Backpacking the Juan de Fuca Trail: Canada

An Epic, Soggy Beach Journey

Excited to be in the woods

"Backpacking isn't for the weak of heart. Or hamstrings".

I believe that was a quote from the great explorer Conrad Anker. Or Hunter S. Thompson. If not, I'm sure that someone's said it. Probably when they returned from a multi-day hike of the Juan de Fuca trail in Vancouver Island. Because that trail sucked. Sucked in the most visceral, excruciating way possible.

That's not to say it was a shoddy trail, or that our group of hikers didn't enjoy ourselves. To the contrary, we relished almost every moment of freshness this excursion provided. Like Harvey Dent, the Juan de Fuca was a coin flip, equal parts magnificent wonder contrasted with slippery, slimy, wet, rainy, rock and bug infested paths, torn ankle ligaments waiting to happen.

It provided the ideal backpacking adventure. You're not supposed to enjoy every moment of a trip like this. Your calves, quads and hammies should begin to form a rebellion with each seemingly vertical step. And when they're at the breaking point, punctuated with bone-tingling cramps that render your limps useless, you must push on, sometimes for feet, sometimes for kilometers. But if you keep at it, relief will come.

Camp Profile Pictures

For those of you who don't know us, this is who you're dealing with

Chad. Trip Planner. Resident Canadian. Portable WiFi Hub.

Hef. Patriarch. MacGyver. Walking Supply Chest. Storyteller.

Tara. First Time Backpacker. Motivator. Dancer. Entertainer.

Melody. Pace Setter. Camp Organizer.  Path Tester. Resident Climber.

Greg. Trip Documentarian. Gadget Guy. Beard.

Hunched over, hydrating, catching your breath, Juan de Fuca guides you out of the woods and to the shore. Thirty five feet above the crashing waves, watching the seals heads bob in and out of the noisy water, as your brain, now fully defragged, miles from and i-Anything, registers the intense beauty of its surroundings.

Muscles unclench. Breathing normalizes. A weird horizontal crease forms on both sides of your lips.

Moments like this - not to mention delicious freeze-dried lasagna at night - validate any hiking expedition. Exposed to a new part of the world, a new kind of world, staring out into the muggy and overcast vastness of the Pacific Ocean, all complaints, annoyances and thoughts vacate the mind, presumably dissipating into the intermittent rain that marked the journey.

And so it was as we traversed a section of Juan de Fuca, four midwesterners and two newly minted Canadians. Below are some of the best images from the trip, ranging from the serious to the seriously ridiculous. I know they'll convey the fun we had, and I hope a bit of the pain is in there too. Enjoy.

Tara posing by the trailhead, the sort of picture that if there were some sort of horrific accident, it would be distributed to all the major news outlets. Like those terrible and addictive Friday night Dateline shows where the happy couple ends up burning their house down, and only the husband makes it out alive. Thankfully, for Tara's sake, we all arrived home safely. Still, if something bad were to have happened, the world would be seeing a pretty sweet image. 

Protected from the rain, but not from looking dorky. Initially I thought it was cool that we experienced rain during the hike. I felt like it legitimized my amateur hiking career. The novelty of being constantly wet wore off after approximately two kilometers though. After that point, I felt pretty strongly that I was in favor of the sun coming out for a bit. 

Trying to stay dry on the beach. Probably not the beach experience one thinks of when you say "I'm going to the beach". On the plus side, nobody got sunburned. 

Melody and I had what I call "debate" - what she calls a "conversation" - about whether she should buy a fancy new rain jacket because she lost the $30 one we both bought for our last backpacking trip. Needless to say, her powers of persuasion won out, and the result is this adorably pink bundle of dry Melsky. I, on the other hand, using my cheap option, was forced to double-jacket it. And I still got wet. 

Looking fashionable, it was great to see Melody sport a color other than VS black. 

Melody walking among the gulls. We sat by the restless ocean on the rocky beach with hundreds, if not thousands, of seagulls frolicking in front of us. It felt surreal, like we were in a David Attenborough documentary.  

Morning coffee on the "beach". We had hiked less than half a mile before we realized that after arising pre-dawn, the city slickers in us needed a shot of caffeine. It was beautiful watching the fog roll towards us from the ocean, blanketing the beach trees, threatening to make them disappear. Oh, and Chad was probably rapping when this was taken. 

Thinking: Portrait of a Man. Ensconced in nature on my epiphany rock, the world seemed to slow down as my thoughts unjumbled inside my head, the meaning of life presented to me as clearly as ever. Just kidding, Melody and I saw these dope rocks that we had to climb. The scenery was obviously gorg, until the heavy raindrops came, slickening the surface as if they contained olive oil. When we successfully navigated the rocks and headed towards our makeshift java joint, this stupid dirty hippie gestured to me that we needed to get away from the rocks, as if they were dangerous. If you know me, and understand my history with dirty hippies, you realize that I went ballistic inside, silently telling him to eff off and wash his beard with shampoo. On the outside, however, I simply ignored him. Because that's what adults who have at one point been employed do.  

Here's an example of how I can "ruin" a picture without making a silly face. True love means letting your spouse in on the fun from time to time. What I said to get this reaction from her I have no idea, but I bet it was hilarious. To me. 

Chad, our Simon Bolivar, pointing out the start of the trail. He would lead us on a fairly grueling hike this day, one that began pre-dawn and ended just before 10pm, when all five of us collapsed into our tents. I'd like to say that we never felt lost, but as future pictures will detail, we had some pretty hairy moments. Still, with Chad at the helm, we felt that we were in good hands. 

Caveman: Greetings from the Inside. Worst case scenario we could fight the bears for a spot like this. 

Birdbath. In this small tributary (no idea if this is the proper word, but it sounds good) between the river and ocean, the gulls would bathe themselves and stand on rocks. No mating was had that I could see, but then again I'm not an expert. 

Tara and Hef using a large rock to support them as they traversed hundreds of tinier rocks.  

Vibrant green leafiness met us periodically throughout the trip. Though beautiful and full of life, they added to our collective dampness as we soaked ourselves navigating the overgrown shrubs. 

Tara did amazing on her first backpacking trip! She kept an upbeat attitude and even danced for the group despite a series of gnarly blisters courtesy of her North Face boots. Hef summed it up perfectly when he stated that their slogan should be, "North Face, We're Kind of an Outdoor Company". 

SMURF MUSHROOM!!!

Melody & Co. carefully going down one of the trickier slopes. Though we were never in serious danger, the trail presented a series of challenges like the one above. We made it out unscathed, save for one unfortunate spill. 

And here it is. Ever the good sport, Chad confirmed with me that no bones were broken, then waited for me to grab my camera to capture him at his pretzeliest. 

This is a banana slug, right? Has to be. I touched one. And it was gross. 

Another shot indicating just how tricky the terrain could be. 

Melody's brother Neil actually bought this for me years ago. As you can see, he edited it to say "Cinnamon Apple Love". And let me tell you, it tasted just like he described. I mean, after almost 10 hours of hiking, a plastic bag would have tasted delicious...

Action shot of Tara jumping from one log to another!

The scariest thing about this bridge wasn't the potential deadly fall, but rather the gigantic wasps nest at the end of it. A younger group of backpackers found this out the hard way, proudly displaying their stingy welts to prove it. 

Mother Nature's Number One Couple

Chad & Co. disappearing into the brush, basically like was done in the movie "Congo". 

Hef: The Man!

Hef: Still The Man!

Hef: The Man (who haunts your dreams)!

Trying to stay dry on the massive rope bridge that felt like it could cave in at any moment. 

This looks totally tame, but was actually quite tenuous since every slick and slimy rock was a banana peel waiting to happen. 

Melsky and I posing in front of our pitched tent after a full day of backpacking. By the time the shutter snapped we were both fully passed out from exhaustion. 

Melody and I pondering the meaning of life on the epiphany rock. That and praying for not-rain. 

This is what happens when you yell "Throw it here!" to your wife, who is holding your camera while you are standing on a deep pile of logs. Luckily my Pentax is indestructible, and I'm wiry enough to quite literally slip through the cracks. 

Chad and Melody pondering whether to scale the pile of driftwood or go around it. Each way had it's tradeoffs. Circumventing them could result in a slip into the water; not fatal, but it would result in a day's worth of discomfort. Scaling it means the potential to fall face forward with the weight of your backpack slamming you into the rocks like a roided out wrestler. I don't remember what we did, but we're all here standing today. 

The serene beauty of nature provides time for self-reflection, purging the soul of the stressors and noise of daily life. It moves the mind towards clarity of thought, unburdening the shoulders, for however short a time period it may be, of the weight we put on ourselves. This is Chad, disconnected from WIFI, 4G and his iPhone. Chad 2.0. 

It should be stated that Chad 2.0 is embracing nature to the extent that he's literally stopping to smell it. Maybe we should shoot for Chad 1.75. 

CLAMS. Clams, clams, clams, clams, clams, clams!!!

The Chadsquatch

Chad working the ropes while I don't exactly hope that my friend will fall down, but I stand ready to fully document it if he does so. 

Immediately after this was taken, Chad split the stick in half like a struck-out baseball player, and him and Nick battled for king of the rock supremacy. I won't say who won, but if you look at Hef's picture above it should give you a decent idea. 

Another great shot of the "beach" that typified a portion of the Juan de Fuca trail. The layered rocks weren't so bad; just hard compared to the dirt trail and sometimes slick. We did see bear droppings throughout, which scared the bejeebers out of us, while at the same time crowding around Hef, who always hikes with bear mace. 

Shot of us after our small rock climbing adventure. We were on a lower tier of the rock line, and finally saw a trail entrance we could use to get back on track. Due to a variety of factors, our best option was to help one another up a 10 foot high or so rock platform. It was slightly tricky, but not too bad; the most spine-tingling moment came when Hef threw a water bottle up towards Melody, who, ever the non-quitter, almost followed it back down as it hit a wind gust and flew back towards the rocky base. 

Gregsquatch

Restaurant at the end of the trail where we joined with other dirty backpackers and enjoyed seafood chowder, fish & chips and salmon. Hef had two cheeseburgers. 

The climber, perched atop her driftwood nest. 

Attempting to impress Melody by climbing on an even more difficult piece of driftwood. I don't know much about parenting, but I'm assuming our kids will have to live in a physical bubble for their own protection.

Not typically known for fashion, Hef demonstrates the unique style that obviously won over Tara. That she's sporting a Hefner Construction jacket only makes this more fitting.

This spindly piece of driftwood is here for one purpose and one purpose only: To haunt your dreams!

Man in the Mist

Passing the time with a round of beach bocce ball.

The fog sweeping in was insane. The ocean view was almost entirely obscured by the thick fog, which rolled in slowly, then disappeared into the woods. Absolutely gorgeous. 

Goofing around on our fave piece of driftwood.

Trip Totals