Thrasher Cove

West Coast Trail

In his 16-foot rowboat, powered by an old 10-horse outboard motor,
we headed out into the Pacific Ocean (an obvious mismatch—but
exciting). We got a first hand look at how rugged the west coast of
the island actually was. I'm sure, secretly, Mike was hoping we didn't
end up like those shipwrecked sailors. I know that's what I was
thinking. The West Coast Trail ended in Bamfield, fifty miles up the
coast (hundreds of miles by car). Mike and I agreed we weren't going
to hike the entire trail. The part of the trail we missed by taking
the boat, we would hit on the way back.

We got dropped off on a small beach. Until then, it was all jungle
and jagged rocks. The Indian was right; where he dropped us off was a
good place for a camp. After dinner, we were enjoying a cigarette and
the beautiful view of the ocean (even though it was cloudy and getting
dark) when we heard screaming voices coming toward us. The voices
turned out to be four chicks and one guy who were just now arriving
after beginning their hike six hours earlier.

Standing around our cozy campfire, they'd told us they had a hell of
a time. They got lost a couple of times and found using the ropes to
climb up and down the steep ravines very difficult. They were
scratched and bruised and just plain exhausted. They asked Mike and me
how we reached Thrasher Cove before they did if we left later then
they did. With a mouth full of embarrassment, I told them we paid
three dollars and took the boat.