On 22 January 1906, the 253-foot passenger vessel Valencia ran aground along the perilous west coast of British Colombia’s Vancouver Island. She lost 133 of her passengers and crew due to high seas, rugged terrain and the inhospitable, remote area with an almost impenetrable rain forest. The coastline lived up to its name of the Graveyard of the Pacific. But it was one tragedy too many for the Canadians. The Government of Canada set out to implement better navigational aides and to construct a lifesaving trail along this infamous section of coastline.
In May of 1980, I was 21 years old and set out to hike the then completed West Coast Trail. But I went there not to rescue any shipwreck victims, but to challenge myself physically and mentally and to hike in awe amidst the enchanting rain forest and along the perilous coast that claimed so many sailors.
It took me six days to complete the challenging 75-kilometre trek. As I did for many of my early journeys, I documented this one not only with photos but with detailed journal entries which not only describe the hike but my mindset at the time. It’s been 42 years since that hike and for the first time I’ll share the photos and the unedited journal as I wrote it on the trail. I have paired the journal entries with photos, which sometimes match my journal notes and other times they don’t. I have made no attempt to polish the writing. They are notes, not prose, and were usually written on the run.
(Images shot with an Olympus OM-2 and scanned from Kodak Ektachrome originals and restored in Adobe Lightroom)
30 May 1980
It’s been a long wait for a ride to Bamfield – close to six hours – probably a few more. A good chance to write some notes.
For the past week, I’ve been considering hiking Vancouver Island’s West Coast Trail. I could pick up only bits & pieces of information about it … all saying how rugged and treacherous it is. In Victoria, I read books and pamphlets about it that again stressed its difficulty. I decided it would be unwise to hike it alone.
I bought a map of the trail and noticed improvements were made. As I hitched toward the trail (with intentions of doing short lengths of it) I discovered from a fellow who had hiked it that it was now well travelled and much easier going. My next ride, Jim Allan (founder of Ecosummer) called it a highway.
I stayed at a hostel in Port Alberni for free. The cost was $15.50, but welfare picked up the tab! [I don’t remember why, maybe they thought I was homeless.]
And at 6 am, I began the 98 km hitch to Bamfield. Needless to say, I’m having terrible luck (it’s probably noon) and my spirits are dropping.
I’ve had a lonely feeling ever since I arrived here. A feeling I’ll now call the ‘Baja Blues’ since I was in the same emotional state when I was there. It’s not a homesick feeling, it’s just a need for a constant companion … someone I can share my experiences with as they happen. In Baja, I said I wouldn’t venture out alone again, but here I am.
No one seems to be going to Bamfield. It’s Friday afternoon. Surely some hikers should be coming in. It’s such a splendid day. I’m hitching on a gravelly logging road. The dust will soon coat me completely. The majority of the traffic is logging trucks. Few private cars. I took a ride for 8 km out of Port Alberni to China Creek Provincial Park. I don’t know if that was a very good move. I bought Loren Eiseley’s ‘The Immense Journey’ but lost it with the last ride. I also can’t find my harmonica. Damn. I wish I was on that trail! You see if I had a companion I could converse and play a game.
DAMN!! Two vehicles with campers passed. Damn!
Finally I got a ride. A ride with a fairly pissed up fellow in a pickup to Franklin River. I drank one of his beers to wash the dust out of my mouth. We passed the two camper vehicles and once again they passed me.
Luck finally caught up with me and a 70-year-old Indian, William, and a 26-year-old hitchhiker, Jim, picked me up and brought me to Bamfield. Along the way William spoke of God and Christianity and drove slowly along the gravelly road. There was a great deal of clear cutting taking place. At Bamfield, William showed us an Indian reservation where his 80-year-old aunt lives, then brought us to Camp Ross and the trailhead.
Luck finally caught up with me and a 70-year-old Indian, William, and a 26-year-old hitchhiker, Jim, picked me up and brought me to Bamfield. Along the way William spoke of God and Christianity and drove slowly along the gravelly road. There was a great deal of clear cutting taking place. At Bamfield, William showed us an Indian reservation where his 80-year-old aunt lives, then brought us to Camp Ross and the trailhead.
(c) Michael Major
A trail leading down to the beach lured us. It was steep and muddy.
Immediately we stripped our boots and packs off and explored the life found in the tidal pools.
There were purple urchins, sea anemones, starfish, crabs, mussels. The urchins carved pockets into the rock and fit snugly in them. The seaweed-covered rocks reminded me of scenes of Ireland from ‘Ryan’s Daughter’.
Around the bend was a waterfall where we got fresh water.
(c) Michael Major
We drank some tea and were entertained by gray whales. The sight of the whales led much more to my appreciation of them. They seem so majestic, so calm despite their plight. The beach was smooth, of polished rocks – much better than sand.
We built a driftwood campfire and watched the sunset. Soon the lighthouses began to poke their beams through the darkness.
I slept under the stars and opened my eyes occasionally to see stars poking through. A mouse brushed against me and made me decide to set up my tent rather than fussing with mice. Jim slept in his pop up tent.
31 May 80
Got up and fetched water. An otter was out collecting shellfish among the rocks.
We packed up and met a large school group. We visited the Pachena Point Lighthouse. There was a house, generator and a few other buildings there.
After the lighthouse the trail narrows considerably. We hiked for a ways then crossed a river in a cable car. The car wasn’t necessary. The river was small and easily fordable.
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
[No journal notes]
[No journal notes]
The next attraction was two suspension bridges.
(c) Michael Major
Just before Mile 34 at the anchor site were saw some seals in a quiet bay. We climbed down a precipitous ladder on a tree to get a closer look. It was raining so we crawled in a cave to watch. It was quite exciting.
A little further down we stopped for supper and took a long-needed rest. It started to rain. Our feet were sore, so rather than walk the trails we walked the beach and put up with a westerly wind bringing rain.
We walked a short distance then halted at a protected cove under an alder.
We built a fire and watched the weather come our way.
Another otter danced about and swam in some pools. Again whales spouted off. A strong westerly was blowing … Jim said it was a sign of good weather. I though the coast was N-S but my compass indicated differently.
Both of us set up tents, then retired.
1 June 80
We awoke to a beautiful morn. Jim decided to make this camp his base camp and day hike. I packed up and soon we were off. We crossed another cable car – this one across a wider, deeper river.
At Tsusiat Falls, I stripped my clothes off and plunged into the icy water under the falls. It took my breath away but, boy, did it feel good to be clean. We both lay in the sun and I washed my clothes. We hiked down the beach to Hole in the Rock at Tsusiat Point. The surf was high, the waters blue.
At Hole in the Wall, Jim and I exchanged addresses and said goodbye. I didn’t want to see him go. I enjoyed his companionship. But it felt nice to be alone.
I strolled down the beach and took photos. I was feeling great emotionally. Once again my travel spirit rose. I walked the beach for as far as I could then turned inland.
While walking on the trails, you can’t look about you for fear of tripping. Catwalks were plentiful.
Lots of skunk cabbage. The trail hung close to the beach and I got lots of good view and lots of ‘wows’ (like in the San Jacintos).
I was getting a bit tired but my spirits were still high until I reached the ferry crossing. I wasn’t sure where to go. The trail led right into a campsite. I went through it to the river bank. I rang a triangle. There were a few vacant houses across the river, but no boats. I went back to the campground and discovered the trail made a sharp left. I found another landing and yelled, but no boats showed up. I backtracked upriver. I saw a house and I searched for a trail leading to it. As I was doing this I heard a boat. I ran back to the landing and hollered at them. I think they saw me but they paid no attention. I went to the other landing and found they had gone. So I went to the second landing and found the boat going around a corner. I hollered many times ‘FERRY! FERRY!’ No luck.
I cooked some soup and tried to wait patiently. I was getting depressed. I was eager to make some miles. At least get a better campsite. No luck had I. I questioned whether I was at the right place. Surely I was. I had seen two hikers coming up from the campsite and the path looked well worn. After a long wait I return to the campsite and hollered and rang the triangle. I removed my pack and walked up the trail. I return to the dock. I wanted so much to see another human. So much. Just another hiker who could share this problem with me.
2 June 80
I got up early feeling good. Had breakfast, struck camp and hiked to the landing. I expected I might have to wait and I did for what must have been two hours. I read and paced and hollered. Finally as I was eating a granola bar a whistle from the opposite bank startled me. My mouth was full, but I called back. It was a group of hikers looking for the ferry. Help would on the way.
AT LAST!! A boat has come around the bend. I’ll save the cheers. I can hardly hear it which means my yells must have been futile
My spirits have been up today despite the wait.
I’ve been thinking a lot about friendship. I really do need friends. Or just other people. At one time, in high school, I didn’t think I needed anyone else. But now I feel differently. I’ve thought a lot about marriage. It seems more possible now.
The two emotions I feel most are love and loneliness. At times on the trail, I am in love with everyone and everything. It’s unfortunate that when I feel that love I can’t share it with someone. I said it in Baja and I’ll say it again: I don’t want to travel alone anymore.
A seal has been popping its head up in the channel here.
I’ve been thinking about what was the longest time I’ve been alone is. It would have to be the 50 hours in the Cascades. I spent about 40 hours alone on the Ice Age trail – that is, hours between sightings of humans.
Trail is nearly all boardwalk to Clo-ose.
I never thought anything in nature was ugly until I saw slugs.
A strange feeling overcomes me as I walk along the beach. There’s such an expanse around me and I’m so insignificant.
All the tracks in the sand are pointing the other way. None are going my way. A sign of my nonconformity.
At Carmanah Point, the map indicated sea lion haul-out rock. I found the rock and sure enough it was littered with sea lions. There were 20-30 of them. Some were draped over the rocks. Others nuzzling each other. An occasional breaker would drench them. They clung on to the rocks despite the force of the wave.
From where I am sitting I can easily see Carmanah Point Lighthouse over 2 miles away [which I passed earlier in the day]. The lighthouse is maintained by two females. They were working the garden when I was there. The place looks immaculate. All white with red trim and a nicely manicured lawn.
At my campsite at Bonilla Point. A cove is attracting seals. Occasionally I’ll see a snouted black head pop above the surface, take a look, then submerge. They look like frogmen. That look of curiosity lingers in my mind.
3 June 80
The Olympic Peninsula is in plain view. It looks quite mountainous. It’s an overcast, slightly sprinkling day. [NOTE: Photo is not of OP but looking north]
At Walbaran Creek I turn inland. It’s necessary to remove my pack to get around a rock. The next five miles are muddy and tiring.
I meet lots of hikers – over 30. A Scottish fellow who I met the other day is disappointed with the conditions: “I won’t do it again.” He doesn’t like the development. I talked to two women who feel the same. They want it to be a challenge.
Then I talk to a Dutch man who works for Victoria Parks Dept. He likes the trail. His wife does too. “You can see flowers off the boardwalk,” she said referring to the boardwalk on the bog. “The trail just got wider and wider until the boardwalk came in. You need bridges and ladders and boardwalks to protect the trail,” he said.
At Camper Bay I meet Ruth Tecine an Edmonton architect who was returning to Bamfield after making the journey once already. I shared her fire and our food and spent the eve conversing with her. She must have been 27. She talked of a trail 270 miles from London through Scotland. It sounded great. Not a wilderness trail but a cultural trail. Perhaps Spring 1981 will find me there
4 June 80
A rainy day so I just walked constantly for 7 ½ miles
A sea chasm 1 mile in gave me a big scare. Ruth had talked of it and made me respect it. She recommended going up over it along the bank. Two attempts at that sent me sliding on my butt. I took a chance and went down into the chasm. The rocks were slippery and I couldn’t get a hand hold. Two attempts failed. I moved to other rocks and leaped to a small foothold. I swung my weight around and made it. I still needed to pull myself up. As I did I began to slip into the chasm but as I was I caught onto something and pulled myself up. It was quite frightening!
After that I returned to the trail. The rocks of the beach were too slippery and sharp and it was raining too hard. I had remarkable stamina and made it out by 2:00 – 7 ½ miles [12 km] in six hours with only two stops.
[The journal ends there and I no longer have any memory of what I did next. I suspect I hitchhiked from the trail end at Port Renfrew back to Victoria. I was probably too exhausted to continue writing notes or taking pictures.]
EPILOGUE
While scanning photos of him, I thought of my hiking companion, Jim. The photos reminded me of how well we ‘clicked’ and enjoyed each other’s company. I never stayed in touch. From my notes I had his name and knew that he built log cabins. So, I Googled him and found a photo of my old mate. Unfortunately, it was for his obituary. Jim died in 2017 of cancer. He spent his life on Vancouver Island and was always a lover of nature.
EPILOGUE 2
I still have the Vasque Cascade hiking boots I wore on this trek and wear them occasionally.
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
(c) Michael Major
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