On the first day at the resort, I’d gone on a nature walk led by a member of the staff, the same fellow who maintains the several “water features” on site, including a gigantic aquarium in the restaurant and a tank of Coho salmon, which I got to feed.
It had been pretty good weather – in the fifties – but a little cloudy, so hearing the first prediction of sun, I decided to drive across the island to the West Coast, about a 2 hour trip.
Started in Ucluelet, a pleasant little town with few tourist amenities, but with easy access to the Wild Pacific Trail, where I took some of the nicest photos of the trip.
We’d talked on the nature hike about the tectonic plates to the West and even the East of the island. That week, after years of inactivity, Mt. St. Helens erupted, and there was a report of an active volcano in the ocean off Vancouver Island.
I’d heard stories about the West Coast having some of the most turbulent waters in the world, and on the day of my visit, the waves were particularly high.
I’m glad to have seen it before the whole thing slides back into the sea.
Stopped briefly up the coast in Tofino, then went back to the resort.
I’d stupidly missed visting the Cathedral in the Pines, a grove of 300+ year old, gigantic trees, so the next day, I headed back on Route 4, the road through the mountains between the East and West Coasts.
Travelling through the Pacific Rim National Park on the way to Tofino, I’d listened to the Ranger weather and tide reports on the radio. Their repeated warnings to hikers about encountering wild animals were an ominous recollection as I walked through the woods, which were described as the forest as it was before the arrival of European settlers.
There were very few visitors that day, and even though the entrance is on the highway, after a short walk, I realized that I was far enough away from the parking lot to be completely by myself in what was, in fact, the edge of a wilderness area.
It had rained earlier in the day, and there were fresh prints, not only footprints, but paw prints, and big ones at that, with distinct claws. Not being much of a naturalist, I couldn’t tell if the prints were from a big dog – or something else.
With only a small camera as a weapon of possible intimidation, I got back to the parking lot as fast as I could.