West Coast Trail - Part VII: Thrasher Cove to Port Renfrew

The day began with this intimidating set of stairs, the larges on the whole trail.

Dad effectively summarizes day seven with this expression. After reaching the top of the stairs out of Thrasher Cove, we salvaged what was left of our lungs and staggered down the trail. We arrived at the first junction and met a worker surveying the trail for bridge repairs. Much to our chagrin, he mentioned that soon, the bridge would be out and we would never make it out before the construction crew was in with the new bridge and there would be no passing for at least an hour. After some griping and flailing of arms, we realized that he had been referencing the trail back toward Camper Cove. We began to rejoice prematurely. There would be another bridge coming in south of Thrasher, he told us. But we might make it if we move fast. And we certainly did. The bridge was still on its way when we crossed and the workmen informed us that we still had time to spare. We saw the first bridge pass over us on the trail.

Cables ran through the forest from past days under the influence of the logging industry. The trees continue to grow, engulfing the cables.

An old steam donkey rests in the forest were it stalled.

Ropes are rigged to make the steeper parts of the trail more manageable. Dad is again expressing his overall impression of the West Coast Trail.

Western trillium.

A large cedar that somehow avoided getting logged before the trail was a national park. The smaller trees growing around it are primarily western hemlock.

We arrived at the Gordon River early and chatted idly with the other backpackers about the marathon trip we'd completed. It was close to an hour before the ferry arrived.

Snorkelers string out a wire for some sort of survey at the mouth of the Gordon River.

A merganser passes overhead.

A chopper heads back into the forest after we arrived on the Port Renfrew side of
Port San Juan Bay. 

Epilog: Pacheedaht Campground

With our trip along the West Coast Trail coming to a close, we dropped into the campground on the Pacheedaht Indian Reserve. With time to spare, we set up camp and noted the wonderful sign at the entrance to the campground that read: QUIET HOURS: 10PM TO 8AM. Then we left for Port Renfrew. Overall impressions of the port were, sad to say, somewhat negative. People were friendly, sure. But they all swore like sailors and had the manners of pirates. I admit that most people wouldn't be bothered by these sorts of things but when your waitress bares her breasts to feed a four year old child that isn't even hers, well, it's awkward to say the least. Our taxi driver (an old, bearded man with tattoos and a missing front tooth) told us not to wear our seat belts because, as he put it, the law is non existent in Port Renfrew. We should have taken his words to heart but, hey! He was driving an ancient, rusty minivan with no seats that he parked at the local general store. We didn't think he was the best representative of the town. We would later realize that he was one of the elite.

Back at the campground, our neighbours across the bush from us began sharing music from their stereos with the neighbourhood. No problem, we thought, it's only eight anyways. Knowing we had to get up early to catch a bus the next morning, we cashed in without a fire and read a little until the music was off. NOT! At 12:30am, the music was going steady and, this time, the site across the road had begun a teenager party that was soon very out of proportion. By 2am, the teen's music was so loud that we couldn't even hear our neighbour's music anymore.The teens also decided to have a contest to see who could say the most offensive things to one another until a girl fled the bonfire screaming and crying as the loudest drunk was carried off to the beach yelling out profanity. They weren't any quieter over there and the smell of marijuana wafted into our tent. I was addicted by the time 3am rolled around. And surprisingly happy in spite of the involuntary insomnia. Dope has that affect on people. Just when we thought sleep was inevitable simply from sheer exhaustion, a lovely couple a few blocks away decided to finalize their divorce publicly at 5am. The music dragged on and so did the screaming. I have no idea when it finally stopped.

Two zombies rode the bus home that day. It is impossible to truly express myself without overstepping my personal moral standards. However, I can tell you this: If you value sleep and any form of peace that does not involve drugs and dope, DO NOT STAY AT PACHEEDAHT! They're subsidized by the government anyways so they don't need your patronization. However, if your a drunk, you might like Port Renfrew.

West Coast Trail - Part VII: Camper Creek to Thrasher Cove

Swainson's thrush watching breakfast at Camper Bay.

I assume this is a colour variety of the banana slug. It was about six inches long.

The bridge over 150 Yard Creek.

A giant red cedar.

The unfurling fiddlehead of a deer fern.

Remember that foreboding statement on my previous post? This is were it comes
to fruition. While attempting to climb through a dangerous surge channel, Dad
slipped on a wet boulder and fell into the swells. With his arms groping at the walls
and rocks and his legs kicking fruitlessly in the tide, he might not have made it out
without help. Grabbing the back of his 40-pound pack, I pulled him out enough for
his boots to find traction. He wasn't hurt--just wet.

The martian-like landscape of the limestone shelf.

A green algal boom in a tide pool.

This something like a giant surge channel.

We had to wait Owen Point for the tide to get low enough for us to pass through the caves. There were a couple other groups there as well with nothing to do but eat lunch and watch the seals on Owen Island.

Kayakers appeared to explore the caves and ride the waves between Owen Point and the island. This photo has been doctored for creativity. It was still daylight when the kayakers arrived.

The seals were nervous about the hikers on the shore, let alone the kayakers. The watched everyones moves very closely.

The water is low enough to wade and the other hikers have already passed through in sandals.

A mink at Thrasher Cove. There were many large groups at Thrasher, most heading in the opposite direction. A large private school was also there, participating in a lively game of base ball on the beach.

West Coast Trail - Part VI: Cullite Creek to Camper Creek

Log bridges and ladders. The hike to Camper was short, so there is little to tell from the hike.

To the right of this photograph are the tent sites, nestled just within the trees. To the left, Camper Creek cuts through the gravel bars.

Like we did at Cullite, early arrive enabled some exploration of the surrounding area. After sleeping in the sunshine by our site, we hiked up the creek and this young bald eagle passed us heading for the beach. 

There was a cabin, probably vacant, were some of the local first nations were
stationed. In there favour, I'm sure, a beautiful outhouse has been recently erected.

The fog along the shore made for very cold exploring. It was wet and the wind was howling. Yet, it was beautiful and lonely and I thoroughly enjoyed the wild feeling of the seascape.

There were many unique plants and animals growing on the cold open space of the limestone shelf at Camper.

A view of the beach from north of Camper Creek.

Interesting rock formations in the limestone.

A harlequin duck stretches its wings at the edge of the limestone shelf.

There were many crows at Camper, waiting for an opportunity to make off with garbage and human scraps.