Legends on the Trail

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Besides the buzz about the cougar print at Logan’s Creek, hikers were also excited that the authors of Blisters and Bliss, the WCT’s definitive guidebook, were on the trail. But by far the topic of conversation was Monique’s, one of only two stops on the Trail where you could buy food and beer. Monique herself is an elderly French-Canadian women who has set up a tarp eatery on the beach of one of the several Indian Reservations that the trail passes through. She’s full of blustery character, and after 30km of hard hiking, a Godsend. The menu consists of burgers - big, juicy and delicious, and the beers are cold. Our pace picked up considerably as we approached on the beach, although we had to cross a creek and thousands of seagulls before we could get there. Beach hiking is not easy - the sand is usually soft and hell on your knees. Instead, we tried to walk on the shelf as much as possible; amongst the rocky tidal pools that house luminous green sea anemones, large glowing purple starfish, urchins, jellyfish, crabs and fish. The eco-system here is pristine, the waves of the cold Pacific flushing it clean with every tide. Hikers walking the opposite direction were rubbing their bellies, full with burger-love. A chair, a fire, a burger, a beer - it was going to be tough to drag Andrew out of there. I meet a couple from Germany, as well as two pretty park rangers. They tell me that the park pays for evacuation by helicopter, and I can’t stop thinking how much fun it would be to get evacuated, with them! A huge bald eagle flies low in circles overhead. The sun comes out at Chez Monique’s. It’s going to be tough to drag me out of here too.

Around Christmas time, one of Vancouver’s community TV channels takes off for the holidays and runs a video of a fireplace instead. Watching the fireplace channel is somewhat surreal, especially when everyone gets excited as the fire burns down and a hand (that mysterious unisex hand!) adds another log to the fire. With tons of driftwood on the beach, the fires on the WCT are like porn for the fireplace channel. There is really no limit to how big and beautiful they can be. Our third camping spot, Cribs, was on a huge beach that looks out onto a semi-circular shelf of rocks and tidal pools. As the tide comes in, it looks like a cascade of waterfalls, and the size and colour of the marine life in the tidal pools is remarkable. Here we would take a day off to recharge, relax, and explore shaman traditions. Wolf and pine marten tracks dotted the beach, alongside the boot imprints of hikers. A group of otters stared at us from the sea. We caught some sun, lying on the cribs, listening to the sea lions on a nearby rock. Here I would envision the fire of my dreams, in which whole trees might be burnt as if they were small logs. With Legend of Kyle coordinating, we assembled a large stack of driftwood. The fog was blowing in again, sitting on the seawater like a layer of marshmallow on chocolate, barely extending beyond the first trees of the forest. Hikers were arriving into camp, curious as we continued to build a superstructure for our bonfire. “We’re having a party, ” I yell.
“Bring your own LOG!”

Ever since I almost burnt down a friend’s house when I was seven (oops, sorry about that Mom!), I’ve had a thing for fire. A passion. A burning desire! I love throwing things into campfires to see what happens. This is how I know that Lays Potato Chips is better than gasoline. Or throw in some coffee creamer, sit back and enjoy the fireworks! We built our bonfire below the tide line, and fed it massive logs of driftwood. Boy, was it hungry! The flames continued to rise, lighting up the entire bay. When the fog rolled in, it created the kind of weird lighting effect you might find in an avant-garde theatre. Shortly before midnight, the tide came underneath the Cribs, slowly pushing its way towards our fire, inches at a time. We thought there would be a huge sizzle of steam, that the fire would put up a decent fight. Instead, the tide swallowed up our bonfire, patiently, until not a single ember was left. We watched sadly, in solemn respect. Time, like the tide, continues to drown our youth, our enthusiasm, our dreams of the future. No matter how bright we burn, how hot our fire, in the end, we all get swallowed up.
“I wish I didn’t see that,” says Kyle.
We trudged off to our tents. My incredible summer was almost over, these insane, amazing 8 weeks of vagabonding drawing to a close. I somehow knew then, as I know writing this, that the bonfire on Cribs, the fire of my dreams, was the climax of my summer adventures.

Gonzo Gallery for Legends on the Trail

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