Monday, July 30

Gold River– Louie Bay Lagoon– First Beach

The weigh-in was sobering. Chris: 60lb; Elaine 60lb; Joan: 40+; Rick: 82.5 with his video recorder.

It is about a ten-km drive to the dock where the plane and ferry depart from. We arrive at Air Nootka and also check in at the Uchuck III. We watch another floatplane take off. It’s very slow to begin, hovering just above the water. Elaine’s already at the Upchuck desk, checking out the cute guy working there. I rib Elaine. She’s already noticed.

The official weigh in: Chris: 48% of body weight in backpack. Woo hoo! I win! Doh! This is one contest I wanted to lose. Rick: 46%; Tyler: 31%; Elaine: 46%; Bonnie: 33%.

We start loading the plane: 1960 deHaviland Single Otter. Oh no, ET is the co-pilot! We have headphones so we can all communicate. The scenic 30-minute ride takes us low over the trees and ocean, along the same route as the trail. The pilot points out many highlights of our soon to be hike. It’s a soft, easy landing after a wide steep turn into the lagoon. A wet docking for some as we make a chain for the packs. Gregi carries me over the threshold, dry as a bone. We wave the pilot good-bye and start assembling our stuff and putting on our boots.

What seems like an eternity, only 20 minutes or so, we’re off for a hard day of hiking: yes 45 minutes on day 1, and the exertion will be over. The scrambling through the trees is very reminiscent of the West Coast Trail: big logs to go over, bogs, mud, and trees up-rooted. Excitement grows as we feel good to be finally exercising again. The path vaguely follows a creek bed. At times they merge. My foot slips and finally plants itself in the creek. Shit! A boot full of water is not the way I wanted to start the hike.

The weather is beautiful. This morning we woke up to clouds with some blue sky. All the clouds have now dissipated, and blue permeates as far as you can see. The creek becomes less forested along its banks and leads us to the ocean and our first campsite. I am not prepared for the natural beauty that unfolds before us. White sand beach with rugged cliffs, sea stacks, and bays. We bow down and worship Elaine for her guidance and deliverance. The surf pounds the shore relentlessly and the sun bears down. We’ve travelled 2000 km by car, ferried across the island, more driving, float plane, and hiked – all for this view. Heavy sigh.

Smiles cross our faces: contentment, excitement, joy. Slowly we drop our packs, set up tents, and just take in our surroundings.

Rick, Bill, Tyler, and I scramble up a rock cliff and down into a long, narrow cave that is only accessible from the beach at very low tide. The walls close in, and darkness envelops us as we go deeper. The tide seems to be rising or is it our imaginations? Time to get out. Watching the waves for the right moment, we scramble back up and to camp.

Lying here on my tarp, warm from the sun. Time for more exercise after lunch: off for a stroll down the beach. A bald eagle is perched on a rock peninsula, watching over us. Our walk is fruitful and holds many interesting views and objects that peak our interest. It is fascinating to look at the rock formations, the way the waves crash onto the rocks or up onto the shore. We stare for minutes at the tidal pools full of starfish, sea anemones, sea urchins and mussels. The barnacles crunch under our feet as we crouch down awestruck, transported back in time to when we met each day with wonder and anticipation.

We move further on to a clear green bay with pristine shallow waters and white sand. The picture could easily be mistaken for a secluded tropical beach. Looking into the water, the kelp is swaying with the waves. A closer look: it’s not kelp, it’s fish, actually quite large. An envoy is sent back for the fishing rods. In the meantime, Bill tries to build a bridge as the fishing site is a steep climb up and down. Rick arrives with his rod with Gregi close behind. Ricksan wanders off with his video camera and leaves Gregi behind to provide dinner for the group. First attempts are fruitless. Will persistence pay off? Tyler is trying to spear a fish with his hiking pole.

It apparently is time for a group bit washing: Elaine, Bonnie and Bill are first, squeals of delight, no pain, as the water in the stream is not exactly body temperature. Joan and Chris are next and what’s a bit of nudity among friends? Quick plunge, out, scrub, and plunge again. Saved!

We had great fun hanging the food off a cliff face. Every day hereafter we looked for unique and difficult ways to hang the food.

6:30 PM

Thoughts of the Day:

Joan: Quel bel endroit – domage il y a beaucoup d’autres ici. Mais c’est quand meme tres tranquil et je me souviens de la Hollande quand j’etais jeune. Un petit morceau du ciel ici.

Elaine: The hike was an instantaneous reminder of the West Coast Trail: a tortuous, tortuous start with no warm-up.: logs, mud, bog.. I think my pack is too heavy: alas I will eat gingerbread cookies to lighten the load. Breath-taking: we arrive at the white sand beach, not a cloud in the sky and the sound of the ocean waves pounding in. Ah, the busiest, hardest year of my life has melted away with just a few moments of this piece of heaven!! Alas, it is only 12:15 PM: we have the whole day to enjoy. We are charmed. The floatplane was amazing, exciting, and Grant was an excellent pilot and tour guide. This is one of most favourite days ever! I note to Joan: I would love to get married here some day. Just one small obstacle to conquer or find.. you guessed it!

Time to cook supper. Creole pasta and shortbread for dessert. Sauce on the stove and pasta on the fire: works well. It tastes great although very spicy. Flavour is appreciated though when hiking. Elaine is stressing about waking up in a wet dream: tents floating out to sea.

Brush with celebrity? Camping with us on the beach was the designer from Feathercraft Kayaks in Vancouver, with his family. He told us of kayaking in Greenland the previous summer and having supplied the famous travel author Paul Thereaux with a collapsible kayak.

8:00 PM

The sun is lowering on the horizon. Just 30 minutes left of daylight. Dishes are done: sorting, and packing back up: packs back together and food up the cliff on a rope. A few clouds hopefully do not hint at tomorrow’s weather. A quite hum permeates camp, tasks being completed. It actually looks like a gypsy camp with gear strewn everywhere, drying on rocks. I can still feel the warmth of the sun on the back of my neck. Tomorrow morning we have to be up at 5:30 am to leave by 7 am. The tide is coming in: high tide is in two hours or so we think. We set our tents above what we think is the high tide line.

Gamble?? We’ll see.

Hot drinks made by Rick: Excellent: He’s outdone himself, peaking on day one. His survivor tripod for boiling water over the campfire works well after three or four adjustments. We debate over how and where to hang the food.

The sun has already dipped below the trees, setting beyond our sights. A faint pink haze hovers over the horizon, leading to what will be a calm, clear evening. Plans to sleep out under the stars. The heat from the fire warms my legs and the random crackle can be heard above the crashing surf. Red and orange embers dancing, courting each other, using the energy from the wood to fuel their passion, licking, burning, bending with the wind. Joan and Bonnie are silhouetted with the ocean as the backdrop with thousands of miles between here and the nearest landmass. The moon rises and gets brighter. No two waves are the same: harder, softer, crashing in, creeping up the shore, curling over, green, white, gray, always ending in a white froth, receding only to return. The day has been magical, cast under the spell of nature and its majestic and pristine beauty, a spell so powerful, we need a potion to release us.

Some members of the tribe have left to seek advice from others about the remainder of the hike. Will Rick redeem himself? Salvation may be near. Tyler, Gregi, and Rick sleep under the stars.

I get up sometime in the night. The sky is unbelievable, stars fill the entire sky, dense, with the Milky Way dissecting the view. The Big Dipper is touching the treetops and Orion stands guard over the ocean. The moon illuminates the water. Although chilled I can’t pull myself away from this natural spectacle. I am alone, as others sleep, missing this. Dare I wake someone? I quietly slip back into the tent, leaving everyone to their dreams.

Tuesday, July 31

First Beach– Calvin Falls

7:45 am

We’re almost off. We may be under the two-hour morning prep time. Maybe.

8:15 am

Nope. Off and up a steep hill with a rope. Shit - before I even get up the hill, I drive my thigh right into a log. I can feel it swelling already. Ok. 55 pounds is heavy. Over logs, tree roots, bogs, out of the woods and onto the beach as much as possible. Boulders, stone shelves, rocks, and sand. Crabs are everywhere, scurrying sideways, defending themselves. The sandstone shelves are perfect to walk on, as are the large boulders. The stench from the rotting seaweed is over-powering at times. Garbage does wash up on shore: bottles with Japanese and Russian print are found. Bonnie and Chris see a pair of herons, tall and majestic. They fly off upon our approach.

2 PM Skuna Bay

Lunch digested. It was a boil-up for Ichi-Ban. Rick and Gregi shared quesedillas. Lots of gorp, beef jerky, dried fruit, etc. I shared my Swiss chocolate, melt in your mouth. Our final destination is just around the corner - so we think and hope.

Bill insists on playing with all the drift toys on the beach: floats, balls, rubber bladders. The beach is littered with hard hats!

4 PM Calvin Falls

So it’s not around the corner. Arrival at Calvin Falls. Shoes off and walk across the stream. Pack is off and I’m grateful for that. My feet and thigh are sore, thigh being swollen and stiff. There are lots of logs that have been washed up onto the shore in the winter storms. The tide has gone out quite far. It’s starting to cloud over: please don’t rain, please!!

We select a tent site. Others choose in amongst the logs. Tyler and I will sleep near the falls. Everyone scurries about setting up. Gregi is enhancing the shelter for better protection against the wind. Bonnie adds her expertise. Water filtered, Bill’s meal is re-hydrating. I suppose it’s time for a wash in the falls: water is cold, postpone.

Joan was the treasure finder today: Her prize possession is a Japanese glass-fishing float, very rare. She also scavenged another small plastic float, sand dollars, sea urchins, shells, and driftwood. Rick has ball envy. The moss that absorbs a great deal of water fascinated Elaine: touch it. Ew! Bear tracks and scat were sighted many times today. Bald eagles soar above the treetops. There was no sea life spotted though.

I guess it’s time. Everyone walks by with their wash and towels. Elaine and Joan wade right in. Brave souls. I squat on shore and wash my clothes first. Run in, and dunk my hair, shampoo. Run in and out soap up, one quick five-second plunge and out. Brr. What is this? Elaine bares her perfect bosoms. After the shock wears off. Bill and I concur. They are perfect. Bill was finally blessed with the viewing. He nearly went blind. Tyler is cringing with our displays of nudity. I flash my buns to Joan and Elaine, but Joan wants more. She keeps looking around after I only have my towel on. She circles around, intent on her goal. I drop my towel and change. She gets what she wants. Tyler is checking out the area above the falls. God knows where Rick is.

Bill is now full bore into dinner preparations. The cookhouse is enhanced again. People are sitting watching. I think everyone is hungry. Bill’s burritos are great. Warmed tortillas, and melted cheese make them even better. Hob-nobs and warm drinks to follow. Is that a bottle of rum? Hmm. Irish coffee and rum. Chai tea and rum. Tortillas are multi-purpose. Peanut butter and honey all around.

Elaine’s high beams are on.

Joan wants to braid Gregi’s beard with a bead. Elaine suggests a dream catcher, which can also be used as a food catcher.

Rick questioned a woman about her recent climb of Mount Kilamanjaro. He was overjoyed to hear that she found the Nootka Trail more challenging.

Will we have to move our tent tonight? High tide is at 10:45 PM. Laundry is hung around our camp. Everyone is fresh as a daisy, oh except for Tyler. His modesty prevents cleanliness. If it’s raining tomorrow, we will move on. A day of relaxation if no rain. Blisters, cuts, bruises. Everyone has some affliction.

Wednesday, August 1

Calvin Falls - Beano Creek

Guess what? Rain.

Generally miserable conditions. Rick urged everyone to check out a dry beachcomber’s shack a couple of hundred metres back down the beach. His proposal was to dry out for an hour or two and have lunch there before starting another rainy hike. When the group couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm to backtrack, Rick decided to mutiny and head for the dry hammock alone.

Eventually the whole gang got their loads together and wandered back to check what was dubbed Gilligan’s Island shack. Rick was tempted to stay. Campers here a few days ago were approached by a lone wolf. They needed to throw rocks at the beast to send it on its way. We saw lone wolf tracks on the beach most days.

Beach hikes, with gale force winds to Bajo Point. Rick points out the dead sea lion. It is much larger than I would have imagined. Stinky too. Gale force to hurricane winds. What is ahead? More of the same. The weather is miserable, and my temperament is headed that way. We didn’t stop for lunch. Stopping means we freeze. There is a lot of garbage on the beach again today. The small stones to walk on are brutal, sucking your feet into the depths of hell, and then you must pull them back out. For sure, this is the worst terrain to walk on.

At Beano Creek, someone approaches with an umbrella in hand after we cross the creek. Yes an UMBRELLA. Is this a hike? He informs us that there are two cabins just up the beach. At this point, I am desperate, as I guess that others are too. I need this pack off my back, a warm place to get to, and an assurance of a roof over my head. Bonnie, Bill and I move on to the first cabin. Occupied. S*$!. Have a brief chat with the family and envy the wood stove with fire. We move on to the second cabin. To get to this cabin, you must walk along a large log. This is the only means of access. It is a very interesting design, built off the ground, cantilevered around a large tree stump Locked. F&%*! I almost fall to my knees and cry. Grim desperation with jaws clenched, we head back to the first cabin.

The family of four has set up tents, apparently waiting out the weather. How long can they wait? They invite us in to get out of the rain and keep warm. We are all soaked and dripping. We start to take off the outer wet layers and begin to get warm. Our gear starts to invade the small cabin, with every hook and cranny occupied. The mother and son: Sue and Michael are going to sleep above in the loft. Four more can share. Rick comes back from a forest forage. He found the key to the other cabin. I am over-joyed, but no one else seems excited or willing to sleep in it. Jaw clenches up again. We warm ourselves by the stove. Contemplating setting up a tent in the rain, and sleeping in the downpour sends shivers down my spine.

Elaine’s dinner is on the menu tonight and she cooks up Sandy’s pasta sauce. Once again we are all starving. Elaine’s pumping action of Rick’s unit seems to have broken it. I think she was too aggressive. For $ 200, I would expect more. Tyler tries to clean the filter. Piece of crap. My Sweetwater has never had a problem yet. Bonnie plays cards with Michael, and what do you know, little Michael wins every time! What a card shark. Dinner is great as we hover around the room, some standing, some sitting on plastic pails, getting as close to the stove as possible. On Rick’s lead, he, Joan, Bill and I will sleep in the other cabin. We arrive to go to sleep and inspect the clever design. Rick finds details of the cabins construction inside. It was actually designed by someone from Saskatchewan! The inside of the cabin is unfinished. The loft is only started, but I can sleep up there. I stare at the interesting framing, all exposed as I lie ready to go to bed. My jaw releases as I drop off to sleep.

Thursday, August 2

Beano Creek - Callicum Creek - ???

11 am

As we leave the next morning, Rick takes a garbage bag, and leaves a rope, an even trade he figures. Unfortunately, we will need the rope later. The loft was cozy and dry. Did I mention dry? Our first plan was to stay a day at Calvin Falls. That would have meant squeezing yesterday and today into one. Oh my God! That would have been hell. It was bad enough yesterday. Everyone is mostly dry now, except for boots and feet: lost cause there. The two cabins were a Godsend. A stove, dry clothes, and dry sleeping quarters. I think I might have slit my wrists. Also, thanks to Rick for checking for the key.

We come across Callicum Creek. It is fairly wide with cold, fast running water. I think this is stupid. Full packs, slippery rocks, fast running water. Rick scrambles up the creek and tries unsuccessfully to find a better crossing point. I take my boots off and go just in my underwear. First step, it is VERY cold, but can’t go quick and risk falling in with my pack. I look at the path that Bonnie and Elaine take, and follow it. A few foot slips send small surges of adrenaline, but I make it across as does everyone else. Blind luck I think. We later find out that a girl slipped and fell in, pack and all. Luckily for us, the water level is very low.

There are lots of headlands to avoid as I think our timing with the tides is off. We must go inland, up and down many times. Urg. Other people could get around, but we started the day at high tide. Bonnie’s boots are never dry, might as well walk through those puddles.

We are looking for Mussel Beach. We can’t find it. Where the hell are we? Rain, logs, mud. Worried that we have to walk all the way to the lagoon. What should have been a five-hour hike has now turned into 6 ½ hours and no end in sight. Enough is enough. We are looking for somewhere dry to camp.

We turn a corner. The path is not too clear, but we have to go down a rock crevasse, and around a rock face hanging onto a blue rope and stepping on a floating log. Bonnie is the first to round the corner. I closely follow her after I impale myself on the rock. We drop our packs and notice a cave that is dry. Tempting, very tempting. We head back to the rest of the group without packs. We pump some water from a creek as we don’t know where the next fresh water is or where we’re going to camp next. Bill and Tyler are sent ahead to find either Mussel Beach or a good place to camp. After a while in their absence, we decide to camp here. The cave is dry and we can make a fire in there. There is no really flat terrain to place a tent though. We do some landscaping and set up tents. Tyler and I are beside Joan and Bill, under the tree. It ends up that this is a bad place. The most water drops here. Elaine and Bonnie set up under an rock overhang, as does Rick. Rick will have other problems though as the stream rises with the tide beside his tent. The camp is crowded with tents and gear and trippy tarp ropes. Who can see those tings? Why doesn’t Tyler flag them?

Gregi to the rescue on fire duty. I donate my fire paste to speed up the process. I am in a foul mood as the rain is continuous, and I’m stinking wet. Everyone else seems to be more even-tempered. I simmer in my own juices, trying not to piss anyone off.

Dinner is excellent though: Bonnie’s Mediterranean Pasta from MEC. Toblerone for dessert. My mood starts to dissipate although I am petrified of sleeping in a wet tent. As long as I can sleep dry. I watch the rain pelt the tent and collect on the vestibule. We gather around the fire, switching positions and clothes to dry. Steam rises off the clothes. Sparks fly close to our clothes and boots. Everyone quickly brushes them off. What will the heat do to our leather boots. I don’t care at this point. I get two burn holes in my $ 120 Northface fleece. Shit. Elaine pipes up, “That’s why I bring my $ 20 fleece.” Smart-ass.

In the shelter of the cave, everyone agrees that a cleansing is in order. One at a time, we venture out into the rain and quickly plunge into the stink water pool. The colour is yellow and it stinks like sulfur. Gregi assures us that the colour is just a result of the vegetation in the area. Brr. Wet, soap, plunge, run for the cave and my towel. Elaine and Joan have a different technique. They wear a rain poncho and squat in the pool of water. After dinner and becoming dry, Elaine and Joan decide a shower is in order. Are they crazy? They stand under the rock overhang and have a fresh, but cold shower. Who would have thought they would have a shower on the trail? Bonnie is in the cave, still only in her towel, getting warm.

Tyler and Gregi decide to sleep in the cave. I would except my sleeping bag is in the tent, and I’m not bringing it out into the rain.

11 PM

I leave Bonnie, Tyler, and Gregi in the cave. Off to bed. I can’t face the dash into the tent as I watch the deluge and the rain pelt the vestibule. I wear all my waterproof clothes, and make a break for it. I duck under the vestibule, take off my wet clothes, and get into my sleeping bag. Dry so far, although the sound of the rain makes me apprehensive. My sleep is restless, with an occasional drip down onto me, praying I’m not sleeping in a puddle.

Friday, August 3

Wilderness Cave

7:30 am

No movement. 8:00 I awake to voices: Bill and Joan. I stay asleep. 8:30 get up slowly. I’m dry!! It’s not actually raining outside, although the water still drips onto the tent. Dry clothes though. Yeah! Moving towards the cave, I see Bonnie and Gregi nestled up in the back of the cave, and Tyler wedged against a log at the opening. They look very content and dry. From their accounts, a comfortable sleep, a bit smoky at first, but dry, very dry. Where exactly are we ? Don’t know, but we are on the trail.

Sploosh. Oh sh#!. Rick fell into the smelly lagoon trying to get our food bags back. Full immersion when the piton holding the rope pulled out of the rock. He carried on for the two food bags, lowering the first by a rope from the top of the cliff and wading through the stink water with the second. Still he took two more trips to get the rest. He has redeemed himself. And his last dry clothes are gone! Rick warms in front of the fire and claims fleece is a miracle fabric. Bill and Gregi are trying to build a bridge for the next hikers. Without it, they will have to wade.

Packing up in a dry spot is greatly appreciated. The scar on my head should heal eventually after hitting the same spot once on a log, and three times on the side of the cave. Not a very steep learning curve. Gregi noted they were taught in the Swiss Army,“ All rocks are harder than your head.”

Tyler is packing up. The antennae for the marine radio is missing, possibly lost. Hmm. Will it work without it? Will we need it? He better find it!

11:45 am

Just about to head out of camp. The cave was a miracle. The fire Gregi made was enough to keep my sanity. Elaine screeches from the hill, “blue sky.” A small patch. Will it continue? 2 and 1/2 days of rain are enough for me.

3:00 PM

We stop to get water. We plan to wade the lagoon. Joan wants to play, and we avoid a grueling wakeup to make the 6 am low tide. High tide was at 1:30 PM, so by 3:30 PM or 4:00 PM, we should be able to go across at waist height.

Three hours of bog, hill, mud, wet boot, bog, hill, mud, wet boot., beach. Lots of logs to cross over, with various methods used: under, over, slide bum over. Learning from the person in front of you: what to do, what not to do. Tyler was bum sliding down the hill: interesting technique. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, lacerations enjoyed by all. I impaled myself chest first on at stick. Excellent, sure to leave a permanent scar.

There is a rope down a steep hill. Most of us go down the rope. Rick, Gregi, and Tyler are still at the top. Rick is sending his pack down on a rope that is attached to Tyler. Play, play, play.

A sea otter/seal was playing just off shore at our last stop. We met a couple coming from Beano Creek. We filtered some water and we’re off for an adventure.

5:00 PM

We peruse around the lagoon, trying to see where the narrowest part is, or where the water is the shallowest. It’s very hard to tell, so we move down stream more, through the bush. It’s still hard to tell: swim at high tide, wade at medium tide, and walk across at low tide. Hmm, let’s wait awhile. We sit tight and have lunch.

I look up. Rick is across the lagoon in his skivvies, and across again, and again. He’s trying to find the shallowest crossing. The group sacrifice as we watch the spectacle. Meanwhile, Bill and Bonnie divulge the secret of hiking commando. “Why hike in wet underwear?”

Friendly Cove, our final destination is a one-hour hike away. We could see the church earlier. But our campsite is a tantalizing thirty-minute hike from here. A wait of 90 minutes for the tidal waters to recede a bit. A dangerous hummingbird made a dive for Bill. Weak-kneed, Bill had to sit down to recover.

Tyler is enjoying his bacon and cheese quesedilla under the trees and stream. Mm good. There is a slight drizzle, but Elaine spots a patch of blue sky again.

We pack up and start wading across. We shed our boots, socks, and shorts. In our underwear and backpacks, we venture across. The smart ones wear Tevas, the others, well… Rick runs ahead to see the best spot to camp. Actually it’s just around the corner. Tarps and tents set up. Bill and Rick roll up a big wood spool and Chris discovers 4 plastic lawn chairs. No rain at this point. The wood collectors get to work.

The family of four (Peter, Sue, Sarah, Michael) show up. By this point the water is only ankle deep at the mouth of the lagoon. The tarped kitchen with table is the shelter of choice as of course, the rain begins again. Joan’s kitchen is our savior as is the shepherd’s pie. Now it’s starting to rain even harder. Hot drinks while we wait for supper.

My feet feel like crap, like they’ve been burnt and waterlogged. I am so looking forward to dry feet and a hot bath. Oh so close, only a short hike, boat ride, drive, bus, taxi, and two plane rides, and I’m home. Woo hoo!!

I trip over the tarp cord again. Everyone is laughing. Joan, “What’s wrong with you?” That deserves a spanking from me. The fire is started. Everyone is getting chilled. Bonfire Bonnie brought some dry grass and my fire starter gets the fire going. Lots of smoke. Tyler needs goggles and then he can sit here forever.

Bill comments, “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to cross the creek in bare feet. I have cuts on my feet.” Elaine concurs. I told you so. At least the hiking is coming to a close.

This trip has driven me to drink. Straight rum. It’s been 17 years since I’ve had rum, and the last experience was memorable too. Rick’s toasting his nuts over the open fire. He’s off for a tranquil hike down the beach. “We’ve made it! “ We can see our final destination. So close. The flames dwindle. Gregi’s rum is now gone, and so is Elaine’s spiced rum. Into my vodka now. Now that it’s dark and raining, it must be a good time to put the food in the shed. Elaine, Rick, and I search for it. No luck, and of course it starts to pour. I think this was Rick’s idea. Later, Rick and Elaine go put the food away.

I leave Gregi and Bonnie to put the fire out. Rick seems to have abandoned Gregi for Elaine. Off to bed.

Saturday, August 4

Lagoon– Friendly Cove– Gold River– Campbell River

7:00 am

Clouds break over the church only to rain minutes later. Rick brings not enough breakfast, once again vacillating between incompetence and brilliance/group sacrifice. Cereal and noodles it is. Breaking camp again. We should be gone by 9:45. I have tripped over the tarp strings about ten times today, noted every time by the group, especially by Joan, who cackles. I argue with Joan about excessive items. Hugo Boss vs. a mirror. Of course I’m right.

Bonnie slept in the tent with Rick and Gregi last night. Cozy I bet as Elaine freezes her ass off all alone. I think Rick’s H2O filter has gone missing. Rick finds Bonnie’s flashlight at the bottom of his sleeping bag. Come to think of it, Rick was rather chipper this morning. But why did Bonnie need a flashlight?

The group splits up, beach, then inland to a nice trail which quickly turns into a bog. Get me back to the beach. Even the stone-sucking pebbles are better than the wet boot bog crap. The church looms closer and closer. As Bonnie and I step onto the wood plank up off the beach, the sun pokes through the clouds, a sure sign. Of what I’m not sure. Mabel, a native girl, greets us and gives us a tour of the church. The others arrive about 15 minutes later. Pictures for everyone and the tour. There are two stained glass windows donated by the Government of Spain 1957. More impressive are the native totem poles and carvings in the nave of the church. A team photo completes the hike with a woo hoo from Elaine.

A storm is coming tomorrow. I am so glad I’m going home. Sounds like a day on the shore for the rest.

12:30 PM

The Uchuck III arrives, to leave with me on it at 3:30 PM. Tyler is laughing that I will have to wait three hours. The laugh is on him. I’m leaving, and they’re just setting up tents. Elaine is immensely relieved when the boat arrives and the correct number of kayaks are on board. Tyler is the first to be loaded down from the ship on the cradle, and into the water. Is that a ship-eating grin on his face? Why yes it is. Elaine is next. No grin, sunglasses half off her nose, and slight trepidation. They all get off the boat without incident and paddle ashore.

Two hours of unpacking, re-packing, only to stay the night at Friendly Cove. Of course, all in the intermittent rain. I’m paranoid of getting wet, so I stay in my Goretex until I get on the boat. As the boat is boarding people, the kitchen opens. Hot food! I feel like Homer Simpson. Bowl of chili, bread, coffee, cookie. Back for two more cookies and more coffee.

Several native children are on the dock. They have caught a large fish, a huge ling cod. They attempt to kill it by repeatedly whacking it with a piece of lumber. A few people are describing catching 20 pound salmon off the dock here and from the beach.

The boat is about to leave. Rick barely has time to get off. The others, sans Tyler have come to see me off. It may be awhile before I see Gregi again. Will the summer trip to Switzerland come to fruition? Who will go? Probably Rick and Elaine. Others doubtful? Me? Hard to predict that far in the future. It seems a lifetime away, yet a year from now it will seem like a brief blip in time. I’m a bit veclempt. The group will continue on without me.

Everyone waves good-bye and I’m off on my adventure home.

3:45 PM

Ten minutes into the journey on the Uchuck III there is heaving rolling. The scenery is beautiful, although cloudy, with small islands that the others will kayak through. They are craggy, forested, and hilly with larger hills in the distance.

I’m sad to leave, but glad to be out of the rain, with prospects for a hot shower, hot meal, good glass of wine, and a guaranteed warm dry bed.

It’s been a great experience. Once again the group trip has led to further bonding, as we support, tolerate, and encourage each other, testing our limits in many areas. Of course there’s the ribbing and making fun of too. Without a laugh at someone else’s expense, where’s the fun? We persevered through rain, rain, and more rain. Wet constantly, and cold often. No one got really unpleasant, except for myself one evening, but it’s hard being a lone crusty asshole, so I just gave in.

I wonder what experiences I will miss? What laughs the group will have in my absence, and at my expense?

The storm of the century is supposed to hit tonight and for the next day. They plan to camp tonight and perhaps stay at a cabin the next night. Or will they get out tomorrow? That cabin with a fireplace and stove sounded good to me. They packed in the rain, only to camp at Friendly Cove.

The family of four is on the boat as well as the couple ‘computer geeks.’ I think we’re all grateful to be heading to a drier environment.

We are passing where Captain Cook landed at Resolution Cove on Bligh Island. The second lieutenant was Captain Bligh and third lieutenant, 17 year old George Vancouver. There are two plaques in the rocks to commemorate the voyage.

The boat is slow and gentle now, about to round another point. A small bird flies just above the water, only to dart away as quickly as it came. Clouds look ominous. Rain to come for certain. My thoughtful observations have been curtailed due to inclement weather. Hopefully my memory, enhanced by the others’ will do justice to our last two days of hiking through the rain.

I head to the bathroom, and look in the mirror for the first time in five days. Ouch! What a sight, but not as bad as I figured. The boat is full of day tourists from Gold River. Only eight of us Nootka hikers onboard. One ‘passenger’ is a small white poodle in a fleece sweater. These people are really roughing it. There are no beaches on the shore here. The hills jut almost straight up from the water. To the right is a cabin of some sort nestled against the hill. I can feel myself winding down, a good feeling, as I sit on the deck of the ship, writing in my journal. We pass a small island, hiding temporarily from the logging camp and clear-cut forests. The major clear-cut of course is beyond our view. Imagine the outrage of these nature tourists if they saw the truth. Two hours later, we arrive at the dock south of Gold River. Not such a natural spectacle with the ships, lumber and mill. I haul all eight packs off the boat, check in at Nootka Air and drop the keys off. Elaine’s truck is right there. Where the heck are Joan and Gregi’s vehicles? I take a jaunt down the road and finally spot them. Back to lug the packs all at once to Gregi’s van.

9 PM Riptide Pub & Seafood Grill

Campbell River

I stumbled across this restaurant as the recommended one was closing. Thank God. It was awful there: a seafood chain.

Very busy here: looks awesome. Nice log fireplace in the centre, overlooking the bay/ocean.

The drive back to Campbell River was peaceful. I listened to Bill’s tape as I headed out of town. “Somewhere over the rainbow.” How appropriate to describe the trip and my mood on my way back home. A huge coincidence. In the restaurant now, the same song is playing, albeit a more upbeat version. Small world. What are the chances?

As I reflect back, true friends are rare, through thick and thin, putting up with your habits, idiosyncrasies, supporting you when you’re down, and enjoying the happy times too. Loving you because of your flaws, not merely putting up with them.

I am writing this as I sip a glass of Chilean red wine. What are the rest doing? I am showered, shaved, smelling like Hugo Boss, in clean human clothes. Civilization is here. I have ordered seafood chowder and salmon for dinner. I must have stayed in the shower for 15 minutes. Hot water!! Sigh. I think the shave was equally satisfying, although I saved a bit– a soul patch -from the trip.

Mm. The seafood chowder is good and hot. I missed the RV campground on the first drive by. Finally seeing the place was sobering. Trailer Park RV heaven. No trees, only a place to park your RV or car. I truly am trailer park trash now. S*&# I don’t care – get me to the shower. It’s twilight now as I eat. I spotted a Starbucks: breakfast coffee, right next to a Great Canadian Bagel! The stalls in the RV campground are not private. The campground from Waterton and the overflow site the year before in Victoria were paradise compared to this. I can’t stand the thought of setting up a tent with any prospect of rain. I will sleep in the car. I stoop even lower. I must have family roots from the Deep South. Madonna is playing in the background lots of noise from people talking. The transition is soothing. I enjoy both the solitude and the energy of the city. Each has its place and time. Elaine would salivate here: three or four types of salmon. I chose the strawberry chipolte. Others were peppercorn and tropical fruit salsa. Dinner was excellent. Apple strudel to follow. No expense spared.

The trail provided many lasting memories, including permanent ones: scars. Let’s see, I have two cuts on my fingers, a cut/scab on my head, bruised thigh, numerous cuts/abrasions on my legs and arms, one on my chest, burnt and cracked feet. Elaine’s legs look like she’s been beaten, as do Bonnie’s.

Sunday, August 5

Campbell River – Courtenay– Comox– Calgary– Saskatoon

Are our senses heightened once we are exposed to something, or are we merely more aware due to recognition? Is chance, coincidence, fate that powerful? I’m in Starbucks, looking at a CD cover. I only pick one of eight to look at. ‘Over the Rainbow’ is one of the songs. Bizarre.

The Vancouver Sun will have a section on the Nootka trail. I’ll try to get in when I get back to Saskatoon. My latte and newspaper are delightful.

I was ‘Elaine’ worried about the storage place. It is Sunday of a long weekend. It never occurred to me that it may be closed. I drive there to confirm it’s open. It will open at 8:30. Huge sigh of relief. I also learned that taxis run on Sundays, so no two km walk in the rain.

I stop in at the White Spot for a breakfast of bacon and eggs as I finish reading the paper. The Saturday paper says it was 30 degrees and sunny at home yesterday. Clicking my heels together, but it’s not working.

The Campbell River bus depot has an interesting ambience and clientele. Al fell off his Harley yesterday: cracked four ribs and scraped himself up. Very chatty fellow – needs a smoke. Nope, sorry don’t smoke. He’s from Washington, but his relatives are up this way. His wife’s name is Molly. They have no money for a bus ticket to Port Hardy. The wristband from his hospital stay is still attached to his wrist. He asks for a knife to cut if off, but I’m not keen on giving him my Swiss Army knife for both of our safety.

As the bus leaves Campbell River for Courtenay, it’s still raining and people are sailing. I think of Warren being undeterred by the weather and how he would have been tickled to be hiking through the wet conditions. Its 11:30 am and the American fisherman is drinking a can of Heineken behind me. What a sport fishing is!

Time begins to have more and less meaning. References blur, terminating time frames of the past. While minutes and hours pass, days blend into one another. I find it impossible to name the day of the week. Events of the morning seem like yesterday, and yesterday was surely last week. Yet in a blink of an eye I am in the Comox airport, and in another blink I am on my doorstep.

I’m not sure this narrative should end up on the Internet. Laced with profanity, anecdotes only appreciated by the group, and lots of boring details. People may either be bored or shocked.

Until the next adventure…. Chris Baraniuk, signing-off.

… Continued by Rick McCharles

The saga continued… after we were abandoned by Chris.

Sunday, August 5

Friendly Cove (tenting)

It was better than Christmas morning when Chris departed. Our new kayak provisions deliverd by the Uchuck were opened!

Rick got 4 pair of clean socks. Joan found a REAL towel. Elaine hugged clean fleece pants, fleece top and MORE BOOZE. Tyler was pleased to find long pants and a second saw. Gregi most enjoyed the dried fruit. Everyone had more clean underwear. New food: bagel chips, gummi bears, Gregi gorp, jello and special Asian peanuts.

We had plenty of time to reflect on the hike as we lounged at our camp site in the trees at Friendly cove. We jotted down a few“lessons learned” on the sodden Nootka Trail fiasco:

· If you fall, land on your pack. (Tyler bounced off his pack, landing on his feet.)

· Check water availability in advance of camping. At Friendly Cove the “well” was a creek — far from the camping area. Collect rain water when you can.

· Cross streams in Tivas, not bare feet. (sea shells can cut)

· Tyler’s advice,“Eat more cheese, less fruit.”

· Rick advises,“Check the pitons before putting full weight on the rope.”

· Joan thought she was smart going to the inter-tidal zone under a rain pancho. Oops, she held the toilet paper in the air with her other hand and the rain soaked it.

Bonnie befriended more native girls and soon we had a gaggle of kids hanging about our camp. Tyler taught them gymnastics. Boys collected 26 garter snakes in a wine box then chased girls.

Everyone was concerned about the predicted wind storm. A number of kayakers sheltered in Friendly Cove as it provided the best protection in the area . One group asked to share our camp site, arriving late in the rainy evening.

Major tarpage allowed almost everyone to get in out of the rain. Rick seems to prefer to get drizzled on. Bill’s dinner, spaghetti and meatballs — comfort food. ET provided butterscotch schnapps to fortify hot chocolate and mint tea.

Monday, August 6

Friendly Cove (tenting, then renting)

Morning. Pouring rain. Joan got out of bed first, then Bill. Water pumping and boiling began. Tyler had pools of water in his tent. Bill’s leaked as well.

Chris snapped, the stumbling and constant rain shattered the last of his patience. No wait … Chris is home enjoying a gourmet coffee in droughty Saskatoon. Never mind.

It was easier to collect and pump rain than to hike 97 miles to the creek. Rick’s “world’s heaviest and most expensive” water filter seemed to work properly now that Tyler cleaned it. Massive water pumping session filled our storage.

Home made muesli (from Bill’s cookbook) was most edible.

Tribal council agrees to the obvious — we rent a cabin for one day. Soft holiday begins! Everyone feared the wind storm will be bad. It was great to get a roof over our heads though Rick and Bill were exhausted pushing wheelbarrow loads of gear up the hill to the cabin.

A highlight of the trip — the lady kayakers — arrived, all teachers from Parkland school in Sydney, near Victoria. They were feisty, hilarious, and had a lot of kayak advice for rookies from the Prairies. They recommended a book written by a friend, Dave Alderman, called“Savvy Kayaking”.

These ladies had kayaked all over the west coast. They spoke of the Bunsbies (north of Nootka) as being the penultimate kayak destination. A 10 mile water taxi drop-off is recommended to get there.

Clair = eldest
Anne = councilor
Sally = vice-principal
Karen

Though the weather was awful, some of the boys took the kayaks for test runs in the Cove weaving the pier. Wind and waves near harbour mouth fearsome. Stuck in Friendly Cove, one highlight was taking a lake swim and wash.

Friendly Cove tourism is booming. Proper washrooms are essential for tourists so 4 solar powered odourless composting outhouses were under construction. In fact, we met the designer, a man who countless hikers on the West Coast Trail regard as a minor Deity. Sadly the toilets were not quite ready for use when we were there

The main cultural relic in Friendly Cove is the last fallen totem pole. It cannot be moved after collapsing according to native tradition so it lies rotting covered with grass.

Negotiations are in progress to have the area declared a Provincial Park. The boom in hikers tromping the Nootka Trail should speed that process.

Our rental cabin was a godsend; dry and warm, stove and table, a Coleman lantern (until broken by one of the fast-and-dirty members of our crew). Despite Rick’s objections, the cabin was quickly transformed into a gypsy camp of dripping clothing.

THE PERFECT STORM finally arrived in the afternoon. The waves were huge boomers but the wind was even more fantastic — it blew the crapper door wide open! Horizontal rain. Horrific weather disasters always put people in good spirits.

It was amazing, but did not last long enough. Tyler, Bill and Rick went kayaking. Gregi went fishing. That afternoon ET spent 5 hours out in the wind and rain. She and Tyler confirmed that Gortex works; they stayed dry under their coats.

Rick decided to flip his kayak to see how to handle this emergency when it happens on the open sea. First effort at grabbing the spray skirt flap (upside down under water) fails but he managed to pop out of the kayak anyway. With a little bit of instruction he eventually struggled back into the kayak using a paddle float.

Soaked in brine, Rick promptly marched to the lake to (fully clothed) wash off the salt.

Dinner in the cabin is Alfredo Prima Vera (Harvest Foods). We study kayak maps of Nootka Sound and set the alarm for 6 am. (The ladies had advised that the wind would be most forgiving in the morning.) We all slept together on the floor variously blaming each other for snoring, out-gassing and tripping over each other.

Tuesday, August 7

Bligh Island

We slept in, ignoring a couple of different watch alarms. Fortunately morning broke clear. No rain. An American kayaker had heard the weather forecast exclaiming, “Endless highs, man. Endless highs!”

ET portaged MORE than her share of the gear back down to the kayaks. With fussing it is 10am before we finally get un-Friendly.

Exiting the harbour, we immediately come upon a huge line of fishing boats. Every fisher in Nootka Sound was aligned at the legal fishing limit closest to the mouth of the Sound.

Bit of excitement —dash across the Cook Channel rolly but safe. The ladies had warned us that the best chance to dump is when surprised by a wave from behind.