the trail. At the trail's entrance, before me, was an eye-watering collection of ladders on a steep incline. Each one was barely visible among the dense undergrowth. Ever grateful for the extra day of rest, I pulled myself together and climbed to the top, huffing and puffing, legs straining, pack digging.

At Klanawa River, I hopped into a cable car and pulled hand-over-hand across the sparkling green river. This was my last cable car ride. I followed the narrow path, seemingly about to be swallowed by the overgrown brush, to Darling River. In my haste to reach the beach, I nearly missed the lovely Darling Falls upriver. Just out of sight, it was spilling quietly into the pool below, but I had no time to spare, as I was keen to hike the beach and find the remnant of a wreck.

In 1893, the steamer 'Michigan' collided with Vancouver Island. The 25 people on board made it safely to shore, but the ship was wrecked. Today, a rusting boiler is all that remains of Michigan. Trapped on a rocky shelf, it is easily accessible during low tide. Imagine being able to touch a century-old piece of history. That is what I did.

Michigan Creek - named after the shipwreck - was my exit off the beach back on the trail to Pachena Point Lighthouse. The construction of this lighthouse was one of dire necessity. The Juan de Fuca Strait was difficult to enter in terrible weather, with ships regularly wrecking off the coast of Vancouver Island. Only two lighthouses, Carmanah and Beale, served this treacherous coastline.

Talks about installing a lighthouse at Pachena Point took place after the sinking of Janet Cowan (c1896) with a loss of seven lives but this was never acted on. A decade later, SS Valencia was caught in strong winds with low visibility. Aiming for the strait, it missed the entrance and crashed into Vancouver Island. Several boats and even the large passenger liner SS Queen sailed to help but couldn't get close enough. Lifeboats were released from SS Valencia, but many flipped or capsized. Any rescue attempt was futile. Of the 173 people on board, only 37 survived. News of the disaster caused a significant outcry and an investigation. Two years later, the Pachena Point Lighthouse was constructed and lit.

By 1911, a coastal lifesaving trail was completed, later called the West Coast Trail. It had regularly spaced shelters with blankets, rations, a telegraph, and trail directions. As shipping navigation improved and shipwreck numbers diminished, the track was no longer used, and maintenance was discontinued. In the 1970s, the trail became part of the Pacific Rim National Park, and Parks Canada redeveloped it for tourism.

Leaving the lighthouse, I hiked the remaining 6mi (10km) to Pachena Bay through the forest. The terrain was pleasant and relaxing. Welcoming this more leisurely walk, I was no longer deterred by the odd ladder I had to descend. They were small in comparison to what I had climbed thus far.

Finally, I emerged from the forest onto a large grassy area and found the path to the beach, where I finished my West Coast Trail journey. Plopping on the sand, I took a swig of my water, had a snack, and gazed out at the ocean. Tired but elated at accomplishing this challenging trail, I reflected on how far I'd come. A small smile began stretching upon my lips.

Farewell for now.