Self-Evacuation or How to Get Off the West Coast Trail When You're In the Middle of It

The West Coast Trail, unlike other trail like the Juan De Fuca, really has only two trailheads, one at either end. This means that the 75 kilometre length of the trail is inaccessible except on foot for the public. Parks Canada and First Nations staff do patrol the trail and evacuate injured hikers by helicopter or by boat.

Important to note is that unless you have special permission (i.e. First Nations access rights) all areas on along the West Coast Trail Unit of Pacific Rim National Park are accessible only on foot. Private boats, including kayaks (I have known of kayakers fined for accessing the West Coast Trail, so kayakers be warned) are not allowed to land on any of its beaches. Although hikers will often see helicopters flying up and down the length of the trail, and may even see one land and drop off Parks Canada trail maintenance staff, private helicopter access is also prohibited on the West Coast Trail Unit. There's a story in trail mythology that some rich folks once asked if they could take a helicopter to Tsusiaht Falls for a daytrip. Parks Canada denied them permission, to the gratitude of many hikers who do not want to share their experience with wealthy day-trippers.

Unfortunately the most common way people leave the trail without completing its entire length is by emergency evacuation due to injury or illness. From eighty to a hundred people are evacuated off the West Coast Trail every year. That does not mean that there are high numbers of serious injuries on the trail, as when a hiker is evacuated often one member or even all of their hiking party is also evacuated. Furthermore, most evacuations are for injuries such as sprained ankles and knees, which, while not serious, do prevent a hiker from completing the trail. However, serious injuries have happened on the trail, and there has been, to my knowledge, at least one recorded death.

Parks Canada Safety Officers trying to negotiate the waves and rocks after a September storm to evacuate hikers. Photo taken at Swing Beach near Carmanah Light.

However, there is one other option whereby hikers may leave the trail that does not involve harming oneself. Hikers may exit the trail at Nitinat Narrows by arranging with the ferry operator to be taken to Nitinat village at the eastern end of Nitinat lake. Although older guidebooks may say otherwise, you cannot enter the trail at Nitinat Narrows, only exit it.

Overview of Nitinat Narrows, photo credit ditidaht.org

On my last trip of the season I decided to take this option. The next morning after the storm it was sunny, but the sea was rough. I spoke with the lighthouse keeper at Carmanah, who told me another storm, perhaps even larger than the previous one, was expected that evening. I waited until mid-morning to make my decision, hanging out with the lighthouse keeper and witnessing an evacuation of one of the hiker groups who had sheltered at Monique's the night before. The sea was still so rough the Parks Canada staff had difficult time making the beach, and watching them struggle decided it for me. If I continued hiking south from Monique's I would be on the section of  the trail which was more sheltered, but generally more difficult. And if the storm took out one of the cable cars I'd be trapped (this has happened in the past) until Parks could get me out. I'd also end up at  the southern trailhead of Port Renfrew, the opposite end of the trail from where I was based. On the other hand, if I headed north and the storm flooded Darling River or Michigan Creek, these could become impassable (as had happened in the past). I was fairly shaken by the power of the storm, so I decided to be smart, be safe and exit at Nitinat Narrows. Besides I had hiked the trail before, but I'd never been to Nitinat, so this was a good excuse to head that way. When I reached the ferry I'd found out that I was not the only one who decided to head out. The Trail Guardians had warned another solo hiker about another storm hitting the coast, and he had decided to cut and run too.

The ferry operators charged us $50 a head for the hour long ride up the lake. Be warned, at Nitinat you are off the trail, but certainly not out of the woods. The only public transport out of Nitinat is by the West Coast Trail Bus, which stops 7km away from the village at Nitinat Junction. As  the ferry operator only takes people off the trail once he or she has finished for the day, you will have missed the shuttle on your arrival. There is a campground and a motel at Nitinat, but not much more than that. It's a beautiful place, but is, like Bamfield, a remote place accessible by logging road. As we were hiking at the end of the season, the WCT bus was only running every second day, and we would have had to stay two nights at Nitinat, either in the pouring rain at the campground or at the motel for over $100 a night. Luckily, we spoke with some friendly locals who were able to drive us to Bamfield. For a price of course, as it is over three hour return trip! So exiting at Nitinat can be quite pricey if you're on a budget. At the end of a long season of hiking, I was simply happy to eating a burger at the pub in Bamfield when the storm hit  that evening. 

Another common reason people exit the trail at Nitinat Narrows is because they have failed to allow enough time to hike the trail. The trail takes six to seven days, and even if you think you can do it three or four days, I would warn that I encountered many hikers, often experienced and fit ones, who aimed to complete it quickly and either were unable to or felt so hurried/exhausted by the pace they wished they had given themselves more time. If you don't have enough time to hike the West Coast Trail, hike the Juan de Fuca. If you find you finish the WCT early, well good for you! Go to beach and relax, or do one of the possible day/overnight hikes at either the north or south end in addition to your trip.

I would not recommend leaving at Nitinat Narrows if you are heading south to north, and arrive at the Narrows fed up and exhausted. You've already completed the hardest part of the trail, and north of the narrows it gets gradually easier and is, in my opinion, probably the most beautiful section of the trail. However, if you are hiking from north to south, and the 'easy' section of the trail has left you overwrought, then get out while you can......

Storm season and a new beginning

So I'm going to try and get this blog going again. I let it slide for quite a while due to some personal issues and my general state of business, however I'd like to get it going again. Although I'm not sure anyone ever reads it, at least it will keep me writing and thinking about the West Coast Trail.

Self-portrait taken on the top of the Hole-in-the-Wall on my last sunny day on the trail

 The West Coast Trail is closed from October 1-April 30 every year. As I was accustomed to alpine hiking before I moved to the coast I considered this season to be fairly long as I am used to trails being closed in the winter, if not officially, at least nominally due to snow (which in alpine areas can mean avalanche danger). So I didn't question a winter closure for the trail. Then a friend asked whether they could hike the West Coast Trail in February and why it was closed because snow and snow-related difficulties are not present during the typical West Coast winter. Here's the answer:

Storm season

What do I mean by storm season? For those familiar with West Coast beaches, they will know that large driftwood logs, often several feet in diameter, and usually at the 'back' of the beach abutting the forest, are a defining characteristic of the West Coast beach. A common question of those new to this environment is “how did those get there?” In the summer, and even on most winter days, they seem far from the tideline and it's a stretch of the imagination to picture a surf strong enough to lift those giants far up the beach. Before this year, I KNEW there were winter storms....theoretically....that were powerful enough to create that 'storm-line' of driftwood giants barricading the beaches...but I'd never seen anything like it. 

My tent barricade in by piles of driftwood at Tscowis

 Until my last trip on the trail this past September.

September 2013 was a lovely month for hiking. At the beginning of the month I hiked the entire trail from Port Renfrew to Bamfield taking a leisurely ten days to do it. Then, on September 17, I began what was to be final trip of the season, heading into to Carmanah from the Bamfield end, spending a few days at Carmanah, then heading out via the same northern trailhead. The weather was gorgeous and sunny, even hot at times (a swim at Tsusiaht falls was a must), and all seemed to be going well. However, on the third day of the trip the wind picked up and was blowing hard, in spite of the sunshine. I crossed paths with the Ditidaht Trail Guardians near Nitinat Narrows and they warned me that a storm was coming. Having encountered what I thought was 'stormy' weather before on the trail, I thought, oh well, I can handle rain, and continued on.

I had convinced the others who I was hiking with to stay the night at Dare Beach, instead of going all the way to Cribs, as it is a beautiful spot and slightly shortens the long trek south from Tsusiaht. We set up camp about ten feet past the previous nights high tide line, had a lovely fire, and watched the a gorgeous sunset followed by a full moon rising. It was near-perfect.

Gorgeous sun and a calm ocean in late September, the calm before the storm

 At 4 am I woke up to a strange clicking/buzzing that sounded like an odd sort of rain. However, the sound originated from something hitting against the bottom section of my fly, not coming down from above. It was tiny little sand flies, jumping about. Usually these creatures stay near the tide line, so I wondered why they were suddenly descending on my tent. As I lay there wondering, I heard a shout from a fellow camper. “Hey, our tent is wet!”. I peaked out, and they had camped about a metre closer to the ocean then I had, and the ocean had crept up, far past previous high tide lines, until it was lapping at their tent. A panicked move, and then head-scratching ensued. We had camped far above the previous nights high tide at 10.5 ft, and tonight was supposed to be 11 ft, so why was the tide so high? Looking out at the ocean, even in the dark, you could see the reason. The waves were at least twice the size of what I'd ever seen before on this section of beach. The wind had also picked up, and rain was starting to pour down. In my sleepy state, I didn't fully realize the size or power of the storm that was descending on us. I decided to just huddle up in my sleeping bag, and wait and hope that it would get better later in the morning.

It didn't get better, and by 10 am the rising tide was again a worry. The others had already left, as they were on a stricter schedule than I and had to finish the trail by a certain date. So when I emerged from my tent I was alone, wet, and, it felt, in a completely different environment then I had ever been in, even though I had thought I was familiar with this section of the trail. It had rained so much in the past few hours that creeks which were barely dripping by the day before were raging torrents, and the tide threatened to sweep over logs and dunes that the ocean probably hadn't touched since the hiking season began. Intellectually I knew these types of storms could happen, but the difference in knowing what it could be like and being in an actual west coast storm meant that I stumbled about in general disbelief.

Wetter than I've ever been in my life, my goal was to reach Chez Monique's. Unfortunately, as I had made a late start from camp, I had to battle a high tide, which, strengthened by the storm surge, was constantly lapping at my ankles. What I found myself doing to get to Monique's was definitely dangerous and decidedly stupid. Descending from the ladder from the lighthouse, I found that the tide has already swamped the beach, and the waves were bashing up against the piles of driftwood logs under the headland. I could see Monique's, but the only way to get there was to crawl on hands and feet along precarious piles of driftwood logs, which were being battered by the waves so the oceanside logs rolled and crashed into each other. But I could smell bacon. So I recklessly, yet slowly, crawled over the logs,  moving during breaks in the waves, and slipping and sliding on my hands and knees.

When I got there, my fellow campers shouted a greeting, and Monique bellowed some sort of combination of a welcome and admonishment for my stupidity. She and her helpful WOOFers cooked up  a big pot of soup for myself and the other bedraggled hikers to sip on while we dried out wet things by her wood stove. The waves came so high they began to threaten her shelter, and a fast little creek of rainwater began to flow in the dip between her kitchen and the ocean. As the storm grew worse, Monique and Peter encouraged everyone who made it to their home that day to take shelter there for the night. She shrugged off our repeated thanks for her hospitality by saying “It's a storm! What would the ancestors say if I didn't help people during a storm like this!”

 

A fellow hiker holding up his 'rain gear' for the storm in the only place on the trail it was any good....inside Monique's shelter. This is the only photo I have from the storm, since my cheap camera can't handle the wet.

So Klecko, Klecko Monique  and Peter, for sheltering me from a REAL west coast storm. Now I know how the logs got there.

Get the Gear!

One of the main causes of injury on the WCT is an over-heavy pack. Men should carry no more than one third their body weight, women no more than one quarter. It's definitely possible, I only carry 25-30 pounds for my solo trips (I weigh around 130lbs).
 For the WCT I carry:
-tent
-sleeping bag
-sleeping pad
-water purifier
-first aid kit (small! but with essentials like disenfactant and bandages)
-swiss army knife (small, I've used in maybe twice in my aprox. 100 nights in the backcountry)
-map/notebook/book
-headlamp
-stove
-pot/lid/spork
-lightweight rope/cord
-small digital camera (optional)
-firestarter and lighter/waterproof matches
-toque
-bandanna (sun hat)
-sunscreen and bugspray (small!)
-camp sandals (which I have decided are essential for foot health)
-toilet paper
-toothbrush and medication
-'camp' soap and packtowel (optional)
-food....more on this later.......keep it lightweight!
-a timepiece and tidetable
-hiking poles
-emergency blanket-can double as a lightweight tarp!!
-clothes-two sets of 'hiking clothes', one set of camp/night clothes which should be kept dry, plus LAYERS (nights are coldish by the ocean)

For the WCT you DON'T need:
-a GPS (maps.........lightweight and serving people for centuries)
- a really expensive camera with lots of cool lenses that are ultra-heavy and need to be cleaned but will get you that perfect shot. Treasure the memories instead of nursing the wounds (and the broken equipment that you dropped while ascending the Sandstone Creek ladders).
-a hatchet (driftwood comes in many sizes!)
-a big-ass hunting knife (I see these all the time....really guys? really???? You gonna fight a bear with that thing?)
-deodarant, moisturizer, chapstick, hairbrush, comb, etc. LEAVE IT. YOU'RE GOING TO BE DIRTY. and STINKY and UNKEMPT. DEAL WITH IT.
 -NO DENIM and NO COTTON. These will not dry and are hypothermia-inducers. Seriously. Don't. Even if they're super-comfy. There's a good chance those jeans will become saturated weights of DOOM around your legs.
-booze....no more than a small flask of something. There's beer at Nitinaht and Chez Monique's. Really. That post-trail drink will taste all the better.
-a tarp-invest in a good tent fly....mine can handle snow! 
-swimsuits, fresh underwear, fresh t-shirts etc. MODESTY AND DECENCY?! What are they???!!

Anyways, that's my two cents, and all I can think of for the list now. I will update with a post more related to my study soon, just saw the video below and was inspired. It sure feels good to be opionated sometimes. Next post will be back to social science......or will it?

I've definitely encountered a few folks like the one's in this Portlandia sketch.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3SFqV0hMyo

Injured!!

So, one reason I haven't posted much lately is I, not unexpectedly considering my clumsiness, injured myself. I originally hurt my ankle hiking out to Keeha Beach and Cape Beale, and then I added to my injury by falling down some stairs. Now I have a crack in my ankle bone. What this means is no more hiking for me until the end of August. So the nicest part of the summer, when the weather is warm and the days are long, are the ones where I'm stuck in side. Balls.

But I am trying to get creative with ways I can still get outside AND do my research WITH a broken ankle. I was pretty frustrated at first, well...still am, but I have to recognize that injuries are unfortunate part of an active lifestyle, especially if you're accident-prone like myself. Joint injuries are also a common occurrence on the West Coast Trail, and are the cause of most evacuations. So I keep telling myself that if I didn't injure myself out hiking, I wouldn't have the full participant observation of the West Coast Trail. Yep. That's what I tell myself.

Keeha/Cape Beale Trails

Well, I haven't been out on the trail in the past couple weeks for a few reasons. First, the weather out here has been terrible. It poured rain all of the past week. The sun is now shining brightly, so I'm hoping it will dry up for my next expedition out on Tuesday. The second reason is I rolled my ankle while out on a hike to Keeha Beach, and I've been trying to take it easy and let it heal so I'm good to go for the rest of the hiking season.

But I've been doing a lot of interesting trail-related stuff and learning quite a bit about the local environment. When I rolled my ankle I was out on a hike with a class from the Bamfield Marine Station summer university program in Ethnobotany. Ethnobotany is an interdisciplinary combination of botany and anthropology, looking at the traditional knowledge of plants and both their cultural and ecological roles. Although I wasn't taking the course, I had the opportunity to participate in a few of their field activities, including the hike out to Keeha and a traditional pit cook on Pachena beach. I also, to test the mettle of my ankle after a week of rest, hiked out to the Cape Beale.

First, a little bit about Keeha and Cape Beale. Both of these are hikes are day-hikes with overnight possibilities. They are both trails located within the West Coast Trail Unit of Pacific Rim National Park Reserve, but are not at this moment truely connected to the West Coast Trail. However, it is apparently possible, although I haven't done it yet, to hike from Pachena, out to join these two trails, and then on to Bamfield, as that was the route of the original life-saving trail that the West Coast Trail was based on.

These two trails are not maintained to the same level as the West Coast Trail, despite being in the national park reserve. Although relatively short (3.5 km and 6.5 km each way, respectively) they are over some relatively rough and often very wet terrain. If you hike these trail after a wet week, like I did, it can add quite a bit of time to your journey. For example, to hike the entire 13 km to Cape Beale lighthouse and back it took us about seven hours, at a moderate pace with breaks. However, is we had hiked the trail during a dry spell, I bet it would have taken us at least 2 hours less. Slippery logs and roots abound, as do giant mud puddles, on both trails. Thus the rolled ankle and mutliple bruises, as if you hike either of these trails in wet weather, you WILL fall. We pretty much all had a good slip or two.

Keeha is a beautiful beach a designated backcountry campground. At the north end of the beach there is an old Huu-ay-aht village sight. Please respect First Nations cultural heritage and be aware that this part of the beach is treaty settlement lands, as well as national park.

Brief rest at the Keeha/Tapaltos-Cape Beale junction with Prim the wonder-dog

The Keeha and Cape Beale trails split  off at after about 1 km. To get the Cape Beale, go right, following the sign to Tapaltos, which is a beach aproximately halfway to Cape Beale. Apparently local surfers like the waves at Talpatos, and there's some interesting flotsam and jetsam, including an old linesmans cabin, on Tapaltos.

Respite from the many stairs ascending to the lighthouse

Cape Beale is the oldest lighthouse on Vancouver Island, and was established in 1874. It is still a manned light, with the lighthouse keepers living there year round and tending quite a fabulous garden. When we arrrived at the lighthouse we were greeted by the lighthouse keepr Karen and her dog Pepper. She generously offered us a pot of tea, and plate of delcious homebaked oatmeal-chocolate cookies, which we enjoyed while sitting out in front of the lighthouse and enjoyed the view. You do have to watch the tides when you hike to Cape Beale, as at high tide the lagoon is often filled and prevents access on foot to the lighthouse. There's also a pretty epic land-bridge just past the lighthouse, definitely worth a side-trip.

Also, tomorrow is Canada Day and the 139th birthday of Cape Beale lighthouse! Happy Canada Day!

Building Fires and Creating Community

Homer Simpson buoy!

One of the great things about hiking the West Coast Trail is that unlike in much of the western Canadian backcountry, summertime campfires are not only permitted, but very feasible. In fact, during the wet week that I hiked the West Coast Trail in May, a Parks Canada staff member actually encouraged us to 'build a fire every night' to keep warm and cut the risk of hypothermia. 

Enjoying a fire at Cribs campground on the WCT

Fires are also generally easy to build on the WCT, at least in the spring, as drift wood is often abundant. Large logs are great for fireside seats, and many pre-established fire pits are ready for use. Even if wet, all it takes is a bit of firestarter (lightweight cubes or sticks are highly recommended) and you will have a roaring blaze. An axe is completely unnecessary as drift wood conveniently comes in a variety of sizes, and an axe contributes to the heaviness of a pack. I recently met one hiker who brought a small hatchet with a lightweight handle on the trail, and by the end of trip regretted bringing it, as it proved unnecessary and added substantial weight.

Also, if the weather is friendly hikers can cook on the fire. I met a couple of hikers who didn't even bother to bring a stove, as one experienced hiker (he had hiked the trail 11 times) was so adept at building a cooking fire that he deemed it unnecessary. I would NEVER suggest not bringing adequate stove and fuel, and counting on the ability to build a fire is never a safe bet while backpacking. However, if you're running low on fuel, it can be a nice way to cook dinner, as long as your cookpot is fire-friendly (watch out for plastic handles) and most importantly, you know how to build a proper cooking fire ( hot coals, small hot flames....a big roaring bonfire that you can't get close to is useless). Proper fire etiquette on the  WCT also includes building fires in pre-established fire rings or below the high tide line.

But when camping people seem to build fires for more than warmth or food, rather they build fires for the sheer enjoyment for having a fire. Personally, I love the scent of campfire smoke on my clothes as it calls forth all sorts of lovely childhood memories of family camping trips and warm, happy times. I am highly sceptical of any claims to so-called deep cultural memories of 'primitive' times spent around the campfire running through some 'primal memory'. Such BS is Lamarckian and generally ridiculous. However, I know that for myself campfires call up feelings of being safe, warm, happy and surrounded by people I care about, due to my personal history of growing up camping and my family's proclivity for backyard weenie roasts. I also know that for some people that smokey smell can recall negative memories. An Australian ex-boyfriend didn't like the smell of campfire smoke because it brought back traumatic memories of his childhood home being nearly engulfed by bushfire. However, for me, and I think for many others, campfires are active symbols of pleasure in being outdoors. 

Rum and crystal light is also adds to the campfire experience

Nearly everyone I've encountered on the WCT so far has built a fire on at least one night of their trip. This may change as the summer wears on and driftwood becomes more scarce at popular campsites like Michigan and Tsusiaht. But there's also an interesting social pattern to fire-building on the WCT that I've observed. On the first night or two or three of the trip, separate groups will build separate fires. So for example, on their first night at Thrasher Cove one set of hikers had begun the trail divided into 5 different groups of 2, and had built 5 separate fires. They were all northbound, following the same route, which is often the case on the WCT. By their third night, they were all sharing a fire. By the fourth night they were making jokes about who built the best fire, and  arranging seating for all the groups around the fire. By the last night, the fire was the social centre of the campground, with everyone cooking, eating, laughing, swapping stories, and taking photos of each other around one single fire. Sharing fires as the WCT trail experience progresses seems to be a common experience for many hikers I've spoken with in May and June. Many hikers also seemed to associate their 'best nights' on the trail that involved sitting around the fire with former strangers, now fellow hikers, and bonding over the common experience of the difficult WCT trek. Fires seem conducive to creating temporary communities of shared 'wilderness' experience, bringing people together who know little of one another, and may have little in common, besides their common experience of being 'out there' in the backcountry. I've shared fires with a surprising variety of folks, many of whom I have a hard time imagining another realistic circumstance where we'd meet. 

Fire-side buoy carving also seems common

 However, I wonder if this 'fire-bonding' phenomena is a product of the relatively low numbers at the WCT campgrounds in the spring. It's easy to share a fire with 6-8 people, but could the same sort of thing occur when the trail season is at it's peak and there are 20, 30 or even 50 people at one campground? I guess I'll see. I remember when I hiked the trail in August of 2011 my hiking buddy and I had a fire every night. However, I don't recall sharing it. Is there a point on the trail where too many people actually prevent socializing? Probably. It's funny, one thing that I've noticed is that despite the fact that many people backpack to 'get away', many also mention the sense of community they feel on the trail. People nearly always greet each other on the trail, gear is borrowed or shared with equanimity, and invitations to share a fire are common. Yet I know this sort of camaraderie does not occur on the more crowded day-hiking trails I've been on in the Canadian Rockies. I wonder if during the high season on the WCT people will retreat into their own little backcountry bubbles and the temporary fireside communities will become more rare. I guess I'll see.

The communal fire pit at Michigan also seems to amass a collection of beachcombing finds, a 'trail trash' museum of sorts, such as this broken surfboard tip

Buoy Carving and Hiker Artifacts

The West Coast Trail is littered with human artifacts. There are a plethora of carvings that mark significant events, places and relationships scattered along the trail. However, these carvings are no ancient petroglyphs, but rather are artifacts of hikers who feel the need to signify their successful traverse of the difficult west coast landscape with a material symbol.

Over the years the beaches of the west coast trail have been repositories for various flotsam and jetsam brought in by the tides. The most common thing washed up seems to be floats and buoys. Colourful, carvable, lightweight, and with a rope attached, buoys are used as trail markers to point the way to beach entrances and exits and mark campgrounds, much the way rock cairns are used on alpine trails. In the often grey weather of the west coast, these colourful markers provide much needed wayfinders. It's interesting to think about how the garbage of marine traffic have been transformed into beacons showing the way for terrestrial travellers.

However, the buoys have a symbolic purpose beyond that of wayfinding. The carving and placing of a buoy
has become a common ritual practise to commemorate hiker's successful rite of passage along the West Coast Trail.

 Michigan campground, named for the wreck of the Michigan whose boiler still rests on the rock shelf the campground overlooks, is hung with more buoys than any other site along the West Coast Trail. It is the northernmost campground, so it is often either the first campground for southbound hikers and the last for northbound hikers. Therefore many hikers commemorator either their last or their first night on the trail by carving and hanging a buoy at Michigan. Below is the buoy carved by two Tasmanian hikers I had the pleasure of camping with in mid-May. Note their attempt to carve at outline of the island of Tasmania on the upper right.

Why do people feel the need to mark the landscape with a sign that they were there? Especially when backpacking etiquette commands that a camper leaves no trace i.e. "leave only footprints, take only pictures" as the saying goes. During the Parks Canada orientation hikers are warned that they may not take any plant or animal materials, as well as 'artifacts'. However, it is emphasised that 'artifact' is a term applied only to materials of a First Nations origin. 'Man-made' objects are fair game (there is some irony here). So the transformation of buoys from maritime garbage into hiker 'I was here' signs is okay-ed by the park, and provide the beaches of the West Coast Trail with an additional aesthetic that may be man-made, but is colourful nonetheless.