Wandering Home: The Wild North Vancouver Island
Waaaay back during the first days of 2025, Kenedy and I cooked up a plan to wrap her first year of college with a bang by backpacking the West Coast Trail. Let's GOOOO!
The West Coast Trail is one of the most remote coastal walks in the World: 75 km, no roads, no re-supply. To navigate this wild place, hikers must climb up and down 100 ladders, trudge through deep mud holes, past haunted bluffs, navigate unpredictable weather (British Columbia's pacific coasts receive 10 feet of rain annually), and time very specific beach, ferry and river crossings for ridiculous tidal swings. It is a worthy hike to cap a big year.
We chose reservations for the beginning of May, after what we thought would be enough time to move out of her dorm and before it was time to return home to responsibilities. During the the next months planning and preparation ensued, training began, and plans were laid. But SURPRISE! a little more than a month before launch, Kenedy ended up in the Whistler Health Care Clinic with two broken bones in her hand. In other words, no ladders, no pulley systems, no hoisting a pack onto her shoulders.
Life throws these things at us and we have a choice: we can wallow and feel sorry for ourselves or we can adjust and adapt, looking through challenge for opportunity. Much more important than not being able to pull herself across rivers, Kenedy could not type and was able to take only two of her five finals.
A bit earlier than originally planned, I filled up the car with empty bins, hugged Kris and Tucker goodbye and headed out for a solo drive to Vancouver. Meanwhile, on her own (adulting!), Kenedy filled out paperwork and pestered professors for make-up dates on her last three exams. She navigated Canadian's public healthcare system and completed the finals she could.
We spent her finals weeks carrying stuff down the four flights of stairs, into the car and down the road into a temporary storage unit. Finally, when all of the things were moved, keys turned in, goodbyes said and nothing left to wrap up, we took a breath and re-assessed next steps. We still had the time to do something… Fast forward:
- a ferry ride across the Straight of Georgia,
- a stop to charge in Nanaimo,
- delicious cheese bread and treats from Old Country Market (with Goats on the Roof),
- an epic hike and orca sighting at Ripple Rock Lookout;
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Stop for a minute to feel the magic of this place - not just British Columbia, but this British Columbia. Like so much of B.C.: the light - first of all - so much of it (so long), sparkling, creating shadow and profile, giving depth and dimension to where…who knew?!
The views feel like morning or evening almost all day. And then the clouds: they hover, low and misty and moody, as if holding space for peace, slow and quiet, hiding the world from the craziness that it is.
The trees, touched by humanity, still dense, still trying to thrive through their checkerboard of ages and plots. Who owns what? When was it last cut? Should we get lost on the logged-trees road? What hides behind that next layer of mountains?
We meander through the mist. An opening in the trees offers a vista and reveals the further reaches of this land, which we thought might be open to ocean instead. A place with so few people. More clouds than people. They (the clouds) roll by and the sun takes a turn. The wind is persistent and cold.
We detour on one lonely paved road to the right, looking for a picnic and finding a typical, massive estuary and the Visitor’s Center. This is Sayward and Salmon river Estuary. We are off (tourist, fishing, boating?) season so nothing is open but we find a bench and eat lunch in the wind with a view. Oh what a view!
Big mountains border the bathtub that is Johnstone Straight. A sailboat happily speeds by, sail taught, making good time. The wind blasts us as we try to pile fresh veggie toppings (from Goats on the Roof) on bread for sandwiches. The parking lot is mostly empty of cars and people. The marina is full of boats and the town has a few houses with a big park. The sun is out full force now and teeny whips of clouds roll across the peak that watches us. Google Maps says this is Hkusam Mountain. A huge tanker makes its way slowly through the bathtub while an eagle in the distance scopes a potential catch.
Our bench is next to the store, which is closed, and the fish cleaning station, which looks well used. We finish lunch quietly and visit the marina rest station - so nice. This must be a stop for boat cruisers, not so much for cars. We head back on the windy Sayward Road, eyeing the inviting Sayward Junction Gas station but opting to keep going, to the North.
