Legends on the Trail

« Return to Canada

Packs on, fruit bars and energy bars in the pockets for lunch, water in the camel pack, back on the trail. The sand was hard caked on the surface - it felt like I was walking on Oreo cookies. Sand gives way to rocks, smoothed by the ocean so that many resemble bowling balls. Back into the forest, back onto the beach, lower the packs with ropes, back into the forest, more ladders, more boardwalk. Mile after mile, marker after marker, we talk about everything and nothing, we daydream, we meditate, we keep walking. I learn that rubbing a bit of Vaseline on your feet helps avoid blisters. I learn that Tabasco, once again, will save just about any meal. I learn that our group works best when everyone contributes without anyone being told to. I learn to live with the smells of men in a small tent, and I learn that Brokeback Mountain has all but put the fear of God into the so-called Real Man. Having worried about cold rain, the weather was so perfect I regretted not bringing wristbands to wipe away the sweat that was stinging my eyes. At Tsusiat Falls, we bathe under a shower of freezing, fresh creekwater. A sign says “Beware, Human in Area”, and is decorated with years of hiker paraphernalia. At Michigan Creek, we are too exhausted to erect any saunas or benches. Instead, we sit around the fire and wonder how quickly this week marched on. My camera battery was running low, the Tabasco was finished, the food was almost done. My legs felt like iron, the pack light enough to carry on one shoulder. It was time to go home.

On the last 12kms, my knees finally collapsed. One more day, and I’d be crying mercy into the ears of those Parks Board babes. Andrew was all but fully recovered, although James’s knees were finished too. As one hiking website mentions, “few finish this adventure pain-free.” Jazza had lost 8 pounds, Chris was pining for his girlfriend, Legend of Kyle was beaming about his best WCT ever. It didn’t rain once. It would take eight and a half exhausting hours by bus, car and ferry to get back to Vancouver, but the challenge had been conquered.

At Cribs, Baron was washing the dishes in a creek.
“I get it,” I say. “I understand why people do this.”
“He looks up at me, nods in agreement.
I’m not a keen hiker, nor what you might call an avid outdoor enthusiast. But after a week of life in the rustic, Canadian wilderness, I get it entirely. Chuck Norris would be proud.

Highlights of the West Coast Trail

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