In Tofino, I had found it very difficult to get information about the ‘Walk the Wildside Trail’ on Ahousaht First Nations land. Many people I asked – including some in the local tourist trade – hadn’t a clue. The only phone number given for trail information gave no trail information at all; it simply connected to a voice message about how to reach key people in the Ahousaht Band Office. And that office was closed for the weekend.
Likewise, my Internet search yielded next to no useful information. But I did find a key online tip: hikers on the Wildside Trail could stay the night at Vera’s Little Guest House. So I called Vera. She said, “You can stay here on Sunday. And I’ll feed you. Dinner and breakfast. Take the water taxi from Tofino.” So that’s what I did.
For $20, an early-morning water taxi took me on the hour-long trip from Tofino’s First Street Dock to Flores Island. A beautiful trip. We motored past the volcanic cones on Meares Island and Cat Face Mountain, and past countless coves and rocky islands and promontories, before landing at the First Nations village of Ahousaht on Flores. The village is nestled within a cove in Matilda Inlet, at the southeast corner of the island.
It seems everyone on the island is related to everyone else. Frederick, the only other passenger on the water taxi, referred to the boat pilot as “uncle”, and I was reminded of how native Hawaiians freely use the terms ‘auntie’ and ‘uncle’ to convey respect and affection for any and all of the elders in their community. But in this case the pilot actually was Frederick’s real-life uncle.
Frederick showed me the way from the boat dock to Vera’s Little Guest House, where he introduced me to Vera. “My grandmother,” he disclosed. Right. For the rest of my stay, I frequently heard islanders addressing ‘mamma’, ‘cousin’ and ‘auntie’… but rarely did I hear any first names!
The guest house was a dilapidated double-wide braced on stilts behind Vera’s house. Vera’s house was, well… just Vera’s house. Also dilapidated. And lived-in messy. Really messy. But with a kitchen big enough to feed a guest house at full capacity. There seemed no other similarities to any lodging place I’d ever encountered.
Frederick kindly walked with me across town to point out the white clapboard-sided building that housed the Wildside Trail office. He told me that’s where I could get information, a trail permit, and a native guide. He didn’t tell me it was closed on weekends. I got that information from an amused neighbor, James, grandfather to no fewer than sixteen students at the Ahousaht K-16 school. James asked me to wait while he placed a phone call. I overheard him explaining that he had a tourist who needed a trail guide. And ten minutes later, Trevor showed up.
Trevor didn’t look like any wilderness guide I’d ever seen. He was kind of scrawny. And he was wearing flip-flops, swim trunks, and a T-shirt printed with native American designs. He was fiddling with a 2-way radio as we exchanged greetings. But he quickly had me walking toward the Wildside trailhead in no more time that it took for him to tell James, “Thanks, cousin."
Trevor proved himself to be a wonderful guide. He explained that the 11-km length of the Wildside Trail closely follows his ancestor’s ancient pathways to Cow’s beach on the other side of the island, and from there twists up newly-defined paths of steep switchbacks to the peak of Mt. Flores. We hiked only to “fifth beach,” about 5km.
Most of our route followed sandy beaches. Trails cut across headlands connecting one beach to the next. Trevor explained that he had worked with others to build many of the boardwalks covering the sections of woodland trail that would otherwise be impassably muddy and slippery in wet weather.
I found the trail easy to negotiate, but difficult to navigate. There was good footing and clear access the whole way, but it took a practiced eye to locate the transition spots from beachfronts to cross-headlands trails. Trevor took care of that. He also called-in regular updates on our status using his 2-way radio. We were in a wild, wild place, but I felt as safe and secure as could be.
It was a day rich in natural wonders. The beauty was breathtaking. And the weather was superb – sunny, clear, warm. See Photo Gallery. We traversed a marvelous wilderness -- old growth forest of cedar and spruce, exposed rocky coasts, white sandy beaches, sandstone reefs, sheltered channels, fast narrows, mudflats and shallow banks. This land is lush habitat for deer, black bears, cougars, wolves, raptors, and spawning salmon. Our wildlife sightings were few but dramatic: an osprey hunting along a river estuary. A couple of bald eagles. And a lone gray wolf – thankfully well out of biting distance.
It was also a day rich in cultural significance. Trevor showed me a ‘culturally modified tree’, a giant cedar earmarked as a candidate for felling and carving into a traditional native canoe. He shared insights into his people’s self-determination in the face of 21st Century challenges. (See 20th Post.) And he shared stories and legends of his ancestors, his elders, his religion and his native lore. Stories of bear and wolf, whale and octopus, eagle and raven. Stories that wove together the identities of animals and humans in a tabloid of parables by which to live in harmony with one’s beliefs, with one’s heritage, and with the timeless land.
Enchanted by Trevor’s insights into the native culture, I asked what he found to be the biggest difference between the Ahousaht people and those from the outside. I imagined he’d speak to aspects of community and family. Nope. “Outsiders get lost more,” he observed.
We saw no evidence of any other hikers on the trail. But we did encounter kayakers. We watched a group of 4 come ashore to pitch camp on a gorgeous stretch of beach. Exchanging greetings, they explained that they were from Alberta, and were enjoying a 2-week ‘island-hopping’ circuit. We also encountered a solitary kayaker whom Trevor introduced to me as The Ambassador of Third Beach. That would be Bruce. He and Trevor had met earlier in the course of his extended residence on Third Beach. See Photo Gallery. Bruce had paddled to Vancouver Island from the city of Vancouver on the B.C. mainland. “I’m circling Vancouver Island,” he told me. “Thus far, I’ve logged 51 days of paddling, and my ambition is to set the record for the slowest kayak circumnavigation of the island.” Trevor earnestly expressed his confidence that the goal would be met.
After a lengthy R&R on Fifth beach, we hiked the 5km back to Ahousaht village. Trevor and I exchanged thanks for one another’s company. Trevor accepted my payment for his guidance and the First Nation trail fee. Then he went home. And I went to Vera’s to enjoy a long, hot shower and a hearty dinner of roast pork, carrots, corn, mashed potatoes and gravy. I ate like a starved lumberjack. And I slept like a log.
The next morning I grabbed my knapsack and took the ‘Pride of Ahousaht’ back to Tofino. This is the ‘big boat’, and we had perhaps a dozen passengers onboard for our 10am scheduled departure. Eleven of them greeted one another as ‘cousin.’
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n.b. In the 20th Post, I referred to the Wildside Trail as one of the Top Five hikes of my lifetime.
The other four, in no particular order:
- the 50-mile High Sierra Loop in Yosemite
- the day-hike trek to the top of Half Dome, also in Yosemite
- the 11-mile hike along Kauai’s Napali Coast cliffs to the Kalalau Valley
- the week of Euro-luxe ‘chalet-hopping’ in the Swiss Alps out of Muren
