When ‘Oyster’ Jim Martin moved to Vancouver Island in the 1980’s he fell in love with the rugged landscape and rocky headlands of the west coast that he saw from his fishing boat each day and had a dream to create a trail along the coastline that could be accessed and enjoyed by all. Forty years later that vision has grown into the Wild Pacific Trailand today I’m walking the Lighthouse Loop section, which happens to be the first section that was completed back in 1999.
The alarm goes at 6am and by ten past we are on the road, half awake and unwashed with the bed still warm in the back of the van. All is quiet as we drive out of Lake Louise Campground through the sleepy town and out onto the Trans Canada One heading west. The sun is breaking through but clouds still cover the higher peaks and mist floats over the Bow river as we head up Kicking Horse Pass and back into British Columbia and Yoho National Park. The only other vehicles on the road are gigantic trucks, engines labouring up the incline.
My walks in Canada including the rain forests of Vancouver Island and the Canadian Rockies. Click on the walk to read the post or use the interactive map to see the route.
It’s a six hour drive from Victoria, the capital of British Columbia on Vancouver Island to our campsite in Tofino and my nerves are tested on the narrow bendy bit of the Pacific Rim Highway beyond Port Alberni. I am after all, driving on the wrong side of the road and sitting on the wrong side of the vehicle. The journey passes without incident though and as we park up at Tsawaak RV campground a gossamer thin sea mist is drifting in from the ocean obscuring sight and muffling sound. The cold dampness on our skin is refreshing though after the heat of Vancouver and Victoria where temperatures were in the mid 30’c.
In March 1988 Andy and I were enjoying a few days walking in a cold and frosty Lakeland. Having walked up Grains Gill from Seathwaite we were taking a break when we noticed two red clad walkers who were motoring up the path at some pace behind us. “They’re not hanging around,” remarked Andy and as the two speedy walkers drew level we recognised one of them to be non other than Sir Chris Bonington, one of Britain’s best known and celebrated mountaineers. We chatted for a few minutes before Sir Chris went off with his companion to climb Central Gully on Great End which was nicely compacted with frozen snow and Andy and I went off to climb England’s highest mountain for the first time. I’ve walked past that spot in Grains Gill many times since and will do so again today, in the heat of an English summer as I walk up Allen Crags and Seathwaite Fell. Each time I pass by I remember with fondness the day I met a mountaineering legend.
It’s always nice to start a walk straight from the campsite and Chapel House Farm has the added benefit that I can have breakfast looking up at my first hill of the day, Rosthwaite Fell. Wainwright dedicates his book on the Southern Fells, the book I’m currently walking through to “The Sheep of Lakeland, the hardiest of all fellwalkers”. In what has been a sustained spell of dry weather these hardy Herdwicks are suffering a little. Richard, the farmer and campsite owner tells me the dry weather has not been good for his flock of a thousand Herdwicks who are suffering from the lack of water and parasitic infestations growing in their wool. For his livelihood and the sheep’s well-being I hope Lakeland has some rain soon, maybe just not today.
Before starting my book by book journey through Wainwright’s iconic 214 I had climbed many of them before, one hundred and one of them to be precise. Coniston Old Man was one of those and my walking journal tells me I climbed it on Friday 14th August 1987 with a couple of other guys and the weather was clear. To be honest I don’t remember much about that walk but the 80’s and early 90’s were years when long social evenings in the pub were as much a part of any visit to the Lakes as the walking itself so that may account for my somewhat hazy memory.
Tilberthwaite car park is almost full when I arrive, late in the afternoon on what has been a lovely warm and sunny Lakeland day. There are a dozen or so cars and three or four vans that I figure will be keeping me company overnight. By 8pm however everyone has departed and I have the place to myself. Dusk turns slowly into the ink black night of the countryside, far away from neon, where stars can shine bright. I enjoy a quiet evening followed by the sleep of the saved and the thankful with only the owls and the comforting sound of the newly born Yewdale Beck to disturb the silence.
The day is turning into a very fine one for walking as I park in the very same spot I occupied two months ago. The sky is cloudless and eggshell blue, the sun is beaming but it’s April and the temperature is still pleasant and there is not so much as a breath of wind to rustle the leafs. Busyness has been ruling out any visits north but the diary and the weather have both become clear and my season opener is to be a not too taxing leg stretch up Holme Fell.
“But no temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite. Every rock in its wall seems to glow with life.” John Muir
When John Muir, the Scottish born naturalist got off a boat in San Francisco on March 28 1868 the story goes that he asked a carpenter what was the quickest way out of the bustling, chaotic city. “Where do you want to go” said the carpenter, “anywhere that is wild” was the reply. And so it was that later that year Muir saw Yosemite for the first time. Its sheer rock walls and natural beauty cast a spell on him which changed his life and led to him playing a pivotal role in Yosemite’s establishment as America’s third National park and secured his title as the ‘Father of National Parks’.
