West Coast Trail Day 1

August 5

With fresh legs, enthusiasm, and a 30 and 60 pound pack strapped to our backs (Dad's of course was the whopper) we were ready to start the trail. We took a ferry ride across Gordon River and we were ready to go- or thought we were. Right at the start of the trail was a steep drop off with the remnant of a path going over some gnarly roots. That section prepared us for a valuable lesson we would learn over and over again, we would need to surrender our dignity and sense of pride to grovel under (sometimes literally on our stomachs or knees), over, and around obstacles on the trail.

The first 5 km of the West Coast Trail is notorious for being the hardest and slowest part of the West Coast Trail, taking most people four to five hours to complete. The paths are covered in huge douglas fir and cedar roots, and rocks (it's a miracle I didn't break an ankle here), and the elevation is so steep that I became very appreciative that it wasn't raining, which would have made everything even more muddy and treacherous.

I actually caught myself feeling sorry for people who were coming the opposite direction, even though they had completed 70 kilometers over my five. The first group we met on the trail just wanted to get out, and neither Dad or I told them that it was extremely unlikely that they would make the last ferry to get off the trail at 4:30 that afternoon. But Dad and I were still full of energy at this point and having fun (though I wouldn't become such a great poster child myself for people starting at the other end).


After the first five kilometers we had a choice- we could continue to take another 8 km of trail through the forest or stumble over the boulders on the beach. Neither trail presented an easy option and we opted to stay to the forest trail which certainly couldn't get any more difficult. The hiking did stay relatively the same with the exception of the rotted, slanted boardwalks that went through sections of quagmires. We took a detour down to the beach where I stayed with the packs and napped (with two hiking poles at my side in case I needed to defend myself against a cougar) and dad wandered down the beach a ways to Owen's Point, pictured above.



At 7:30 we trudged into Camper's Bay, a large campsite on a rocky beach (on the WCT the term "campsite" is used loosely as it simply implies that there may be a bear locker and an outhouse there). When I took off my hiking boots I met an ugly surprise. The pain in my ankle was not simply from negotiating the tricky terrain, I had had an allergic reaction to the duct tape I had wrapped around my ankles as a preventative measure. There was a band of red bumps and scabs that would get progressively worse each day. But the good news was I could sit for most of the evening and Dad made a hot meal of mashed potatoes (good thing because as Dad pointed out the jerky I bought tasted like fish).