West Coast Trail - Part VI: Cullite Creek to Camper Creek

Log bridges and ladders. The hike to Camper was short, so there is little to tell from the hike.

To the right of this photograph are the tent sites, nestled just within the trees. To the left, Camper Creek cuts through the gravel bars.

Like we did at Cullite, early arrive enabled some exploration of the surrounding area. After sleeping in the sunshine by our site, we hiked up the creek and this young bald eagle passed us heading for the beach. 

There was a cabin, probably vacant, were some of the local first nations were
stationed. In there favour, I'm sure, a beautiful outhouse has been recently erected.

The fog along the shore made for very cold exploring. It was wet and the wind was howling. Yet, it was beautiful and lonely and I thoroughly enjoyed the wild feeling of the seascape.

There were many unique plants and animals growing on the cold open space of the limestone shelf at Camper.

A view of the beach from north of Camper Creek.

Interesting rock formations in the limestone.

A harlequin duck stretches its wings at the edge of the limestone shelf.

There were many crows at Camper, waiting for an opportunity to make off with garbage and human scraps.

West Coast Trail - Part IV: Cribs Creek to Walbran Creek

Another sea lion rock is visible from the Carmanah Lighthouse. This one seems to have more youngsters on it but the lighthouse manager informed us that this is not were they are birthed. Occasionally, a California sea lion will appear among the larger steller sea lions.

I don't know why little stairs like this still amuse me.

Ah, yes. The condition of the boardwalk continues to improve. That's why I'm
lying in the devil's club plant pulling thistles out of my pants.

BO-RING!

The natives have a shack set up on Carmanah Beach where they sell burgers. The burgers tasted delicious and the view of the lighthouse was quaint.

Many cable cars are utilized at river crossings but we can usually find a way around them. This one, at Carmanah Creek, was easily bypassed along the beach. Someone had placed a few logs over the river at a narrow place.

The bald eagle is a common occurrence on the West Coast Trail. Some fellow backpackers who recently completed the southern counterpart to the West Coast Trail, the Juan de Fuca, said there are far more gulls and less eagles there.

Very interesting rock formations jut like sore thumbs from the limestone shelf.
Formed when the surrounding softer rock erodes away, these formations are
unstable and often crumble away. Although some of these formations are thought
to be very old, they collapse so quickly I don't imagine they are much more than a
couple thousand.

We enter a boulder fields. The chef at the burger place did everything he could to
dissuade us from taking this rout, claiming the trail was infinitely easier. However,
our exploratory nature got the better of us. And besides, we were told by other
hikers that it's worth the view and the boulders aren't bad if they are dry. The real
boulders, however, wont be passed for another few days.

Seals litter the rocks like sacks of potatoes.

A small cascade falls from Bonilla Creek.

The sandstone shelf looks like the ploughed garden of mermaids, but the ridges are only caused by the waives carving around clumps of algae.

This bald eagle was sitting far out at low tide, probably scavenging for decomposing gifts.

We have seen a couple eagles chasing oyster catchers and ducks but, although they came very close, there were no captures.

We are often torn between walking on the slick, algae-covered shelf, and the sand. For me, the shelf wins out. Sand is usually to soft and drains one's energy.

Cormorants look like little trees growing on islands. But that rock will be submerged at high tide.

Cormorants. Gotta love 'em.

Muscles grow wherever they can find a foothold. In this case, a pit in the limestone.

Coraline algae gives the tide pools a salmon-pink colour.

Myself.

Dad crosses a makeshift bridge to avoid the use of the cable car over the Walbran.

Walbran Creek will be our home for the night. The water of the river looked so clear and cool, and we were so hot and sweaty. But we didn't have any swimwear. When the other hikers started going in with only their underwear, we followed suit. Stick with the cultural norms, I suppose.