FRIENDLY COVE, B.C. -- It was our first night on B.C.'s fabled Nootka Island and things were looking idyllic: a Robinson Crusoe-esque beach, clear July skies and a driftwood fire at dusk.
It seemed fine, then, to answer the call of nature. What I didn't anticipate was the horror show that awaited when I squatted at the water's edge. In the orange glow of the Pacific sunset, I was overrun -- literally -- by hordes of small, hopping, shrimp-like creatures that vaulted themselves menacingly across the sand toward my precarious position from all directions, advancing in swarms over my bare feet.
Looking back on my narrow escape from the "beach hoppers," it epitomized three key ingredients of my seven-day Nootka Trail adventure last year: gorgeous coastal vistas, close encounters with wildlife and the humbling awareness of one's physical and mental limits that comes with time spent on foot in true wilderness.
The 35-kilometre trail snakes down the spectacular west coast of Nootka Island, just west of Vancouver Island, separated by a slim finger of water. It's wilder, more remote and less crowded than its more famous counterpart, the West Coast Trail. It's also tougher and more dangerous. The unmaintained Nootka is less than half the length of the WCT, but takes almost the same time to navigate (six or seven days is recommended). There are no bridges, ladders or boardwalks in its rain forest -- just slippery logs, ropes and bogs -- and definitely no patrols by Parks Canada.
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In case of injury on the WCT, evacuation is straightforward. If disaster strikes on the Nootka, according to the bush pilot who flew us to the trailhead, you can always "stand on the beach and do a line dance" to get the attention of a passing floatplane. It was a cute line, but the message was clear: Out here, you're pretty much on your own.
On Day 1, our party of six met at the tiny marina in Gold River, and loaded our backpacks into a single-engine Otter operated by Air Nootka for the 40-minute flight over the mountains and inlets of Nootka Sound, out to the open Pacific, and up the rocky coast of Nootka Island to the start of our trek. Through headsets, we were treated to an information-packed commentary from pilot Grant Howatt, complete with a report on the activities of Luna, the sociable orphaned killer whale that lived in the sound for five years until his death this past March.
After a smooth landing in the shallow waters of Louie Lagoon, we waded to shore amid purple and orange starfish, heaved on our packs, and within moments got a taste of what was to come: near-bushwhacking on a rough trail through towering old-growth trees, over and under enormous fallen logs, and through black muck.
Forty-five minutes later, we stepped out of the cool, dim forest onto the dazzling white curve of Third Beach. (A few days later, we would look back nostalgically on the perfection of this campsite.) We set up our tents and delighted in each discovery -- even the fresh bear scat near the water's edge.
On my lifetime list of "Perfect Days of Hiking," Days 2, 3 and 4 on the Nootka Trail rank very near the top. We spent them in a blue-and-green, glistening meditation of untamed beaches and surf, punctuated by brief forays into the dark forest. Under a hot sun, we negotiated beaches of every kind: sand, pea gravel and egg-sized rocks, beaches of crunchy mussel shells, and flat, seaweed-slick shale. We balanced on driftwood logs and picked our way across acres of marble bowling balls.
The Nootka Trail formula is simple: Hike during low tide and stay on the beaches unless driven into the forest by high water or rocky headlands. The beaches aren't always easy to navigate, but they are infinitely better than the dense and slippery forest.
