OR The 2018 TransPyrenea race has been cancelled (part 1)

The TransPyrenea is a 900 km footrace, crossing the Pyrenees mountain range from Mediterranean Sea to the Atlantic Ocean, all following the GR10 route on the France side of the range. Bruce ran in the inaugural 2016 edition of the race and has been training with fierce dedication for the second edition, which was to start on August 1, 2018.

There was an enormous feeling of accomplishment upon finishing this race within the 400 hour time limit in 2016 yet it depleted him both physically and mentally and left him with an overwhelming desire to never set foot in the Pyrenees again. With time and healing, he came around full-circle with the need to compete again but this time he vowed to train smarter, plan more wisely and use his hard-won trail-specific knowledge to his advantage. He knows that he can suffer through this challenge so now he wants to complete it with finesse.


262 starters. 78 finishers. Elation!

You can only imagine the commitment this race requires – in training, time, gear, food, travel, accommodations, logistics, and many other facets. For each racer, it is no small feat to plan for every eventuality during 14+ days of remote mountain adventure. This is not an unsupported event. The RSO (Raid Sahara Organization) provides 20+ checkpoints, 3 drop-bag shuttles, some food and volunteer help at some checkpoints but racers are expected to be self-sufficient, carrying survival gear and food for multiple days in their packs. After all, these are high, remote mountains where weather, conditions and physical ability can change in a moment.


Gathering with other finishers post-race

With only one month left before the race start, Bruce received word that the race had been cancelled. The feeling of devastation was immediate and the reasons for the cancellation emerged eventually. Three (unsuccessful) racers from the 2016 edition have made a lawsuit against the RSO company and the race director for insufficient food, accommodation, resources, medical assistance, etc. etc. etc. during that race (we continue to bumble our way through French legal documents trying to pinpoint their complaints). While the reasons why they chose to sue continue to baffle us, and probably will baffle us for many months ahead, the fact that the race is off is undeniable.

The work of undoing the logistics lies ahead and many with price tags attached. There are flights to cancel, pre- and post-race accommodations to cancel, race food to reshelve as well as shoes, socks, packs, clothes and gear to store.  And what about that full month of time off work that was so hard to garner?

None of these even touch the mental anguish of not being able to realize this long-term goal. How do you come up with a satisfactory Plan B when Plan A was so incredibly unique?

So … here we are, with a wheelbarrow full of lemons.fruit-lemons-wheelbarrow-food

In 1998, I ran my first marathon and since then I have been consistently running longer and longer distances, taking very few breaks from running over those 20 years.

Where will this lead me?

This year has been no different. My running schedule includes all six races in the Vancouver Island Trail Series, the Marathon Shuffle, The Cumby, Kusam Klimb, Cedar 24 hour and The Mighty Quail. But it suddenly looks like none of those plans will be realized.

About two months ago, a series of unfortunate incidents began and have hobbled me. It started with an off-leash dog attack from behind, which tore up my hand, rattled my confidence in running alone and made me suspicious of all other trail users.

Next (and most significantly) I strained my Achilles tendon during a trail run. While crossing a bike bridge, my heel strike was in-between two boards which were fairly far apart. Although my toes landed on the bridge and took some of the weight, my heel dropped into the empty space and hyper-extended the tendon.

And then, while working around the yard, attempting to attach the flat-bed trailer onto the car, I missed the hitch and dropped the trailer onto my foot – the same foot, of course. My middle toe took the brunt of the impact, swelled up and turned blue. For a few days, I could not fit my foot into my running shoes. I don’t think I broke it but it is still swollen many weeks later.

WTF indeed! Why is this happening to me?!

I started seeking therapies. Chinese acupuncture helped me with a tight Achilles about 15 years ago so I sought out a local acupuncturist. I also found a physiotherapist who treated me with ultrasound and IMS and gave me a series of stretches and strengthening exercises to do. Between treatments, I still ran but I throttled back both in time and in distance and I stuck to less technical trails.

The final blow was during a warm-up run for The Cumby race. I stubbed the toe of my good leg against a root and landed with my full weight on my tender leg. Instantly, my calf exploded in pain, in the exact place where an IMS needle had been inserted the day before. Numbness took over my foot and my calf became immobile, rigid in full spasm. I was in tears from shock, pain and a deep understanding that I was now officially injured. It took over 45 minutes to drag myself back to town.

After more ice, more stretching, more therapies and even another gentle plod or two, I have finally come to the conclusion that I have to allow myself time to heal. Continual pursuit of my running goals is hampering the healing process.

But, as I sit here typing on a gorgeous Victoria Day long weekend, my mind subconsciously flits to the trails I might like to hit this afternoon. I have to keep reminding myself that I won’t be running today or for the foreseeable future.

Running takes me to some beautiful places.

Running lets me see some amazing things.

Running is a habit that I don’t want to break. Twenty solid years of training for long distances has had a positive impact my work schedule, my leisure time, our marriage, our diet, our holidays and every other aspect of daily life. It will be a big adjustment that I am so reluctant to make.

Surely there is a silver lining somewhere out there.

So …. anyone wants to go riding?

This will heal me (as soon as I learn how!)

And so will they.

Or Finlayson Arm 100 km race report

When Myke Labelle revealed his plans to add a 100 km event to his Finlayson Arm 28 km/50 km event, I immediately thought, “Why? Who?”. The 50 km is already the most difficult one that I know and I couldn’t imagine who would sign up to run out and back and then out and back again. But, without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce nodded, voiced his support for the idea and committed on-the-spot to be there. For me, I had to mull the idea over for a few months and, even then, I had my doubts. Beyond registration day and right up to race day, I truly wondered if this would turn out to be a regrettable idea.

Finny map

The race route runs north along the edge of Finlayson Arm. The 50 km event is an out-and-back and the 100 km event does the whole out-and-back route twice.


This is the course profile for the 50 km event (which is actually 54 km btw). One loop equals 10 075 ft of gain; two loops=20 150 ft.  As a comparison, the much-touted Squamish 50 miler has 11 000 ft of gain.

Having run the 50 km for the past two years, it was a no-brainer to sign up again but this time I opted for the unknown and untested – the 100 km. This is a beauty of a route, with steep climbs and descents, inspiring views, fantastic organization and an old-school race party feel. My doubts had nothing to do with what the race would offer – only with my ability to hold it together mentally and physically for the duration. With only 46 registered in the 100 km event and, at 5:00 pm on Friday afternoon, only 40 of us toeing the start line, I knew that solitude would be the word of the day, and the night, and the following day.

Me and my best buddy at the 100 km start line. The best part of an out-and-back course is being able to have multiple visits with each other.

No sooner had Myke sent us on our way when I had my first equipment issue of the race. Within fifteen steps, one of my holstered trekking poles came loose and began to dangle down my back. If I had known the problems that lay ahead with these damn poles, I would have chucked them into our tent right then. But instead, I pretzeled my arms around and sort of managed to re-holster them while running along with the crowd.

We headed down the switchback to Goldstream River at a casual pace and somehow ended up self-seeding. At the river crossing (1 km), I opted to avoid the rope which was loosely-strung across the river and simply waded into the calf-deep water. A few folks were trying to keep their feet dry by hugging the bank but soon discovered that wet shoes were unavoidable. As I headed up into the hills on the far side, I quickly found myself alone. And that is the way it was for the remaining 106 km.

I suppose I can’t say that I was really alone since the out-and-back route allowed for multiple, brief visits with on-coming racers but I didn’t have anyone to run with, to chase down or even to run away from for almost the entire race. As we climbed up the bare rock of Mt Finlayson an hour later, I could see that I was close to a few other runners and even caught up to Bruce in time for a summit kiss but, as we re-entered the forest and dusk set in, I withdrew and embraced the time I had set aside to be with my running thoughts. Isn’t that exactly what a race is?


Margaret got this action shot of me as I approached Rowntree AS for the first time. There is very little pavement this race – less than 5 km over the 107 km. In fact, this is it in its entirety! (photo credit: Margaret Lam)

After the excitement of seeing Margaret, Lisa and Lisa (and others!) at Rowntree aid station, I focused on the upcoming climbs – Holmes and Jocelyn – and tried to figure out when to pull out those trekking poles. Despite the climbs ahead, much of this Ridgetop Trail is quite runnable and undulating. I spent a long time debating if this was the point where I should use poles. Eventually I unholstered them but soon found that I didn’t want them for the next part. Reholstering them on-the-fly was possible but awkward so instead I carried them for most of this section, thinking that they would be useful soon. Indeed they were helpful on the final pitches of both climbs but they were not necessary and didn’t warrant the energy they were sucking from me.

In the months before the race, I spent a lot of time visualizing certain parts of the course – junctions, vistas, landmarks – and I set some race-day goals that I was determined to meet, no matter how arbitrary. One goal was to be at Jocelyn Hill summit (17 km) before sundown. The sun would set at 7:38 pm and, in my two previous races, I had taken 2hr36min to get to this point. Why not aim to be at the most beautiful point of the course exactly when the sun sinks below the horizon? As I left Holmes Peak, the sun was giving off that telling amber glow and I knew that I would have to push it. Time-wise, I was on target but the sun seemed to set each time I entered the trees or rounded a corner. Also Jocelyn Hill has a couple of false summits but, when I finally reached to top, Matt Cecill cheered me on and clicked my sunset photo with mere seconds to spare. Phew! Goal #1 met!


Beauty Captured! Five minutes ahead of me, Bruce arrived at Jocelyn Hill’s summit where Matt Cecill composed this stunning photo. (photo credit: Matt Cecill)

Just after the summit, I stopped, removed my pack and put those poles away. I knew I wouldn’t need them until Mt Work. I pulled out my headlamp and hand-held flashlight at the same time. The next goal was to make it to McKenzie Bight (22.5 km) before turning on my headlamp. As with the sunset calculation, I had about 45 minutes of dusky light left and I knew that it had previously taken me 45 minutes to descend to the beach. This goal had more risk and the time frame was more uncertain. How do you gauge the need for your lamp? Variations in forest cover and running speed play into it. I cruised along for as long as I could, without taking too much risk, and I turned on my lamp while descending the gnarly stairway before the beach, about 5 minutes earlier than my goal. Better safe that sorry. Goal #2 missed.

Goal #3 was to arrive at the Ross-Durrance aid station (24 km) before 8:38 pm, which would mean I was running the same pace as I had for the 50 km last year. Would you believe it? I was on fire! Goal #3 met! I tried my best to stay focused on my needs at the aid station despite Lisa regaling me with tales of her Fat Dog experience and someone calling out that I was the second woman. “Shhh!” I called out. “I don’t want to hear that kind of information until at least 75 km!”

Upon leaving the aid station, I pulled out my trekking poles again, thinking that they would really help during this sustained, steep climb. But, lo and behold, this climb also has multiple false starts and I ended up regretting that choice. No sooner would I decide to get the straps on when my food beeper would sound or the climb would end or something. It was an endless distraction that really started to irk me. I just wanted to run unencumbered! This section went by quickly as I eagerly waited to see the race leaders on their first homeward trip. I came across them much farther along than I expected, at the crest the Mt Work. As I began the descent in full darkness, I wondered when I would see Bruce on his return trip. Would it be at the same switchback where we have met for the past two years? It was! Goal #4 met! We met at the same place as we have met during the 50 km twice before. We briefly exchanged encouraging words and headed off into the night.

Although it was 9:30pm and the race was 4.5 hours along, I felt fresh like I was just starting out. Upon reaching the superbly-stocked Munn Road aid station (30 km), I turned down a delicious-looking grilled cheese sandwich and stuck to my plan of eating gels and bars although I did take a rasher of bacon for the first trip home. I enjoyed the night climb back up Mt Work but I was a bit stunned at the huge gaps between 100 km racers. The almost-full moon rose in this early night section and, in the rocky clearing at the top of Mt Work, I was able to internally howl into the clear, starry night.

As the night progressed, time seemed to compress. The oncoming racers became fewer and farther apart. I fell deep into my running trance – thinking about that root, that rock, the upcoming section, my food alarm, my cumbersome trekking poles. Mostly I was comfortable, smooth, efficient and so happy to finally be in the midst of this long-anticipated goal. As I ran along the xmas light fairytale trail leading to Rowntree AS (47 km), I could see a runner was just leaving. It was the first time I had seen someone near me. Like a pit crew, I was refilled, refueled and on my way toward the halfway point in no time. As I climbed up the Prospector’s Trail below Mt Finlayson, I came across that same runner. He wasn’t really in the mood to chat but I did learn that he had rolled his ankle at the Squamish 50/50 three weeks earlier and was suffering as a result. I had run hard at the Squamish 50/50 last year and had found running the Finlayson 50 km three weeks later to be a stretch. I know only too well the fatigue he was feeling but he was only halfway through! As I have written before, this 100 km race has all the challenge of a 100 miler, compacted into 62 miles. I believe it is not something you can simply add on to the end of a busy race calendar.

As I descended down the loose rocks of Finlayson, I saw two parallel lights approaching. These were the two frontrunners of the 100 km and they were together step for step. In fact, when I first saw their lights, I briefly thought that it was an approaching car, rounding the steep corner until they called out good wishes and encouragement to me.

Before I knew it, I was back at Goldstream group site (53 km) with Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer” playing on repeat and heavy metal rock stars as AS crew. I could see another runner leaving the aid station and running past the tents as I ran through the chute. I took my time here, told stories of my day to Lori and anyone else who would listen, and ate a bunch of hot perogies. I had trouble deciding what food to take and whether or not I would need warmer clothes for the night. I simply was beyond pleased to have made it to this point just 20 minutes off my best time, especially considering that most of it had been run in the dark. As the clock struck 2:00 am, I bolted into action and headed out for my second loop, exactly on schedule. Goal #5 – met!

The weather began to shift over the next hour. The wind picked up and the clear sky clouded over. As I neared the summit of Mt Finlayson (62 km), I was blown around like a leaf and almost ended up on my butt due to strong wind gusts. With determination, I pushed up and over the top and back into the forest. The same scenario happened on the summit of Jocelyn Hill. Luckily, the wind was refreshing on an otherwise warm and slightly humid night. Around this time, I began to look forward to the first signs of day. At San Diego 100, I heard bird song at least an hour before twilight but not today. The first 100 km runner was climbing the long stairway up from McKenzie Bight as I was descending. He was about 15 km ahead of me and looked both strong and fresh!

I turned off my headlamp just before arriving at the Durrance AS (77 km) which meant that Goal #6 had been met. I was famished and ate a stack of piping hot quesadillas as well as soup and coffee while resupplying from my drop bag.

Exactly as forecast, rain started to fall at 7:00 am. I was climbing up Mt Work outbound when those first drops fell. It wasn’t too bad and it wasn’t too cold. In fact, it made the sandy soil more tacky and my footfall confidence increased, knowing that I wouldn’t slip and slide. But I felt for those 50 km racers who were just beginning their day as the rain came.

I came across Bruce high up on Mt Work. He was sitting in 9th or 10th place and had had a great night. There was a cluster of runners fairly close together with him and he was motivated to reel in a few more on his homeward journey. After parting ways, I hustled down to Munn Rd AS (83 km), ate a blackened grilled cheese sandwich (just like I usually make!) and made my final ascent of Mt Work.

Doing an out-and-back course twice was never dull or even repetitive. Each section of the course was done in completely different parts of the day or night so it never felt the same. I liked being able to anticipate obstacles or landmarks, making me feel lucid each time that I guessed correctly. It was a mental challenge but one that I enjoyed completely.

My homeward journey continued to be smooth and enjoyable, despite being tough and grueling. I looked forward to seeing the first 50 km racers coming towards me and, from then onwards, my spirit was buoyed by the endless compliments and encouraging words I received from the 50 km racers. I had only two goals left to meet. My first goal was to finish under 20 hours which by all accounts was going to happen. My second goal was far more obscure – to cross the finish line before the first 50 km racer. Who knew how fast those fellows would run? If there was a competitive group, the pace could be far faster than previous years. Course records could be broken.

On my fourth time through, the crew at Rowntree AS (100 km) knew exactly what I wanted and needed, even when I didn’t. I shrugged off the blanket they offered. When I told them that gels were making me gag, they had quick solutions. They did time calculations for me and assured me that I would meet my time goal. They figured that I would be done within the hour as long as I kept moving the way I was. I absorbed their energy and took their words as truth. With another stack of quesadillas (so good!), I was out of there quickly but that feeling of sleepy-tired weighed heavily.

Knowing that my time goal was in the bag (Goal #7 soon to be met!), I focused on staying ahead of those 50 km runners. This was the motivation I needed to run hard. I kept thinking to myself “You have to earn this finish. You have to earn second place. You cannot sit back and cruise or walk. Run it hard and earn your placing.” Because of the out-and-back course, I knew that I could never have caught Becky, the first place woman, as she was hours ahead of me. But I also knew that the third place woman, Mirjam, was not closing in on me. So I had to motivate myself to run hard. This eighth goal was my motivation through this final difficult section. Every straight stretch, I glanced back. I kept my ears open for chatter and footsteps. I pushed the pace whenever I could. I counted off the familiar landmarks and looked towards the next.

When I reached the edge of the campsite, I felt relief wash over me. Tears welled up and emotion tingled through my body. I still had 500 m and I had to hold it together. I came through the chute with blurry eyes and crossed the line with an out-of-character holler. Goal #8 met!


Caught up in the glory of my moment, I ran down the finish chute, woop-wooping the whole way. I had 8 motivating goals in mind at the race start and I met 7 of them. Mental strength was my key. (photo credit: Matt Cecill)


Forty minutes after my finish, the first 50 km racers arrived. Little did I know that I was being chased down by my own local running buddy, Graham Forsyth who came 2nd in the 50 km and broke the course record! (photo credit: Aislinn Deenihan)

This race had been my focus for the season and finishing 9th overall and 2nd woman was an amazing way to round out an otherwise disappointing race year. Finlayson Arm has earned a permanent spot in my race calendar. Having run and loved the 50 km event for its first two years and now with the inaugural 100 km under my belt, I know that I will forever be busy on the first Saturday after Labour Day.


Teary-eyed and brimming with emotion – I worked hard to earn this custom-etched beer growler (100 km finisher gift) and this awesome framed print of the view from Jocelyn Hill (2nd place award) (photo credit: coastline endurance running)

Finish time – 19:13:22

9/27 finishers (40 starters); 2/5 women (8 starters) 

OR Our Sunshine Coast Trail Fast-Pack

The Sunshine Coast Trail (SCT) first came onto my radar in early 2004 when our good friend (and ultra-running legend) George persuaded a small group of friends to run the trail from end to end. The plan was to run about 50km each day and have a fourth day to round out the entire 178 km route. Each day, we would have a specific end-point where we would stop, drive back to Powell River for good food and good sleep and then head back to the same location the following morning to begin running the next section.

In 2004, our group of 6 Smart Asses ran the SCT. Here we are at the 100 km marker [L to R – George Forshaw, Gail (Bazeley) Forshaw, Rob Lang, Sally Marcellus]

At that time, there were no FKT records to beat and we simply enjoyed the challenge of running somewhere new. As I was new to ultra-distance running and was not mentally ready for this kind of multi-day challenge, I took on the role of ‘crew’. I drove the back roads of Powell River in search of unmarked trail junctions, met the runners at their finish point each day and took them back out each morning. I often joined them in the mornings for the first 8 – 10 km and then retraced my steps back to the truck to begin my solo-navigation to their predicted end-point. The trail sunk its teeth into me then, with its grueling climbs, rocky outcrop vistas, and ancient forests. I longed to be able to do what my team was doing and I believe that this four day experience was the seed that started my ultrarunning pursuits. From our little group of six, three of our runners completed the entire SCT – Rob Lang, Sally Marcellus, Gail (Bazeley) Forshaw. George ran for three of the four days, I ran only a few dozen kilometers in total and Bruce, who initially had work commitments, ran the final two days on the trail. For Bruce and me, the trail remained unfinished business.

Fast-forward a decade to October 2013. Bruce, Wendy and I decided to try running the SCT trail over the course of the Thanksgiving long weekend.

Sunshine Coast Trail 2013 with Wendy. We ran some sections of the trail but were caught off guard by the challenging footing, steep climbs and heavy packs.

We thought we would take advantage of the many huts now dotted along the route, allowing us to ditch the tent. No sooner had we begun our trek than we recognized how truly challenging running was with backpacks, weighed down with thick clothing and warm sleeping bags to counter the chill Fall nights. We were moving half as quickly as we planned and, by the first hut, we realized that we would not finish within the tight time constraints that we had. We revamped our running plans and completed sections at either end of the SCT but we skipped the very remote middle section, planning once again to return another time.

This summer, everything fell into place. Although we had briefly discussed running the SCT, we were vague about when we would do it, how long we would need or even what we would pack – until the weekend that we left. It was Saturday afternoon when I began to make shuttle and water taxi inquiries for accessing the remote start at Sarah Point for the following day. But spontaneity worked in our favour and we set off the next day.

At 5:00 pm on Sunday, we were met by Jesse from Sunshine Coast Shuttle as soon as we walked off the Powell River-Comox ferry.

Jesse drove us as far as his 4×4 truck would go – and much farther than I would feel comfortable driving on this rough logging road!

He has been offering his shuttle service to trail users for about two years now, willing to drive the back roads to drop off or pick up hikers or even to deliver supplies. His much-needed service allowed us to get from downtown to Sarah Point without needing a car or having to figure out the twice-a-week bus service to Lund. Compared to the cost of a water taxi, his $189 price is a sweet deal. In just over one hour, he drove us in his 4×4 truck from the ferry terminal to the very end of the rough logging road at Sarah Point – about a 15 minute walk from the 0 km mark of the SCT.

At the northern tip of Sarah Point, our journey begins. “I always like going South; somehow, it feels like going downhill.”

The Sunshine Coast Trail is a 178 km route which travels along the back country behind Powell River. Here I have noted our start and end points as well as where we spent each night.

Sunday (16 km) – We set out on our third SCT quest just after 6:00 pm. In the heat of the evening, we cruised along the arbutus-lined trails of Malaspina Provincial Park. Here, the moss-edged trail gently curves around to the east edge of the peninsula, descending down to Feather Cove and but ever-ascending up towards Gwendoline Hills, giving lovely views of Okeover Inlet. Our only option for water came at the creek outlet of Wednesday Lake (km 12). A family was enjoying a swim in the lake and had set up their tent just beside the trail in a lovely flat site. We had to load up with water for dinner, breakfast and coffee as well as enough drinking water to last until the next water opportunity the following day. With our Sawyer filter, we filled our four water bottles and the Sawyer reservoir, totaling about 3.5 liters. Little did we know at the time that this creek water tasted terrible – sort of like bread mold – but we had to tolerate it until the next day. The final 4 km of the day climbed up and down and up again over rocky bluffs.

Atop Hummingbird Bluff, we watched the sun sink below the horizon. Luckily, in July, we still had over an hour of daylight.

We paused on Hummingbird  Bluffs to watch the sun set, descended and then made our final climb up to Manzanita Bluff, where we found the amazing Manzanita Hut (km 16) which faces out towards the Salish Sea, Savary and Vancouver Islands. As we had done this section and had slept in this hut before, we knew what beauty to expect. As we rehydrated our meal, we watched the dusky sky change from amber to violet and chatted with a hiker who was taking over one month to complete the trail northbound. After a quick rehydrated meal of Mountain House mac and cheese with pepperoni, we sneaked into the hut loft, joining the three other hikers who had already hit the hay.

Monday (42 km) Amazingly, we overslept on our first night out and were shocked to awake at 8:45 am. A pair of hikers had already packed up (noisily, I assume) and left before we awoke! We had tentative plans to run approximately 50 km to the hut on Inland lake (~km 67) but this late start made us begin recalculating. As we ate a hearty steel-cut oatmeal and full grain breakfast, we reminded ourselves that this was not a race but a vacation.

Good morning, Sunshine!

The Manzanita hut view is spectacular (even if the coffee tastes foul!)

Yet our bread-mold flavoured coffee was nothing to linger over and we were off and running at 10:00 am. Luckily, within 2 km, we came across Thulin Creek and were able to dump out our moldy water and replace it with some cold, clean-tasting water. This section of trail is cruisy and gorgeous, partly because it is a gradual descent and partly because it was sun-dappled through the thin canopy of trees. Smooth trails under-foot made for easy movement and we were reeling with trail fever as we crossed Malaspina Road where the SCT Marathon Shuffle run begins each May. The SCT route markings, which were already more than sufficient, doubled at this point with the race course being marked further with red paint splotches on rocks and logs.

The SCT is very well-marked. The red/white square denote each passing kilometer (except for those in the kilometer-warp zones). The red and orange blazes are very frequent, with almost always one in view. The blue diamonds, the original trail markers, are less frequent and sometimes have hand-written distances on them.

Although we felt that we were moving well, the kilometers did not come quickly. Just as we had found with Wendy in 2013, moving quickly with a well-stocked backpack is hard work and having to stop frequently to filter water was time-consuming. After running alongside the peaceful Toquenatch Creek, which brought back a wave of 2013 memories, we began climbing up to Rieveley Pond (km 34).

Rieveley Pond hut

At the hut, we paused to eat our mid-day snack foods and discuss the ramifications of our relatively slow pace. After consuming all the huckleberries in sight, we pressed onward into new territory. The next section in Appleton Canyon may be my favourite section of the entire trail. We followed the creek for an hour or so as it rambled over lazy waterfalls and swimming holes.

Appleton Canyon offers the perfect swimming hole.

After the Theyeth Lake lookout, we dropped down to the level of Sliammon Lakes (big and little). The trail runs tightly along the shores of these lakes which, although it sounds lovely, makes for herky-jerky trail running with every footstep needing consideration as the trail snakes severely over rocky terrain. Beyond the lakes, we popped out into an old clearcut, the first that we encountered so far. It seemed such an assault on the senses to be dumped out in the hot afternoon sun after the cool seclusion of Appleton Canyon but, luckily, there are very few clearcut sections on the SCT. Soon, we began our ascent of Scout Mountain which is a steep grunt with loose footing. Mentally, it is a tough little climb since we were so close to the Powell River bridge crossing and it was hot in the direct sun. As we re-entered the trees on our way down, we could hear the chit-chat of rock-climbers on the Higgyland cliffs and then we soon popped out at the boat launch and parking lot of the Shinglemill Pub. Having been out of water for a little while, Bruce and I sneaked into the pub washrooms to refill our bottles and have quick splash baths in the sinks. We had reached the 50 km mark of the SCT but had only managed 34 km for the day so far. Despite the delicious smell of burgers and fries, we crossed over the Powell River and continued on the south side of Powell Lake, passing the evening swimmers and picnickers at Mowat Bay and Haywire Bay. The guidebook mentioned a campsite at Haywire Bay but it became apparent that this was not a SCT hiker’s campsite. Instead, it was a full hook-up RV site with a boat launch, sea-doos and screaming children. We strongly considered setting up camp here since we were both hungry, tired and recovering from hydration issues but we spied a SCT trail sign reporting that Haywire Bluffs (km 58) were only 40 minutes away. Despite our mutual fatigue and the addition of yet another climb onto our day, we took on the challenge and hiked up to the bluffs in 20 minutes. There we found a lovely, open, mossy, flat spot where we rehydrated our delicious homemade chili and quinoa/rice dinner and set-up our cowboy camp.

We spent out second night cowboy camping on Haywire Bluffs. Bug nets are mandatory for this! At some point in the night, I lay awake and watched the milky way. I love the way we have decorated the trees with all our trail clothes!

Tuesday (30 km) To some degree, the hut locations determined our mileage each day. Over morning coffee, we read through the maps, considering our progress so far, and we realized that, if we wanted to sleep at huts, we would have a few shorter days ahead of us. We set our sights on Tin Hat hut (km 88) for tonight.

This is a good representation of the trails for this first third of the SCT – sun-dappled, pine needle-covered, moss-lined, single track.

We cruised through the Haywire Old Growth section, down past Lost Lake and popped out on the wide gravel pathway which borders Inland Lake. We followed the trail around the western edge and circled up past the snoozy Provincial Park campground. At the dock, we dumped our gear and dove in for the most delightful swim ever. Afterwards, as we continued along the wheelchair accessible trail, we came across hundreds of Western Toadlets who were migrating across the trail to a boggy area near the lake. Each little toadlet would fit on your thumbnail and they are difficult to see unless they are hopping. We had to carefully pick our way through their migration path and hope that none were squashed in our shoe treads. We stopped (once again) to filter water before beginning to climb up to Confederation Lake. We were astonished to see dozens of invasive American Bullfrogs lollygagging in Inland Lake with tadpoles nearby the size of a fist. This next trail caught us by surprise both in its beauty and its difficulty. It is an old, old forest with enormous trees and sparse undergrowth. It is no exaggeration to say that some of the trees are more than 1 meter in diameter. As the narrow trail began to ascend, it was soft and loamy underfoot and the switchbacks were carved precariously into the sideslope. In places, the climb was incredibly steep and we would have to crane our necks to see where the next switchback would be. There were places where multiple trees had fallen over each other and it would be a pick-up stix challenge to figure out the sequence of their falls. When we finally reached the top of the sweaty climb (our swim being a distant memory), we followed the shore of Confederation Lake to the hut (km 74). Here, we filtered water from the lake, ate a Mounatin House chicken salad lunch and chatted with some hikers who were taking a rest day and luxuriating in the lake’s waters.

Confederation Lake and its new hut were a welcome respite after the grueling climb

Our next milestone was Fiddlehead Landing, way back down at the Powell Lake shoreline. The descent was no easier than the ascent and we had to slowly pick our way down the steep trail. It was a relief to arrive at the bottom and pick up the pace along an old road. We filtered water at a decent creek and turned towards Tin Hat mountain, completely bypassing Fiddlehead Landing and its lakeside hut. The climb up to Tin Hat mountain began as an old logging road but soon we were directed onto a trail thickly overgrown with thimbleberry and salmonberry bushes. Just as we started climbing in earnest, the trail turned sharply downhill, causing us to lose all of that elevation only to have to climb it again. It was here that began to notice severe chafing on my heels and had to stop to empty out my gritty socks and apply BodyGlide to my feet. We continued climbing through thick salal and sandy soil until we came to a dribble of a creek and two other hikers. Here, at the only water source near Tin Hat mountain, the black flies and horseflies feasted on us as we tried to fill up and filter as many vessels as possible. We still had about 400 m vertical to climb, some of it on gravel road but most on steep, rocky trail. We arrived at Tin Hat hut (km 88) around 7:00 pm and were treated to views of the snow-capped mainland mountains to the east. By the time we had settled in and rehydrated our dinner, the thick smoke from BC’s interior forest fires had blown over and, in an instant, it was like a curtain had been drawn across the sky, obliterating the mountain view. We sat on the hut porch and enjoyed our homemade dahl and saag paneer curry dinner, watching the amber sun set. We shared the hut with one hiker while three others slept cowboy-style under the stars.

Tin Hat mountain is the second highest point on the SCT. The hut sits ~100m below the summit. Here, you can see the line of forest fire smoke on the horizon line which would conceal our vistas for the rest of our hike.

The next morning, all evidence of the views had been erased by the smoke. This photo is looking directly west, towards Vancouver Island.

Wednesday (35 km) The entire SCT is adorned with signs denoting each passing kilometer. But as with all trail systems, the route is somewhat dynamic with occasional re-routes and improvements which can alter the actual distance of the trail. In these places, the kilometer markers are not adjusted to reflect the new distance since that would mean adjusting the markers for the whole length of the 178 km trail. Instead, on days like today, hikers can enter a ‘kilometer time-warp’ where hours of hiking result in only a few kilometer gain. We left Tin Hat hut and carefully picked our way down the sand-covered rock slope in search of a water source. From the map, we could see there was a creek about 3 kilometers away, at the base of the mountain, but it took us close to two hours to get to that water source. Other hikers speculated that six new kilometers had been added in this section. We cruised along the edge of Lewis Lake and found ourselves on a freshly-made trail, soft and ashy under foot with spanking new bridges. We crossed over Spring Main logging road and then entered the familiar March Lake trail, which I clearly remember from our 2004 run. This decommissioned road offers a gradual, shady, mossy ascent up to March Lake and was teaming with berries of all varieties. It would almost be runnable if you didn’t have 100 km already in your legs!

Replicating a photo from our 2004 journey, we stopped for a selfie at the 100 km marker and briefly discussed our upcoming Finlayson 100 km race.

We struck GOLD! Notice that my lips and teeth are already blue with blackberry juice (as well as salmonberry, thimbleberry, blueberry and huckleberry juice!) These are native Trailing Blackberries – very brambly but small, sweet and seedy.

Not all the trail is pretty. This steep, dry section heading up to Elk Lake had no green undergrowth and was a little soul-sucking.

Soon enough, the trail turns and climbs very steeply up to Elk Lake. At the top, we found a picture of paradise! The Elk Lake hut sits right on the lake where a few hikers were reading, sunbathing, swimming off the log-boom dock and feasting on blueberries. Once again, we dropped everything and jumped in the lake while waiting for our lunch to rehydrate (Mountain House eggs and bacon). After an hour’s break, we continued onwards. Here, we made our only error in navigation and, instead of heading up over Elk summit, we somehow stayed on the old ATV track which skirted the summit and looped back to join the main trail a few kilometers later. This ATV track carried us steadily downhill and we knew that the trail would soon turn away from the road and head straight up to Walt Hill and the Suicide Bluffs, but we needed to load up on our evening supply of water before that junction (little did we know that there is a water source near the hut). We arrived at Washout Creek only to find it dry and Bruce recognized that we had to retrace our steps back to Coyote Lake to get water so we ditched our packs and hustled back to the lake to resupply. Now weighed down with 6 pounds of water each, we entered the steep ascent up to Walt Hill. The kilometers went by so slowly here as we summited the hill and, when we found no hut at the top, we were confused and disappointed. The smoke obscured our views and it was difficult to have any sense of direction.

Thinking that this was Walt Hill hut, we were truly disappointed. We found out later that this emergency shelter is known as the Walt Hilton and the real hut is 2 km farther along the trail.

We came across an emergency shelter, which resembles a large outhouse, and we briefly considered hunkering down for the night but I insisted that the Walt Hill hut was further along. We pressed on and began to lose elevation, regain it and lose it again as we wound around the edge of this rocky bluff. Occasionally I swore I could hear laughter and wondered if I was starting to go mad but then we came to a sign directing us towards the hut and the peals of laughter ended up being real. We came across Walt Hill hut (km 123) and a party of 5 friends enjoying the evening. Bruce broke out the small flask of scotch whisky and we toasted our progress before enjoying a tasty Mountain House lasagne meal and hitting the hay.

Upon finding the real Walt Hill hut, Bruce brought out his flask of scotch whisky and we toasted my navigation skills.

Thursday (46 km) Sleeping in the huts is no easy feat since other hikers are noisy, the plywood floor is hard, the heat is unbearable and often there are bugs feasting on your tired body. On this night, I slept barely a wink as I was endlessly woken up by biting insects. Over the next few days, the tracks of bug bites flared up all over my body. Bruce was unaffected as he slept in the impermeable SOL bivvy but me, using my down sleeping bag as a partial quilt, I was exposed and attacked. I have to wonder about what is living in the walls of that hut. With Mt. Troubridge hut (km 158) as our goal, an early rise had us on the trail at 8:00 am. With the sweet combination of finally being in shape after 3 days of fast-packing and a long, gentle 20 km descent (mostly!), we flew along easily with the kilometers clicking by.

Smooth trails edged with enormous trees

One lump or two? We came across two tables (red tablecloth in the background) with a full china tea service. Later on down the trail, we read that it is a memorial to a local well-loved hiker.

At the Lois River crossing, we chatted with one of the PRPAWS trail maintainers who gave us a run-down on the up-coming trail conditions and various options for shortening our route. Lois Lake offered a beautiful, easy-going running route with views of houseboats all along the lakeshore. There were a few under-used recreation campsites right on the lake and good sources of water throughout.

It was impossible to cross over creek without dunking our heads and soaking our hats. Try doing this move with a 50 lb pack!

We were on the edge of a clearcut as we followed the shore of Lois Lake. This was our first view (!) of Mt Troubridge and our climb up to Elephant Lake.

Eventually we left the lake and headed up alongside Creek 4. We came across the brand-new, still unfinished Golden Stanley hut (km 145) and stopped briefly to rehydrate a late lunch. We refilled our water and continued up towards Elephant Lake. Initially this is a mountain bike trail, complete with jumps, bermed corners and bridges, often steep and gnarley as it follows Buckwheat Creek. But then, it flattens out and becomes a wide, overgrown road with a constant grade, making it easy to fall into the rhythm of climbing. We stopped again to eat that rehydrated lunch and carried on up to Elephant Lake. The lake was inviting but we simply filled our water bottles and continued up the next pitch to our highest point of the trail, Mt Troubridge. Predictably, the climb steepened as we gained elevation and the sweeping switchbacks brought back memories of the Diez Vista ridge ascent. When we arrived at the junction to the hut, we were disappointed to see that Jocelyn Pond, next to the hut, was almost dry and that they biting flies were rampant, making sitting outside nearly impossible.

Mt Troubridge hut is a gorgeous log cabin, complete with pellet stove for winter nights. Although we would have had the hut all to ourselves, the bugs and lack of water chased us away.

Since it was only 5:30 pm, we decided to press onwards to Rainy Day Lake hut. We had once again entered familiar territory, having run this section with Wendy in 2013. The descent is shady and the trail is pine-needle covered with berry bushes all around. I would often round a corner to see Bruce picking a bush clean of berries while waiting for me. The 10 km descent was tiring and, as we hit the power line access road, I was completely spent. The final 3 km to the hut were fueled only by the draw of a swim in Rainy Day Lake. We arrived at the hut (km 169) and immediately headed down to the dock for a refreshing swim. There were two other parties at the hut and one group had already gone to bed (before sunset!). After a homemade chili and quinoa/rice dinner, we pitched the hut’s emergency tent just outside the hut and hunkered down for a well-earned sleep.

Friday (9 km) We slept well in our bug-free tent and spent time chatting with the other hikers at Rainy Day Lake before heading down towards Fairview Bay. With less than 10 km left to go, we took our time and started around 9:30 am. The final section dropped us down to the ocean where  we were hit by the lovely salt air as we approached Fairview Hut (km 172). In typical coastal fashion, the trail carried us up and over rocky outcrops, inland and back out to the seaside.

The Fairview trail hugs the sea shore and gives lovely views of Jervis Inlet and Nelson Island – even through the smoky haze.

We could see the Saltery Bay oyster farms and the local ferry as it headed over to Earl’s Cove, on-board car alarm screaming through the morning quiet. The terrain is so much like Finlayson Arm or any other southern BC coastline and we reveled in the beauty that is right here in our backyard. We rolled into the Saltery Bay parking lot and took a photo at the SCT trailhead kiosk.

Our 178+ km journey was complete and it was a fun challenge to do it fast and light over four and a half days. It would be a completely different challenge to do this over 10 days, as the guidebook suggests, but this is what appeals to us at this point in our life.

And we are done! This was such a beautiful, challenging and fun vacation. I hope we add it to our annual event list.

Once back on pavement, we refilled our water bottles at the ferry toll booth and then headed to the lone bus stop where a few patio chairs beckoned. Being a dead-end road, there is very little traffic heading into town outside of the ferry rush but luckily the third car to pass us with our thumbs out picked us up and drove us the 30 km back to downtown Powell River. I guess the sight of sweaty backpackers and dirty legs is fairly common in Saltery Bay. We had completed the loop of our trip and had time to enjoy a pub lunch with a local Townsite IPA (or two!) before walking on the ferry home.

Extra Thoughts

  • water sources were our main concern for the entire route. Approximately four times each day, we needed to find and filter water which swallowed up a lot of time. Many streams are seasonal, making July/August a challenging time to hike
  • the huts are wonderful and every hiking party that we came across was welcoming and accommodating, despite our late arrival times. I would highly recommend Manzanita, Confederation Lake, Elk Lake, Rainy Day Lake and Fairview Bay huts as destinations
  • Eagle Walz’s SCT hut-to-hut guidebook is invaluable and essential. Divided into 30 section hikes, he points out the history of each area and key things to look for. We cut the book apart and carried only the small maps with us. newer editions of the book have a SCT Odometer at the end which gives a kilometer-by-kilometer run-down of camps, water sources, key junctions and points of interest
  • our complete gear lists are posted in Tips from a Lightweight

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