The West Coast Trail had been on our bucket lists for a long time. For Stew, it was a trail he had walked and experienced before as a backpacker, but he had set a life goal to run the trail before he even conceived of himself as an ultrarunner or even a runner at all. For me, I had always wanted to backpack the trail, but as a waiter and student had never carved out the time or mustered the organization to reserve a place on this wildly popular trail while a younger man. I had first heard of the trail from my Grandfather and became entranced with it, and Tsusiat Falls, in particular, after reading an account he had written in the local paper in the 1960’s about the adventure he and a friend had being dropped at Tsusiat Lake and then bushwhacking down the river to find the West Coast Trail and these mythic falls that cascade onto the beach along the trail.

As I approached my 40th birthday in 2016, I decided that I really wanted to check the West Coast trail off my bucket list in the coming year. As summer approached and virtually all free time was booked with fun family commitments, work and other life stuff, it seemed that this particular goal would elude me and have to continue to lurk in the back of my mind and imagination. And then, as they have before, came the perfectly timed text challenge from Stew. “Do you want to run the West Coast Trail with Markus on July 22?” Of all the weekends in the summer, it was the one possibility, so I jumped at the chance. Imagining all the reasons it might not happen, I refused to believe that we would be running this beautiful piece of the earth, but dove into some basic planning and research. It seemed that everything might align. The tides could work for a Bamfield to Renfrew attempt, we could find our way across the Gordon River at the end of the day and, most importantly, it seemed that Parks Canada was still allowing one day trail passes without reservations! Which was key, as all reservations for the season were fully booked by this point.

Given the other races and events we had lined up that year, the training went well and we met the week before feeling good. Except for Markus. He was nursing an injury and worried about his ability to complete the whole trail. And bailing out of the West Coast Trail is far from easy. It did help logistically, as we needed to figure out one less leg of driving. As the trailheads are separated by a few hours of rough and tumble logging road driving, and we were sure to be trashed after our adventure, this had its advantages!

As usual, we had decided to make the adventure into a family experience, so Erin and Jen and all the kids would be camping at Pacheedaht campsite, at the Renfrew end of the trail, so that we would have a warm welcome party at the end of our journey and relatively comfortable sleeps in our trailers. We headed up the day before to do the mandatory trail briefing, where we had the most amazing Parks Canada person walk our group through and make sure that everything was in order for us to run the trail in a day. It was such an easy process, though sounds like it may be getting less so. We spent the rest of the day chilling out on the beach, playing some guitar and enjoying lunch at the Renfrew Pub while we waited for our families to arrive for dinner. So civilized.

The families and Markus arrived and we enjoyed a great salmon feast before setting off. As we left Renfrew, I saw a herd of Roosevelt Elk grazing in the river plains, which struck me as a good omen. I have looked for them in the wild on Vancouver Island for my whole life, but had never seen them. Now I had. As we hit the gravel roads, it quickly became clear that the suspension in the Pontiac Sunfire we were riding in was not up to the task. We jarred and jostled our way through a few hours of intense logging road as night fell, the rains started and the fog came in. Three guys focussed intently on the most narrow field of vision available. We arrived at the Pachena Bay campsite around 11 p.m. and quickly set up camp. We checked out the beach, which was awe inspiring, lined as it was with campfires glowing in the fog and mist, and then headed to our tents to catch a few hours of sleep.

Sleep came easily and then retreated as quickly as it had come. The rains became torrential and the borrowed tent we were in had a waterproof rating of “not”. I retreated into my sleeping back to avoid the drips of water from above that were landing on my face. Movement off the narrow sleeping pads had us in pools of water that were forming around us. After the good omen of the Elk, things were seeming suddenly inauspicious. After sleeping in bursts of minutes, the alarm came at 4:30 a.m. and we climbed out of the tent and quickly went about making quick coffees and eating some overnight oats that Erin prepared to fuel us at the start of our journey.

We made our way to the trailhead, for a 5:30 a.m. start and found ourselves unsurprisingly alone. The trail out of Bamfield is the rumoured to be the easiest part of the trail and it is. Though I was still surprised by the number of ladders along what was to be the fastest running of the day. They can really interrupt your rhythm. But I was so excited to be on the trail and experiencing its legendary ladders that they brought nothing but joy. A fog was hanging on, as was a light mist, but it was classically Vancouver Island weather and we are classically Vancouver Island dudes, so it suited us perfectly.

We made good progress to the Pachena Bay Lighthouse at the 10km mark. This was the lighthouse that my grandfather and his friend had ended up at on their adventure as they knew the lighthouse keeper. These stations are generally unmanned at this point and we were hitting early light as we arrived. Stew’s company had bid on the restoration project of the lighthouse and after experiencing the approach and seeing the surroundings and scope of the project, he was happy to have not gotten the contract! Standing in the shadows of the lighthouse and my Grandfathers adventure 50 years before was really cool. The first appearance of a raven, with its haunting vocalizations, gave me pause and it felt like we were being watched over by my grandfather. Very cool.

We cruised along the beach at Darling River where we started seeing campers packing up and began to see hikers heading to Bamfield to finish their trips. To a person, they were interested in our running adventure, hadn’t seen others doing the same during their trip and were impressed with our audacity in tackling the trail in a day. In turn, we admired the amount of time they had committed to spending in such splendid wilderness and congratulated them on their own accomplishment as their time on the trail was coming to an end. The beach in this area was lovely and we headed to the end of it, where we found sea caves and amazing formations. But no way through. We had to backtrack along a couple of kilometres of beach, which early in the day seemed like only a mild setback. And given the beauty of our surroundings, it really was. Seeing shipwrecks in the sand and knowing the history of the area only magnified the splendour. And again the raven.

Back on the trail, I knew that Tsusiat Falls was approaching around the 23 km mark and I was getting increasingly excited as we moved along the trail marker by marker. Just before the turn off to Tsusiat Falls, we got to experience our first cable car, which was really cool. I had been on them before, but never on a run, so it only added to the variety of experiences we were enjoying. We finally arrived at Tsusiat Falls, and they were as beautiful as I imagined. There were a number of campers milling about and a lovely woman from Ontario, who was hiking the trail with her granddaughter (so awesome), took some photos of us. We spend a good amount of time admiring the falls and exploring the beach around them before heading back to the trail. It was amazing to finally see these falls in person and I knew at this point that my day would be a success even if we were unable to complete the trail. And again the raven. It was starting to feel that he was shepherding us along this great wilderness.

Our next big landmark to look forward to was the ferry crossing at Nitinaht narrows, the small channel where Nitinaht Lake meets the ocean. The currents in the narrows are so dangerous that crossing without the ferry is effectively impossible, though I am sure some have tried and succeeded. And equally sure that some have tried and failed. Our timing was perfect as we were able to arrive and immediately board the boat that would ferry us across. We were joined by a couple of groups of hikers, including a family from the Northeast US that was having to pull the plug on their West Coast Trail adventure as one of their teenage sons had sprained his ankle. The other son was not at all happy about it! On the other side of the crossing is an amazing little crab shack, where you can get fresh cooked crab, halibut, salmon and other delectables. Like junk food. We each ordered a whole crab, together with a Coke, some fresh water and a bag of chips. Expensive but amazing. There was something surreal about huddling around a little woodstove with other travelers eating fresh crab in such a location. We settled in for probably too long, but enjoyed the hour break thoroughly and finally figured out how to eat a whole crab. Not with grace. But effectively.

It was at this point that Markus would be turning back to Pachena Bay and Stew and I would be continuing alone to the end. It was a huge bummer for all of us, Markus in particular. By that point, he was still feeling good and knew he could have completed the trail. But his family would be waiting for him at Pachena Bay, so there was no real option for him to continue. With full bellies, we headed along the boardwalks leading from the narrows with legs that were not particularly interested in moving with any pace after about 35km of running at that point and a long break. The beauty of the trail never really stops and we couldn’t stop talking about how grateful we were for the opportunity to test ourselves on the trail, while also experiencing a world famous wilderness trail that happens to be right in our backyard. All of the choices, sacrifices and hard work we had taken to rebuild ourselves and our bodies after years of neglect were really paying dividends as it became increasingly clear how rare such an opportunity is. And how few had really come before us in terms of running the trail in a day. It’s just so remote, that it becomes logistically challenging and even impossible for some.

Reaching the lighthouse at Carmanah Point was really awesome, as it was shrouded in mist and the surrounding point was so rugged, that the equipment and set up for supplies to even reach the lighthouse or for a boat to be dispatched as intense. And we found ourselves in a great conversation with a couple that were in running shoes! But hiking. We talked footwear for a little bit, for some reason, explored around the lighthouse and moved on, knowing that the famed Chez Moniques was approaching about a kilometre along. Another world class aid station! We started talking of burgers and fresh water as we made our way along. I had always heard about Chez Moniques, but could not have appreciated how truly special a place it was without visiting in person. It was to be the first time for both of us, as Stew had not stopped there on his previous visit.

When we arrived, we headed to the kitchen where Monique was working with her crew. She asked us whether we were running the trail in the day, which we were, and she then gave us unlimited access to the fresh, drinkable water flowing into the kitchen. It was so nice to drink bottle after bottle of untreated water after using way too may treatment tablets to that point. The raven was back around watching over us as we enjoyed some of the tastiest burgers of our lives at a table in the sound on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. It was truly sublime. We spent another hour of our day hanging out there and talking to other visitors. In truly Canadian fashion, we apologized to the Swiss family (parents with three teenage girls) who had come all this way to hike the trail to be in fog and mist. They quickly dismissed our apologies, noting it was one of the most beautiful places they had ever seen and you can’t control the weather, which also made it more beautiful. Important reminder: don’t apologize for everything! What we didn’t know at the time, was that this would be one of the last days Monique would spend at the beach where she had done this for 35 years. Illness required her and her family to depart shortly after our time there and she passed away soon after. It was a privilege to have been able to experience the warmth and humanity of such a beautiful person in her final season on the trail.

After Chez Monique’s, there is about 8km of sandy beach to hike. This may sound awesome, but after the 50km we had put on our legs at that point and another hour break, it was a slog. So we made a smart decision, both physically and spiritually. We would walk the beach, enjoy the views and take in more of what was quickly becoming one of the most memorable days of our lives. We alternated between walking on the soft sand and walking on the sandstone shelfs that reach out into the sea, but which were covered in a few inches of water and involved avoiding tide pools. It was pure magic. And more of the raven. As we reached the end of the beach, we came upon the largest flock of seagulls we had ever seen. There were thousands. It was loud and, given the location, beautiful. So only one real choice. Run right into the sitting flock as fast as we could and see what happens. There was something transcendent about running through what became a cloud of buzzing and squawking seagulls at the end of an 8 km beach walk. I made my arms into airplane wings and zigged and zagged through it all, feeling the pure joy of childhood play. That doesn’t happen every day anymore. As we reached the end of the beach, we knew that we were in the forest for the remaining 23km of the trail, and that things would only get harder. It did sap some of our energy and bliss knowing we had so far to go, that they day was growing longer than we had anticipated and that our families were waiting for us, and at some point, our wives would begin to worry about us. We continued to plod along, but the trail got more technical, the climbs and ladders more challenging and our energy quickly diminishing. Each marker seemed to grow farther apart. And each little section of boardwalk (particularly the recently rebuilt ones) marked the briefest and most appreciated refrain from the vigours of the trail. And the raven was gone.

We knew that the last 9 km of the trail would be the hardest. And they were. Night fell, so we found ourselves in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, knowing that our families would be worried and slogging at a slower and slower pace as the hours passed by. Up and down. Up and down. The ups seemed always to be at least twice as long as the downs, which became mentally taxing. The darkness of the trail was interrupted only by the frequent crossing of mice and voles on the trail, who were as surprised to see us as they should have been. More surprised, however, was the Russian couple with their tent sent up in the middle of the trail in the forest, smoking cigarettes and fighting. We imagined it was about the fact that their planning had them camping in the forest with no facilities, less comfort and only 5km from the trailhead. Only 5km to go for us, though!

It was easily the longest 5 km of our lives, hitting 10:00 p.m. and then 11:00 p.m. and knowing that Erin and Jen would almost be certainly starting to freak out. And then we heard it. A couple of whoops. They had seen our head lamps in the forest! A couple of whoops back. We were almost there. We were safe. We were about to climb down the final river and charge across the Gordon River to huge hugs and cold beers. And warm blankets.

But the river had changed. Maybe the tides weren’t perfect for every part of our day. What had been a seemingly innocuous river crossing of 60 cold but swimmable feet the day before had become hundreds of feet across. And we were cold. And getting colder by the second. Without having even touched the river. Erin and Jen had made plans for us, though, guessing our resolve to swim the river might wane over the course of a long and arduous day. They had an inflated paddle board and took turns ferrying us across the river. Which revealed one final treat from the trail. Phosphorescence. As the vivid green patterns spiralled away from the board we each reached the other side and climbed into sleeping bags by a propane firepit. And were fed. And drank a beer. That was too cold. And then quickly headed back to our campsites to sleep.

The next day we woke to a beautiful day, insanely sore legs and a lingering joy in finishing what we had set out to do. Accomplishing childhood dreams and adulthood fantasies. As we lounged in our camp chairs, drinking coffees and looking back at the photos we had captured, we came upon an absolute gem. The selfie that we took while waiting for our paddle board ferry at the end of the trail. It captured pure joy. We each bore smiles that cannot be created for a camera, but only by a sense of adventure, struggle, beauty and achievement that such a journey entails. And out over the river, the raven.