We woke up to the dimness of another overcast day on Bear Beach. The waves crashed in, just meters from our tent set up in the slim belt of trees above the winter storm line, and at the base of the cliff to our backs. The sound bounced off the cliff, providing a constant sound, dampening out all others. I had slept very soundly. And we had slept it! I checked Justin’s watch, and found it to be about 9am. Oh my, that was later than I had hoped. It usually took us about two hours to break camp and eat a hot breakfast, so I was a little dismayed. We only had to go 11km today, to Chin Beach campsite, but it would be in the “most difficult” section all the way. I wondered how bad it would be, how it would compare to the West Coast Trail, which was less than 100km from where we were now, further up this same coast. the WCT was indeed difficult. I well remembered our first day on that trail, making only 6km, and a hard 6km it was.
We had made a little fire the night before, gathering driftwood thrown up last winter, during the storms. As it was nearing the end of the season, the driftwood was a little picked over, but we had managed. Justin had brought along a baggie of little pieces of waxed paper. He crumple one up, and stuffed it into the little teepee of old evergreen twigs draped with old man beard type moss and surrounded by small splinters of wood I had erected. The wax paper caught far better than the old moss had, and a little flame licked the twigs. I had gently blown on the fledgling fire, and it had caught on the twigs. A warm fire, a hot bowl of food rehydrated from a package. The constant hush of waves. A little bit of wine. It had been a very nice evening.
This morning, I pulled the fuel and stove down from the tree we had hung it in, just in case. A few cursing attempts with cold fingers, and I had the temperamental stove roaring. Water soon boiled, and breakfast gruel was ready. We had soaked some quinoa overnight, so it took only a little boiling, and therefor a little fuel, to open up the grains. Once they were, I added some more water and dumped in one of the packets I had prepared before we left. A healthy serving of chia seeds, some walnuts, some cranberries, some dried apple slices, nutmeg, cinnamon, and some powdered milk. And some dried goldenberries! Oh man, those little things pack a taste punch that goes perfectly with the more gentle flavours of spices and milk. Stir it up. The chia seeds “puffed” up, the apple slices softened, and the goldenberries plumped up. This is my favorite camping breakfast.
Bellies full, tea in mugs, water shaken off tent as possible, and all packed up, we were ready to go.
We started hiking across the beach, scrambled up a sandstone gully, hopping a small creek sliding down the smooth rock, and began to climb the muddy path. Roots sometimes formed helpful steps, but more often hurdles. I drove my hiking poles into the soft ground, using my arms to assist the upward climb, and slowing my upper body on the downward falls. This turned into the way of things. A steady upward climb, switchbacking up the steep sides of gulleys. Cresting the ridge at the top, switchback down the other side. Cross a small creek using rocks, but more often a slippery and muddy log sawn in half to form a bridge. Start the long hike up the other side. And roots. So many roots to step over, step on, stumble around. There were very few mud bogs, so that was different than the WCT for sure. There were a few “shortcuts” across some of the switchbacks. During one of these shortcuts, I managed to slip (again), but this time landed on a sawn off tree limb while stepping over a log. The limb snagged my lower back, and I awkwardly tried to hold myself off it, using my backpack and legs. Justin hurried back, concern in his eyes. I asked him to grab my pack straps and haul me off the log. Once back up, I inspected the site of injury. No blood, no broken skin even. Just a hell of a sore spot right where the main pad of my pack rests on my lower back. Well. It could’ve been worse. I limped down the trail slowly, settling my back on this new injury, getting used to it. Soon enough, we were back up to speed. A non-limiting injury then. Just sore.
At one point, we hiked way up, switchbacking away from the ocean until we couldn’t even hear the waves anymore. The forest was eerily quiet without the waves, and a thick mist had crept into the trees. The day must’ve been overcast, for the forest was darkened. We were snaking along towards a ridge in this dim misty world when an eerie sight came into view. A straight line! We crept forward, and there before us was an old logging road, grown over and mossed in, but still a level surface in a world of organic shapes. We stood up on the bank and peered down at the oddity, before following the trail that would back into the trees. Soon enough, we were descending again, leaving the signs of roads far behind.
There are supposed to be trail markers every km along the way, but in this most difficult section, we had gone quite a ways without seeing one. Trees had fallen over, hills had slid, requiring new paths to be forged, and wasp nests had been discovered, with the affected hikers leaving signs to detour around them if possible, or which side of the trail to creep by on. It was no wonder that markers fell by the wayside. So when we saw one just ahead, we wagered what km it would be. Justin thought km 16, I figured we had come farther than that, so maybe km 17. We were shocked to find this marker read km 20! So we were less than a km from Chin Beach campsite, which was supposed to be at km 20.6, or 21. I was glad of it, as I felt a little wobbly legged from all the climbing.
Sure enough, the welcoming steps down announced the descent to Chin Beach. Hot food would be soon! And changing out of my muddy hikers, into soft dry camp shoes.
We stumbled along the rocky beach, finding a little clear spot next to a fire ring. Some french speaking girls were camped nearby, and invited us to share the fire they planned on making later that night. Justin rearranged the seating around the fire ring, and I set up camp and made dinner while he gathered wood. He had to range even farther to find suitable wood, but once we got the fire going, it was nice and toasty. We dried our socks by the fire, Justin carefully turning his and monitoring the heat. I had discovered that I had not brought a spare pair of socks for my camp shoes, and the pair I had used this morning to wipe the mud and water off the tent was in fact, my only pair. So I also was drying socks by the fire. I figured the level of caution Justin was displaying was typical of his careful nature in general. My socks were far back from the flames, they should be fine. We sipped tequila lemonaide, and watched the stars. Justin dried his socks perfectly. I melted a hole in mine. Turns out some things actually require that level of attention.
Wherever you are, Be There 