KOA Campground
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on September 3, 2017
Our patience was rewarded in Southern Washington, when we finally came again to winery country. The new tires purred over the lovely american roads. We headed ever southward, hitting a few wineries on the way. We had now come about 1600km so far. The RV was running fairly well, with the Auto Park issue that had troubled us on the way home from Burn in the Forest not reappearing. There was a parking feature that locked the driveshaft when the vehicle was in park. Very handy for keeping the beast from rolling away. The idea was that it unlocked when you shifted into drive. We had found that in the chilly morning near Mount Robson we had stayed the night at, the auto park did not want to disengage. A little bit of fussing between reverse and neutral, and the auto park had released. It was on the list of stuff to do, but so were tires! One thing at a time. I was more worried about the old coolant system overheating on the steep hills that we were criss crossing. So far, so good. There was a decent amount of passing lanes, and no one had to be stuck behind us for too long.
One issue we did have to face with the RV was sometimes very small parking lots at the wineries. They were usually on fairly steep hillsides, and the owners were understandably reluctant to carve out some of their grape growing hillside to accommodate larger vehicles. Here, the tour buses had paved the way, and most wineries had sufficient space to park our RV, if not always the ideal amount of space. We drove and sampled, purchasing bottles that tickled our fancy. We had a wine case tucked into our shower in the RV, and we slowly filled it with bottles. Then we had to get another case box! We took turns sampling more and driving, and our pace was sedate enough to allow this. The wineries were reasonably spaced out here, not nearly as dense as south Osooyos. It was a lovely time, and eased the knots of preparation from my shoulders.
Finally we ended up in our last camp site of the trip, Scarce 100km away from the event, we had reserved a site weeks ago, and parked there for one last night. A few of us had been planning on meeting there, and sure enough, we found familiar faces! That night, we took on a friend who had driven straight down, giving her a couch to sleep on, instead of having to unpack her tent and sleeping bag. The next morning, we met another friend we hadn’t seen since Burn in the Forest. She had been hoping to do early entry on the Wednesday, but her ride share hadn’t been keen, or hadn’t been able. Since the early entry pass had cost an extra $70 CAD on top of the festival ticket price of about $400, it was sad to miss out. We mentioned we had extra carrying room, and she eagerly hopped aboard. The early entry gates were set to open at noon on Wednesday, with dire threats for anyone who came earlier than that. We filled the massive gas tank one more time, and rolled out for Eclipse Festival at about 11am. Soon!
Tires
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on September 1, 2017
The northern end of Washington turned out to be barren of wineries. I was shocked, as the southern BC wineries had run right up to the border. On this side however, the land was given over to fruit trees. We drove past them, searching in vain for a tasting room. Ah well, maybe in the next state. As we had been fussing the RV that morning, I had chanced to look at the drivers front tire. We had been mucking about with the airbags that assist the front suspension, and that had given me a good chance to see the tire. I had known there was some inside shoulder wear on that tire, and had taken pains to check for a loose ball joint when inspecting it before purchase. I hadn’t found one, the RV drove straight, so I wasn’t much worried. However, it appeared the wear had accelerated rapidly during our last BC trip. The inside shoulder was now dangerously worn down. Well, RV tires may be expensive, but towing an RV is even more expensive. We stopped in the town of Omak, and set about finding two RV tires. Two hours and a little over a thousand US dollars, and we were on our way again. The cost stung, but we congratulated ourselves on avoiding the tow bill… well, avoiding it this time for this reason. I won’t tempt the car gods by claiming to have avoided a tow bill altogether! The future is uncertain, especially where older RVs are concerned.
Kelowna
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on August 29, 2017
The sky was clear, and no smoke was in the air. From a province so recently consumed by forest fires, it was surprisingly idyllic. The waterfront at Kelowna was a bustling hive of relaxing people, despite a brisk wind whipping the waves up. Adults lounged on the grass, and children swarmed an inflatable adventure park set up just offshore. I spied some serious looking young adult staff, and figured a spontaneous boarding party of semi clothed adults would be pretty strongly discouraged. We passed up the tempting adventure park and strolled around downtown Kelowna. The statues in the area were lovely, and the water fountains were whipped into interesting new patterns by the wind. We had managed to hit a few wineries on the way into town, wandering thru the hills just north of Kelowna. There is some serious money up that way! I have never seen so many luxury cars on such narrow roads. We took turns navigating the RV along these twisting roads. Justin displayed an excellent perception of exactly how much space we needed, and balls of steel. I eventually gave up looking at the road too much, as it was more relaxing not to!
Justin had arranged to purchase another telescope and tripod from a person living in the area, and we stopped to pick it up. He added it to the herd of telescopes and tripods already in RV residence, and we carried on. Don’t ask me why this one was better, it had something to do with the tripod. As it was Sunday late afternoon by this point, we didn’t linger too long. A quick snack of some of the items likely not welcome at the border, and we pressed on south. The whimsically named towns of Summerland, Peachland, Freestone Peaches (really? was that a town?) slipped by in the gathering dark. There were many signs advertising wine tastings, wine tours, and any wine related activity you could care to name. I was hoping to cross over the border that night, and then hit some wineries on the other side, while still in the Osoyoos Valley. We drove on, tho we were both tired from the night drive the previous night. Passports at the ready, all citrus eaten, wine neatly counted and boxed, we reached the border. A disinterested guard asked where we were from as he scanned our passports, then where we were going that night. We had plans to park at an RV park in Oroville, just over the border, and told him as much. Handing back our passports, he waved us on, telling us to have a good trip. I blinked at Justin. He hadn’t even asked how long we were staying, which was surely in the bare minimum of questions! I swear, Justin has miraculous abilities to appear harmless. Oroville was not much further, and we parked without incident. As the night was quite clear, nothing would do for Justin but to set up his new telescope and view some stars. I left him to it and retired for some well earned sleep.
Eclipse Departure
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on August 27, 2017
The tail end of summer 2017, and it hasn’t been a great summer so far for me. Too much personal stress, likely a pretty good sign I needed to work on my own self a bit. Ah well, self improvement can wait until the long nights of winter, when there is nothing to distract, and only the endless hours of darkness ahead. For now, enjoy the last month of warmth and sunshine. The back to school flyers are circulating already, reaching out to drag summer bronzed young people back to the stuffy classrooms. I emphasis with their distress, and deal with my own problems in my time tested way.
I ran away. Funny how when the problem is in your head, it tends to follow.
The new (to us) RV had already been tested on a voyage to BC, out to a festival near Hope. I had been holding the RV in a state of mild distrust, fearing the RV gods would demand a mechanical sacrifice. They so often turn their eyes to the festival crowd, cutting down vehicles on the path to an event. Of course, most festival RVs have only a passing encounter with anything resembling regular maintenance, so the rate of attrition was hardly surprising. By the time an RV ends up at a festival, it has usually seen a few years. Our RV (yet to be named to mutual satisfaction) had made it up and over the Coquehalla, and even back again! This mountain pass sees quite a few break downs, and an overheating leading to vehicle fire is not an unusual event. When our RV trundled over the summit and happily down the other side, I had breathed a sigh of relief. A quick visual inspection of the brakes on the other side showed no serious signs of overheating either. I felt my heart open a bit, to allow this new vehicle in. I had accepted it, and was now prepared to shoulder the upkeep. Not uncomplainingly mind you, I reserve the right to bitch at the mechanical trials I endure.
We left Edmonton comically and unsurprisingly much later than anticipated. I find this does actually help me now, as I have lots of time to let my mind wander as I wait. I usually remember the last few things I ought to pack, and my rate of forgotten items is much less than it used to be. A last minute visit with Justin’s family, and we were off into the growing darkness. Eager to put some kms behind us, I had purchased an energy drink, and had a compelling audio book all ready to go. On the highway, I set the cruise control, and sunk into the world that was being described to me. I eagerly set aside my own problems to listen to the struggles and triumphs of the characters in the audio book. All they needed was a magic sword to find their way thru. Ah, escapism.
Rain pattered down on the wide windshield, with the wipers making comically staggered swipes to clear. Ye olde mechanical linkage with leverage points. Less than a smooth effect for wipers, but long lasting and effective. The rain was no doubt dragging the smoke that hung over most of BC down, and I had hopes for a glorious morning. Perhaps I would see it from behind the steering wheel, perhaps just the next day when I woke up. There is a certain freedom to travelling with your bed already set up. Justin dozed on the couch behind the passenger seat. I tried to drive gently, and did a much better job this trip of not hitting the rumble strips. That was never a fun way to wake up. The hours passed, and eventually the stimulants lost the battle. We had made good progress in the night hours, the road mostly empty and nothing to stop me from taking the corners as fast as I dared, other than consideration for my sleeping partner and a healthy dash of fear for top heavy vehicles and their relation to gravity. I pulled the RV into a vacant lot in Blue River in the hours before dawn. Several other RVs had stopped here, all facing the same direction and quiet. A herd of lumbering beasts bedded down for the night, grouped together for protection from predators. In this case, an over zealous park warden was our most likely harasser.
Justin wanted to sleep without moving much more than he felt like driving. I couldn’t blame him, the BC roads had been less than restful. We curled up in the bed, grasping an hour or two before the sun would rise over the mountains we knew surrounded us.
Symbiosis Eclipse, Aug 2017
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on August 25, 2017
How often does a solar eclipse come along?!? Turns out, rather more frequently than I had thought. But there was a cool festival around it this time, In Oregon, We decided to go for it!
JdF Trail Day 3
We woke up early on Chin Beach. Justin had brought his cell phone, and turned it on to set the alarm for the next morning. I think he had it on airplane mode to conserve battery. No sense the phone looking for a signal that just wasn’t there. So we were able to get up at 7am, much to my relief.
Today we were hiking about 9km of “difficult” section, then back into “moderate”. We hoped to make it to Payzant Creek, a campsite 20km away. By far our most ambitious distance since the easy last section of the WCT, two years ago. Hopefully “difficult” was a lot easier than “most difficult” of yesterday. If we failed to hit our mark, there were two campsites halfway or less that we could land at instead. But that would leave quite a distance to go on the last day, and push back our return to the truck. And come dangerously close to the wedding prep day. I figured the bride would not thank me for disappearing into the woods right up to the day she was to be married. Give me some credit though, as I did remember to call her before we dropped out of cell service, and advise her of our plans. So, trek 2okm on a trail we were rather unfamiliar with, or risk the wrath of the bride.
We set off early.
The first 8km were indeed rough, with roots and mud being the rule. There were a few more uprooted and toppled trees, cutting off the old path, with new path being forged into the hillside above the slide.
We reached a suspension bridge in the middle of this rugged section, spanning a particularly steep gully, with a rushing creek at the bottom. I peered down the sheer sides of the banks, and was glad there was a bridge way out here. On the other side, we started climbing steeply up a treed slope. It seemed to go on and on, upwards, switching back and forth. Justin led the way, a veritable spring in his step it seemed to me. I trudged up, leaning on my poles, and panting. Justin was carrying the food bags, which we had eaten some food out of, thereby making them lighter. That must be it, I told myself.
At the top of this steep hill, we were treated to a smooth flat path, broad enough for both of us to walk side by side. It appeared to be an old service road, now dug across to prevent vehicles from making their way in, and incorporated into the trail. I was just as happy to stride along for a while, not tripping over roots. Soon enough it ended however, and we skirted the crest of a deteriorating slope, back towards the ocean. The path down was quite rough, with toppled sections of path were steps likely used to be. This left some serious drops, usually from about waist high. We scrambled down these as possible, loath to leap and jar our knees. Not to mention the sheer risk of landing poorly and damaging an ankle. There were other hikers on the path, but not that many, so sending word for help would be a serious challenge, in case of trouble.
The path finally rejoined the ocean, or at least we could hear it again through the typical screen of bushes and small coastal trees. For an oceanside hike, there were few views of the actual ocean. those we did have were predictably similar. Ocean, bull kelp, and black rocks. Much less scenic than the WCT, that was for sure. An easier hike overall, however.
The path forked, and we were gratified to see a sign pointing down to Sombrio Point. We were nearing the end of the difficult section! As it was near lunch, we followed the steep path down to Sombrio Point. I was not keen to hike back up to the main path, but it was the only named point on the tiny paper map we had printed out. There had to be a reason for that, surely.
It turns out that Sombrio Point is a breathtaking black rock jutting out into the sea, with a paler rock land bridge leading up to it. We dropped the packs and spent a few minutes scrambling over the rocks, with the waves crashing around us. There was a thick bed of huge mussels in one crevice, but I just couldn’t figure out a way down to them. And they were constantly being washed by waves. Not safe then, but they looked tasty!
Back at the backpacks, I broke out my lunch/ snack bag. A Clif Builder bar for lunch, my usual. A handful of honey roasted peanuts and some pork jerky. Washed down with some water I had pumped and purified from a stream. I am sure that stream water is the best tasting water, and with my little ceramic purifier, I was reasonably reassured I wouldn’t be laid low by water bugs. A small concern here according to some, but the forest also added particulate to the water, turning it brown. Apparently harmless, but somewhat unappetizing. So the purifier helped on that front as well.
Lunch done, I pulled off my hiker and tended to a sore spot on my pinky toe. All the downhill had not been kind to my knees, nor this toe in particular. And the uphill was causing a rub on my right heel. So. First the moleskin went on, to preserve the skin before it blistered. Then ductape over that. In the case of my heel, I taped from base of heel up to nearly my calf. The old tape had slipped down last time, so I was taking no chances this time. Foot suitably armoured, I laced my muddy shoe back on, and zipped my gaiter back up. Gaiters had been very useful this trip, keeping the mud from falling into our footwear. Mine were also snug enough to prevent my shoelaces from untying. Something about my Keen hikers. The laces didn’t like to stay tied up, not on this pair, nor the pair before. Ah well, otherwise a good shoe.
Back on the trail, we were supposed to be on the “moderate” section. However, the next km proved to be just as difficult as the previous 7km, with fallen trees and hillside slides causing soft footing, mud bogs, and detours. We trudged onwards.
Sombio Beach campsite was next, a lovely spot in the protected sweep of a bay. We hiked along the beach, and a gentle rain started to fall. It had been spitting a bit earlier, but nothing too serious. We had the rain covers over our backpacks, and Justin had a jaunty little rain hat that I was both appalled by and envious of. We were suitably geared for the rain, and it wasn’t even raining too hard. So we trudged on.
Somewhere at the north end of Sombrio Beach, we had missed the turnoff to get back to the trail. There was a significant stream to cross, and the rocks were slippery and green. There was a suspension bridge upstream. Hmm, that’s where the trail was then. We just missed the beach exit trail.
The rocks on the side of the creek turned out to also be slippery. And the banks were closing in, getting steep. Justin spied a promising looking trail, and we ascended the bank, pushing along the narrow trail. Soon, narrow became overgrown, which declined steadily to game trail, then to a thin spot in the bushes. We persevered of course, because to do otherwise was to turn around. And the trail had to be just ahead. Ok, a little more… The thought did flash through my mind that this was how people got lost. But really, the stream was just over there… somewhere. I couldn’t hear it anymore. Finally we crashed out of the bushes, onto a wide and well worn path. I looked at Justin. Pine needles were caught in his beard hair. I laughed, and unclipped my bag. I could feel the needles clumped up at the back of my neck. We both stripped off our shirts, and brushed the forest debris off each others sweaty skin, off our packs. Might as well have a snakc while the packs are down. And pee in the bushes.
Suitably refreshed, we got back on the trail. the suspension bridge was smaller than the last one, only a meter or so above the creek. It was well worn by many feet, there being road access to a parking lot near to the lovely and sandy Sombrio Beach. Well, some parts of the beach were sandy. Or the rocks were really small. Something like that.
The next few km of trail was indeed moderate. There were many gentle slopes, though still quite a few steep ones as well. It was much muddier here, and the rain continued to fall off and on. The log bridges crossed lovely little streams, but were very slippery. In my haste to make the 20km goal of the day, I strode out onto one bridge, barely remembering to check my stride in time to hit the wood. my fear was unfounded however, the bridge was not too slippery. The root on the other side of the bridge which I stepped down onto was actually quite slippery. My foot flew out from under me, and I toppled over, towards the bank and not the stream fortunately. I tried to catch myself with my pole, as had worked so many times before. This time I was moving too fast, and simply wretched my shoulder as I fell. I crashed down on my right hip, legs tangled in the undergrowth and folded under me, arm jerked up high.
Justin hurried over, gracefully avoiding the slippery patch. The concern in his voice as he asked how he could help! I lay there, and said I just wanted to have a little cry. That startled a chuckle out of him, and brought a smile to my own face. I unclipped my bag, and heaved myself to my feet. Mud was liberally smeared all over my legs, both from the fall, and from trudging through mudholes all day. I gave myself a once over, and declared myself sound enough to continue. We started walking again, slowly so that I could test out my limbs. All seemed to be in order, and we soon resumed a good pace. A little slower than before.
The day dragged on. We passed piles of bear crap on the trail, so took to talking when we were among the berry bushes. Both of us were tired, but managed to find a little energy to discuss what foods we were craving. Justin wanted nice cheese bread. I wanted chevapi, the little sausage buns we had in Croatia.
Our feet dragged on. I barely cared to try and avoid the puddles anymore. We passed both our back up campsites, and a parking lot that was a long ways from the main road. I was tempted to make our exit there anyways, but we plugged on. Only 3km to Payzant Creek! We can do it!
The last two km passed slowly. our pace had certainly slowed down. The light was noticeably dimmer. There were some boardwalks in the trees, and strangely, some interpretive signs giving info about the temperate rain forest we now walked through. I encouraged Justin as much as I could. His feet were soaked through, and rubbing. I couldn’t feel my feet, other than pummeled lumps I kept putting in front of each other. Stumbling grew much more frequent.
Finally, we made it to Payzant. We crossed a sturdy bridge and found the welcome little sign with map that we had come to associate with campsites and trailheads. The campsite was on the side of a hill, about 1km from the ocean. Hmm, that hadn’t been very well displayed on the little map we had. Oh well, time to unload and dry our socks. Oh. No fires allowed. And its raining again. In a rain forest.
It was a wet and frustrating night that night. I nearly broke down and cried with a feeling of being overwhelmed with silly little things, but Justin was there for me, helping and hugging. We finally settled down after a good meal, in the silly little depressions they provide at Payzant. I had reason to praise the sealed floor of my new tent that night. Despite our careful trenching in the hard packed earth, water pooled in the tent area, growing to about 3cm deep under us. The floor held however, and we were only mildly damp in the morning.
I did wake in the middle of the night with the feeling I might need to pee. I firmly quashed that idea, listening to the rain patter down. I couldn’t imagine the annoyance of getting my bum out to pee, then getting dry enough to shimmy back in bed. I was truly envious of Justin, who simply aimed from the door, and let fly.
JdF Trail Day 2
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.
Juan de Fuca Marine Trail, Day 1
Finally, the day to begin the trail. Now that we didn’t have the bikes, we simply drove the truck and trailer to the Juan de Fuca Marine Trailhead parking lot. There is a place to grab an envelope and tear it into three sections. Section 3 goes on your dash, to prove you registered, so you can park at the trailhead. Section 2 goes with you in your backpack, to prove you registered, so you can camp at the provided campsites. Section 1 goes in the vault/post thingie at the start of the trail, with $10 per person per night in it, cash only of course. So parking wasn’t an issue, though we took up a lot of room with the trailer. I felt vaguely guilty about that, so left a note on the dash next to our receipt, apologising.
With that, we set off. Around the crack of 11. Oh well, if we weren’t getting an early start, we did get a lot of needed sleep, and at least we were on the trail finally. Packed and ready, and I was pretty sure I had everything I needed. And if not, it probably wasn’t that important anyways.
From the Juan de Fuca trailhead parking lot (shared with China Beach day use area parking lot) we headed off towards Mystic beach. The day was overcast but warm enough, and the first section of the hike was easy, a well worn trail through tall trees, with clear ground below, owing to the dense and soaring canopy far over our heads. We made our way over a suspension bridge, jumping and swaying the bridge under each other’s feet. Two kilometers later, and one steep staircase cut out of a fallen tree, we ended up on Mystic Beach.
The fog had clung to the flanks of the island, and aptly named Mystic beach faded away into the mist. A waterfall splashed down in the distance, a rope swing appeared as someone swung on it, and campers sprawled out, a late breakfast before them, a late start on their last day of the trail, so close to the end. And before it all, the ocean. The gentle waves found in the Juan de Fuca strait lapped at the sandy shore, the reassuring susurrus that would be the acoustic backdrop to this adventure.
We smiled, taking it in, resting under the weight of our bags. As it was still early, we pushed on for the next campsite, Bear Beach. It was only another 6 km down the trail, at marker 8.7km. We were still in the “moderate” section of the trail. Should be no problem!
We trudged down the beach, stride easy, and settling into the rhythm of the trail. I was taking it all in, letting my mind cast over what we would need for dinner that night, and how I would unpack my bag. A gentle thought process, comfortable in the cadence of my stride. The kilometers before us, the few behind us. I was ready for this adventure, and looking forward to the next few days by the ocean. I had prepared for this, had packed carefully, and felt confident in my gear. I was getting pretty good at this whole hiking thing, I mused to myself. I was ready for anything!
It was around kilometer 4 that I realized I had forgotten to pack toilet paper.
Prepping for the Trail
Posted by Nadia in Getting There, Hiking, Places on September 22, 2016
Nothing is ever simple when travelling with two people. I can’t even imagine how larger groups get it done at all.
One sleep in the parking lot of a Walmart, with police cars going by. One early morning visit to Save On grocery, to look for fresh bread and contact lense solution. One wait in the ferry line, as the Sunday morning ferries were packed. I recommend reservations, as we had meant to do, but forgotten. Also, taking even our short little trailer across to the island, with two people and a truck with an extended cab (as they charge by the foot, and then per person) was expensive! It cost us $200 to get across.
Justin and I stopped off at the MEC in Victoria, and one of the sales people there directed us to Robinsons, a gear store just up the street. Much less busy than MEC, and they had a great sales rack upstairs. We topped up our gear in both places, and headed West on the island, past Sooke. Out of cell phone range. There is something divine about escaping the reach of the outside world.
We stopped at a campground near the beginning of the trail. Full. Oh wait, all the reserved spots are full, but they keep a couple first come spots, a few of which are double sites. We chose to take one half of the large site already claimed by a couple with a tent. They also had a really sweet dog, a silky mutt with soulful caramel coloured eyes who didn’t even bark, just waited to be introduced and then tried to climb into my lap. I threatened to take her home with us, the couple said she would try to come with us, and Justin gave me that look which means I can find a new place to live. So in short, the usual scenario with a friendly dog.
The wood for sale was green, so we skipped a fire, just packed our bags for the trail and collapsed into bed. That night was the sleep I needed. We slept soundly, cocooned in our comfortable trailer, undisturbed by road noise, drunken campers, bears, nothing. We slept the sleep of builders and do-ers finally at rest. For about 12 hours. Seems like we needed it!
Keys Are Like Passports, Kinda
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on September 20, 2016
The plan was simple. Well, kinda. Load the motorbikes into the bed of the truck. Hitch the camper trailer to the truck. Drive 12 hours to Vancouver. Visit with family Saturday night, catch a ferry to Vancouver Island. Drive to the southeast end of the Juan de Fuca Marine Trail on the coast. Drop off the trailer. Drive the truck loaded with bikes to the northwest end of the Juan de Fuca trail. Unload the bikes, leaving the truck at the end. Ride the bikes back to the trailer at the beginning of the trail. Hike 47km along the Juan de Fuca trail, taking in the gorgeous coastal scenery. And probably get rained on. Then arrive at the end of the trail and jump in the truck to go back and collect the bikes and trailer. Then off to a wedding!
The beginning of this was not promising. Justin had tackled the task of putting in some ducts in the basement, and hooking up a new furnace. It had been an ongoing project for some time, but with the chilly mornings, he was feeling compelled to get the furnace hooked up before we left. Before it got really chilly, perhaps in the ten days we were gone. Winter can come surprisingly quickly some years. The furnace ducting was a big job, and it was nearing completion. So Justin split his time, packing for the trip and finishing the ducting work. I helped as I could. Justin ended up finishing on Friday night, which meant we had to leave stupid early on Saturday morning. We were already averaging five hours of sleep each night that week, so mistakes were inevitable. We were both haggard, doggedly and joylessly preparing to leave for a vacation we would surely enjoy once we got there. Surely.
We loaded the bikes into the back of the truck on Thursday night. It was dusk when we finally tackled that task. The mosquitoes were fierce and the night was warm and humid. We loaded the bikes quickly, and hurriedly strapped them down, slapping at mosqitoes. Later. Tighten the straps later. back inside to finish a few more tasks, and collapse into bed to grab a fe whours before the alarm rang the next morning. Too early, always too early. Hook up the trailer on Friday evening, load the last few things, pack the hiking bags. What had been forgotten? I finally reached a point where I didn’t care anymore. Whatever it was, I would do without or buy it in Victoria. After we got some sleep in Vancouver.
Justin put the last few touches on his work, and a quiet hissing filled the house. I blearily peered around. Was that rain on the roof? No, must be wind in the trees. Wait, was it getting warmer? The furnace! Justin had finished it, and the new furnace was quietly heating the house. It was much quieter than the old one. We celebrated with an exhausted hug, and dropped into bed at midnight.
5Am is usually too early, and especially so on a Saturday morning. Justin was not very cheerful when I roused him, and I could hardly blame him. I was frantically upbeat, half due to a desperate attempt to remain awake, partially to convince myself this vacation was worth it, and partially just to annoy Justin. It’s the little things that keep this long term relationship going, I think.
I gulped down some leftovers, cleaned the spoilables out of the fridge, emptied the trash, and the compost. Put the bins near the road, and hopefully our nice neighbours will put them out on the road for garbage day. Justin did some last minute packing of course. I don’t think we spoke. Well, I talked at him a bit, but mutual communication was a bit too much apparently.
Justin strode in and out of the house a few times. His body language was getting agitated, moreso than the early hour and my offensive good cheer would usually account for. I met his eyes.
“Have you seen my bike key?” he asked me. Now, I have teased him a bit for leaving his keys all over the place, as I routinely hang mine up on a peg so that I can find them again.
I furrowed my brow. “No, I haven’t. I think I left mine in the ignition when we loaded, we were in such a hurry. Did you?”
Justin met my eyes and nodded. “But it’s not there now.”
“My key isn’t there either?” I was feeling a little unease now. I had thought about bringing it in, as I fell asleep the other night, as I was worried rain would get into the ignition cylinder. Maybe I had?
I checked the key hanging spot. No key. I checked the bike ignition. No key. I peered around the back of the truck, in case it had somehow fallen out. No key.
Justin couldn’t find his either. And his tank bag had been jerked to the side.
After some fruitless calls to “24 hour” locksmiths at 6:30am, and a little more searching, we finally admitted that it wasn’t going to work. The bikes were just so much fancy extra weight now. As their security had been compromised, neither of us wanted to leave them in the garage, protected by a flimsy wooden door. So we drove out to a secure storage space just outside of town where we keep them for the winter usually. It had the benefit of being far from where the keys were stolen, and y’know, secure. We dropped them off, and glumly drove back to the house. Getting them mobile again would be a task for another day.
All told, that key theft had taken three hours out of our schedule. So we were not gonna make it for dinner in Vancouver. And now we would have to hitchhike or bus back to the truck, after hiking the Juan de Fuca trail. There goes the fun winding road riding I was looking forward to. All for a stupid key theft. Really, did the thief think we would just leave the bikes at home after that? Or that we wouldn’t notice the keys, and it was just to inconvenience us? Very frustrating.
Loaded up, hooked up, still running on too little sleep and caffeine, we pulled out of Edmonton and headed west. Twelve and a half hours of driving before us, then a parking lot sleep to look forward to before a ferry ride to the island in the morning. We would not be early enough for dinner with family, and we would arrive 4 min too late to catch the last ferry to the island that night. So it was find a parking lot that hopefully isn’t too loud, and set off in the morning.
I’m sure we’ll enjoy it when we get there. Surely.
Wherever you are, Be There 