Getting To The West Coast Trail

Port Renfrew



Vancouver Island, B.C.
Aug. '72

As Connie had explained it, the story behind the West Coast Trail was
that a long time ago, (sixty years or more), a major storm had wiped
out a lot of ships. The survivors had made it to shore, but the shore
was still a long way from civilization. The mountains and forests
along the island's west coast were impassable. The shipwrecked sailors
had died before they could get help. That prompted the government to
cut a trail through the forest along the coast. With the trail in
place, civilization was only a couple three days away for the
surviving sailors.

The west side of Vancouver Island was still very unsettled, making it
a perfect spot for wilderness hiking enthusiasts. The only problem was
that the fifty miles of very rugged terrain had erased the trail until
just recently. The island's Recreation and Parks Department had just
reopened the trail in order to attract tourists. After getting totally
drunk, we left the bar, and headed off to Port Renfrew, the last town
before the start of the trail. We didn't get very far before we pulled
off the highway and camped. (That was a fun evening for everybody
except Connie's boyfriend. She picked another doozy. That girl, I
guess she'll never learn.)

When I got up in the morning, I found wild blueberries growing
everywhere. I picked a large pan and shared them with Mike (after he
crawled out of the tent). The pan of berries was just the thing to
take away the cottonmouth nausea left over from last night's binge.
Mike thought so too.

Port Renfrew, a little fishing town on the southwest side of the
island, was the last place to buy groceries before reaching the
trailhead. It was late by the time we got stocked up and ready to go.
Mike wired for more money. He figured the money would have plenty of
time to arrive, since we had prepared to be in the backcountry for
four or five days. At the trailhead we found a few cars parked in the
lot. A river separated us from the start of the trail. The sign posted
on the boat dock told us that every hour (or as needed) a boat would
ferry hikers across the river. We were the only hikers there, and it
was already late. There was no boat. It was beginning to look like we
were there for the night then an Indian came out of a little house on
the other side of the river. He got in a boat and started toward us.
My first thought was, "I wonder how much we're going to have to pay
for parking and ferry service?"

I was wrong. He ferried us across the river, but, on the way across,
he told us that we were starting out too late. We would, however, be
able to make it to the first camping area if we let him ferry us to
it. "It would only cost $3. a piece," he said. Not wanting to get
stranded, Mike and I agreed.

Jazz

Chippewa River



In My Backyard

Instead of posting my old journal entries today, I’m taking a day off and posting the pictures that my wife took just a week ago. The park above is where I walk my dog, and is just a few blocks from my house. These morning pictures were taken when the moisture in the air turned to ice. The picture of me above was taken in 2010. Since I’ve also been trying to post, when appropriate, my favorite music (Amazon pictures), you will find below a list of my collected Jazz music. It’s been difficult to include Jazz in this blog, but Jazz is a staple in my music collection. Tomorrow I will be back hiking the West Coast Trail.

CANNONBALL ADDERLY
SOMETHING ELSE
PORTRAIT OF CANNONBALL
NANCY WILLSON & CANNONBALL ADDERLEY
BALLADS

EDDIE ALLEN
ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW

CHET BAKER
DEEP IN A DREAM
Sessioni In Italia
CHET
CHET WITH STAN GETZ

GEORGE BENSON + LPS
BEST OF/
TENDERLY
THE GEORGE BENSON
COLLECTION LP
BREEZEN LP
COLLECTION CD

TERENCE BLANCHARD
FLOW

BOB BELDEN
TAPESTRY

CLIFFORD BROWN
JAZZ ROUND MIDNIGHT

DAVE BRUBECK + LP
LIVE FROM U.K.
ADVENTURES IN TIME LP

GARY BURTON & LP
DEPARTURE
REUNION LP

KENNY BURRELL & LPS
HERITAGE
MIDNIGHT BLUE
KENNY BURRELL GROVER WASHINGTON JR./TOGETHERING LP

BAIKIDA CARROLL
MARIONETTES ON A HIGH WIRE

GEOF CARTER
4 BIRTHDAY JAZZ CDS

RON CARTER
SO WHAT

REGINA CARTER
PAGANINI AFTER A DREAM

STANLEY CLARKE LP
SCHOOL DAYS

CLAYTON & MCBRIDE
SUPERBASS

BLUES FOR COLTRANE/VARIED

JOHN COLTRANE
BALLADS
LOVE SUPREME
BLUETRANE
LUSH LIFE
PLAYS BLUES
IMPULSE YEARS

RAVI COLTRANE
MOVING PICTURES

CHICK COREA & LP
RETURN TO FOREVER
CRYSTAL SILENCE/ GARY BURTON LP
LYRIC SUITE FOR SEXTET/ GARY BURTON LP

MILES DAVIS
E.S.P.
SKETCHES OF SPAIN
BLALLADS
COOKIN’ WITH THE QUINTET
QUITE NIGHTS
BIRTH OF THE COOL
KIND OF BLUE

PAUL DESMOND
SKYLARK

BILL EVENS & JIM HALL
UNDERCURRENT
ULTIMATE BILL EVENS
COMPACT JAZZ

DON FRIEDMAN TRIO
WALTZ FOR DEBBY

JOEL FRAM
NAVIGATOR

ERROLL GARNER LPS
MASTER OF THE KEYBOARD VOL 12&3
JAN GARBAREK GROUP LP
WAYFARER

STAN GETZ
LOST SESSIONS
TWO WORLDS
ULTIMATE
COOL SOUNDS
COMPACT JAZZ
COOL VELVET WITH STRINGS

SHOJI Y. TRIO
GREENSLEEVES

GRANT GREEN
BEST OF/

JOHNNY GRIFFIN
1995

KENNY G & LP
SILHUVETTE
DUOTONES LP

TORD GUSTAVSEN TRIO
BEING THERE

DEXTER GORDON
BALLADS
GO

JIM HALL &PAT METHENY

FAREED HAQUE
SACRED ADDICTION
VOICES RISING

LIONELL HAMPTON
MOSTLY BLUES

HIROMI
ANOTHER MIND

HERBIE HANCOCK
DIRECTIONS IN MUSIC/BECKER & HARGROVE
MAIDEN VOYAGE

PHILIP HARPER
SOULFUL SIN

JOE HENDERSON
Best Of Blue Note Years
PORKY AND BESS

BERTHA HOPE TRIO
IN SEARCH OF

PAUL HORN & LPS
RIIERA CONCERT
INSIDE II LP
INSIDE TAJ MAHAL LP
INSIDE THE GREAT PYRAMID LP

BOBBY HUTCHERSON
Best of Blue Note Years
VIB WISE

JAZZTIMES SUPERBAND

KEITH JARRET LP
THE SURVIVORS’ SUITE

MILT JACKSON
REVERENCE AND COMPASSION

JAZZ
Classic Jazz Time Life
Vol. 1234
60 YEARS OF BLUE NOTE
REALISTIC FIRST CLASS JAZZ
FREEDOM ACID JAZZ
ATLANTIC LEGENDS CONNOISSEUR SERIES SAMPLER/JAZZ
JAZZ FOR THE OPEN ROAD
JAZZ A LIVE


MANU KATCHE
PLAYGROUND

JOHN KLEMMER DLP
TOUCH
LIFE STYLE LP
WATERFALLS LP

HOW ABOUT JAZZ

EARL KLUGH & LP
SANJAUN
TRIO

The list continues and if you include Blues, it continues on for 8 more pages (the above equals 4 pages).

Little Qualicum Falls

Vancouver Island, B.C.
July, '72

The place was just as I had remembered it, an ethereal spectacle. Its
bedrock enclaves of churning whitewaters and crystalline blue pools
really flipped Mike out. We spent the rest of the day just hanging
out. We found a secluded blue water pool to swim in. We were off the
beaten path, so we shed our clothes and dove in. As we laid our arms
on the silver gray rock ledge, with warm sunlight beating down on our
shoulders, and sparkles of light rising off the rushing waters that
were massaging our naked bodies, we experienced that other world--that
acid world--in the best of all possible ways.

I guess I succeeded in creating an epic memory for everybody, at
least I hoped they enjoyed it. Once out of the water, we laid on the
smooth rocks, basking in the warm sun. When the sun sank below the
trees, we took that as a sign to call it a day. An hour later we
dropped Bev off at the Nanimo Ferry boat dock and said good-bye. Then,
after heading south, seventy miles outside of Victoria, Mike and I
pulled into a roadside park and called it a day, a very good day.

Aug. 2

I called up Connie, an old girlfriend of mine. Since I was in
Victoria, I felt somewhat obligated to call her. Dinking a beer with
her was all that I wanted to do, though. I guess I was still
uncomfortable from the last time I had visited her. Her boyfriend and
I didn't hit it off. Anyway, a beer among old friends, I thought, was
a good idea. When I phoned her, I wasn't sure how she would respond.
It turned out okay; she was happy to hear from me and suggested a
place to meet. Mike and I arrived at the bar first. It catered to
kids, but that was okay. Connie and her new boyfriend came in as we
were finishing our first beers. After four years, she hadn't changed
at all. As we got on with renewing our friendship, she said we should
consider hiking the West Coast Trail. She said it would be an exciting
thing to do.

Cathedral Grove

Vancover Island, B.C.
July, '72

Once we made it back to the paved highway we camped. Getting the tent
set up at night was not easy; finding a place to camp was, though. In
the morning we headed back to the east side of the island. I knew,
from my last trip to the island, that we were going to pass two scenic
spots, Cathedral Grove, with its huge Douglas Fur forest, and Little
Qualicum Falls.

The beautiful giant trees came first. The place hadn't changed, but
with its 800-year-old trees, you wouldn't expect it to either.
Unfortunately, Mike left his 35 mm camera on a bench, and when we went
looking for it, it was gone. There went all the pictures of our
Canadian adventure. Oh well, I was never into "saving events" anyhow.
Mike took it pretty hard, but even so, he got over it.

Little Qualicum Falls was our next stop. That was one of my favorite
places. I wanted to make it extra special for Mike and Bev, a real
memory jerker, so I suggested we drop acid before we arrived. Mike and
Bev were okay with the idea, so when we arrived at the falls, we were
tripping pretty well.

Winging It--On Our Way To The Pacific Ocean

Bamfield

Pacific Ocean Bamfield Beach


Traveling British Columbia And Vancouver Island, Canada

The next day we had already bought and paid for two spare tires and
some bulk oil when we found out that the Prince Rupert / Vancouver
Island boat trip was going to be too expensive. We changed our plans.
We headed south to the city of Vancouver. That night, when we camped
in another campground (a free one), we met this dude who filled us in
on the new Vancouver Island. It had been four years since I had been
there, and, according to this camper, Long Beach had been turned into
National Park. You had to pay to get in, and the entrance to the park
(that long, winding, gravel road that I remembered) was now a paved
highway. The guy told us about another beach. "If," he said, "instead
of following the road to Longbeach, you turn left at the fork in the
road by the river, you will end up in Bamfield." That sounded like a
plan to us. He couldn't tell us much about the place. The road to
Bamfield was gravel, however, and he said, "West of Bamfield is the
Pacific Ocean." That was good enough for us.

The road south, just before Vancouver, followed a river through a
canyon. It was extremely scenic. When we got to the city, we boarded
the ferry for the short ride over to the island. On the boat Mike met
a chick and scored some weed at the same time. The chick was on her
way to Longbeach. When we told her what we had heard about the place,
she wanted to go with us instead. Mike and I didn't have a problem
with that.

The guy back at the campground was right; the sixty-two mile road to
Bamfield was a restricted gravel road. The restricted part meant that
logging trucks had the right of way. It was already late, and
everybody wanted to get to the ocean, so we decided to avoid the
logging trucks by traveling at night. The road I remembered from
traveling to Longbeach four years ago was a whole lot worse.
Unfortunately, though, by traveling at night, we missed all the
outstanding scenery.

It wasn't hard to find the ocean, but I'm not sure we found Bamfield.
After waking up the next morning, the ocean was exactly what we had
hoped for, a huge stretch of deserted beach. The weather was gray and
cold, not unusual for the coast. The surf was about one or two feet
high and after a delicious breakfast of eggs and sausage (a promised
special treat to ourselves), we walked down the beach and set up a
more permanent camp. The afternoon brought with it a little sun, but
the wind and dampness had everybody appreciating the fire.

We basically had the comforts of a log cabin. Our fire was situated in
a driftwood niche, which also doubled as makeshift walls. The
imaginative cook that Bev turned out to be was also appreciated. She
was equally gifted as our mistress. She was an extremely
happy-go-lucky person. She wasn't a beauty queen, though.

We stayed on the beach for two days. We would have stayed longer, but
reality kept creeping into our humble abode. Actually it began the
very first morning we arrived. We were more or less greeted by the
Indian who told us we were camping on Indian Reservation Territory and
had to pay for our truck to park on the reserve. "$1. per day," he
said. We had no problem with that, but later, when I walked up to the
Indian's house, another Indian held out his hand and said, "That will
be $3. please." It turned out to be "$4. a day for camping and parking
on the reservation. I guess we could have kept paying, but the more we
thought about it, the more we figured we were being ripped off (and
the Indians weren't friendly either), so we decided to leave the beach
after two days. We left the same way we arrived, like thieves in the
night. We saved a day's fee that way.

Smart Happy Bear

Canadian Rockies
July '72

Protected by nothing but our nylon tent, we hoped the bear would find
his gourmet meal totally satisfying. Inside our tent we heard him
slamming around pots and pans. After what seemed way too long, the
bear finally climbed out of the truck and walked right between the
truck and our tent. We sat motionless and quiet. After a few minutes,
I got brave and stuck my head out of the tent to see if the bear was
still around. Apparently he had taken a rest break because I watched
him approach the truck one more time. This time he was too full to
jump. Instead, he unlatched the tailgate and hopped back in the truck
for his second course. Using our backpacks for a seat, he proceeded to
finish his meal. Finally, when he lumbered down from the truck, he
stopped and took a long drink of water from the soaking bean pan. When
he walked away from our campsite, he was one happy fellow.

I was still a bit apprehensive, but I wasn't going to wait for him to
come back for thirds. I crawled out of the tent and over to the cab of
the truck. I quickly opened the door and climbed inside. The bear was
nowhere to be seen. I started up the truck, and drove it down the
road. If the bear came back this time, at least he wouldn't disturb
our sleep again.

In the morning we surveyed the damage. It was considerable. The bear
broke the latch on the tailgate. There was garbage (that's what's left
after dinner, right?) all over the bed of the truck. The remnants of
bear smell were putrefying. And, to add insult to injury, the bear had
left his saliva all over our backpacks. It was not a pretty sight. It
took the whole morning to clean up.

On the bright side, it was another nice day. The highway to Jasper was
constructed through a natural north/south pass cutting through the Canadian
Rockies. Both sides of the highway featured spectacular views of the
11,000 to 12,000-foot mountains. This was one of the most beautiful
highways I had ever traveled, but it would have been even nicer if I were
riding my bicycle (no offense Old Smoke).

In Jasper (more a city; less a tourist town than Banff) we restocked
groceries and then went to a park for a picnic. The next day we were
off to Prince George, the "gateway to the real north." As soon as we
left Jasper, the mountains shrunk to large foothills.

In Prince George, after getting a campsite and taking a shower,
we immediately went for pizza and beer. Not only was our meal
great, but the guitar player who was there to serenade us, was
great too. The next day we extended our R&R by taking in a movie.
The benefit concert, Bangladesh, was playing in the theaters;
so, once inside, we got to see up on the screen, George, Bob, Eric
and a whole bunch of other great musicians. Nice!

Plane Of Six Glaciers

Columbian Icefield Just North Of Lake Louis



Most Beautiful Place In The World Probably
July 25, `72

Lake Louis was as beautiful as people had told us it would be. The
lake was nestled at the foot of glacier-filled mountains. We walked
along the lake's asphalt path, up to the teahouse where we sat sipping
tea. The teahouse was set on what is called the Plane of Six Glaciers.
The view from the teahouse was the kind of scene that took your breath
away. It looked out on the large glaciers across the lake from us. It
was an incredible sight.

The day of beautiful surprises was not over yet. North of Lake Louis,
we actually got to climb on a glacier. The Columbian Icefield was a
massive glacier almost touching the highway. It was so large that you
couldn't see where it began since it stretched over the back of one of
the mountains. On top of the glacier, Mike and I walked into its huge,
deep blue cracks and crevices and marveled at its decaying face
(glaciers were receding). It was a hot, sunny day, and we had a great
time sliding down the glacier's snowy white curves. We spent most of
the day just playing on the glacier.

When we finally headed out, we couldn't find a place to camp. It was
getting dark, and we didn't want to risk getting caught and fined by a
Ranger, so we pulled into a campground. It was full. We went to the
next campground. It was full also. It was 11 p.m. when we decided to
risk camping off the highway. We weren't far from the campground that
was full, so we figured if we got caught we'd plead helplessness. What
else could we do, follow the rules and drive all night?

I put up the tent in the dark. Mike started the fire and, after an
enjoyable dinner of hot beans, sardines, biscuits, spinach, and beer,
neither one of us felt like cleaning up. We threw everything in the
back of the truck and climbed into our tent. By then it was 1 a.m. We
had no sooner got in our sleeping bags than we heard a noise outside.
Sure as shit, it was a black bear. He had wandered into our camp, or
was pulled in by the cooking smells. He immediately started taking
advantage of our sloppy housekeeping. Not only did he chow down on our
table scraps, he helped himself to the groceries that were supposed to
get us to the coast. They were stupidly stored in the back of the pick-up.