West Coast Trail 2025 - Michigan to Pachena Bay

Last day! Just 12 km to go.

But first—a little overnight drama.

At some point in the night, I woke briefly to the sound of someone in a nearby tent making noise. It was short-lived and sounded like a bad dream, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. Then, around 2 a.m., our small area of the campground erupted in chaos.

From the tent right next to mine came loud, panicked screaming—high-pitched enough that it genuinely sounded like a woman being attacked. I recognized the tents as belonging to the large group I’d met the day before. No one in the group was saying anything, which was… odd.

I called out, “Is everything okay?” No answer—just more screaming. Other campers started asking if it was a bear, but I doubted it. We were deep in the middle of a cluster of tents, and a bear wandering through without anyone else hearing or seeing it seemed unlikely.

Then, a male voice, quietly said, “I’m stuck.”

I sat up, baffled. “What’s going on, you guys?”

“I’m stuck,” he repeated.

“What do you mean, you’re stuck?”

Pause. “I’m stuck in my tent.”

…Seriously? At 2 a.m.? I could only think: You’ve got to frickin' be kidding me! Someone else in the tent finally called out, “We’re all okay. Everything’s fine.” Things settled down after that, but it was one of the strangest wake-up calls I’ve ever had. In the morning, I was tempted to ask for the full story, but decided to let it go.

I got up around 6:30 and was on the trail by 7:25. The first kilometre was notoriously muddy, something I’d read about on the WCT Facebook group and in the route description in the app. Thankfully, the recent dry weather worked in my favour—I made it through without getting swallowed by the mud.

The first landmark was the Pachena Point Lighthouse, but Parks Canada closed all the lighthouses on the trail last year due to unstable ground (and probably money). The short access trail was blocked, so I had to settle for a glimpse through the trees and fog.

Next up was Sea Lion Rock, which I’d been excited about for days. The guidebook promised, “you can hear, and smell them long before you see them.” The side trail was about 250 m downhill, but as I approached, I couldn’t hear—or smell—anything. Sure enough, when I got to the viewpoint, the rock was empty. Another hiker optimistically said, “Oh, they’re in the water!” but my telephoto lens confirmed it was kelp, not sea lions. Honestly, if I had one disappointment on this entire hike, it was not seeing more wildlife.

Not a sea lion in sight!

A few sea gulls in the fog.

A few kilometres later, I finally did hear the barks of sea lions drifting in from the coast—but the trail was inland, and there was no way to get a view.

One last relic from years gone by.

The final stretch of trail was the easiest of the entire trip—mostly flat, well-worn forest path. Trail signs counted down the distance to Pachena Bay, which somehow made the last kilometres feel slower.

If the tides are low, the last 800 m to the finish is a pleasant walk on firm sand; if not, you have to tackle seven more ladders. I happily arrived at low tide and strolled the beach to the Parks office, marking the official end of the West Coast Trail.

I reached Pachena Bay at 11:40 a.m.—12 km in 4 hours and 15 minutes, including the side trip to Sea Lion Rock and the muddy start. After a refreshing shower at the Pachena Bay Campground, I began the long drive home.

Final backpack weight: 19 lbs.

West Coast Trail 2025 - Klanawa to Michigan

I woke at 6:45, had breakfast, and was on the trail by 8:30. Before setting out, I made a point of drinking plenty of water and electrolytes—I’d gone to bed with what felt like a dehydration headache, and it was still lingering in the morning.

The day began with a 3 km stretch of beach walking. Much of it could be done on the sandstone “shelf,” which made the going a bit easier but required careful footing—those rocks can be deceptively slick. Somewhere along this stretch, I saw a man running the trail. Running. On the West Coast Trail. Craziness!

Fog hung over the water again, spoiling my hopes of spotting whales during the day. I did catch a brief glimpse of one that evening—a distant arc of its back and the spray of a waterspout far out to sea—but it was gone almost as soon as I saw it. Disappointing, but still a reminder that they were out there.

Leaving the beach meant climbing more ladders back into the forest. Along the way, I passed the rusted remains of an old donkey engine, the skeleton of a horse-drawn road grader, and a pair of the big red Parks Canada chairs. I didn’t stop for the chairs, as a large group had already claimed them for a break. This stretch of coast is notorious for shipwrecks, and it’s not hard to imagine the history hidden beneath the waves.

Chainsaw art

Probably last winter's storm damage. The scent of freshly cut wood was still in the air.

The mascot of the West Coast Trail. Thought I'd see more slugs on the trail than I did. 

Pearly Everlasting (identification thanks to iNaturalist)

A long series of ladders led back down to the beach at Tsocowis Creek, where the Trail Guardians have a small cabin. The Guardians, who are members of the local First Nations communities, work hard to maintain the trail through the hiking season and are often the first in position to assist in rescue situations.

Humorously scruffy looking!

I think this poor little guy had an injured wing. He hopped along in front of me for a while and just moved to the side to let me pass, as opposed to flying away.

The rest of the day was all beach walking. I had planned to stop at Darling campsite, but I arrived far too early to call it a day. Instead, I pushed on a couple more kilometres to Michigan Creek to even out the final day’s distance.

I’d brought water shoes for creek and river crossings, but the summer’s dryness meant I could rock-hop or log-balance across both Darling and Michigan creeks without getting wet.

I reached Michigan campsite at 1:30 p.m., making it 5 hours for 11 km—with lots of quick photo stops along the way. I found another nice forest site for my tent and made sure not to spread out too much, knowing more hikers would be arriving later. Michigan is a busy spot—it’s the last campsite before the trail ends at Pachena Bay (or the first, if you’re starting there).

Buoys mark campsite and important transitions between beach and trail. 

View from the outhouse platform. Bear bin in the bottom centre of the photo.

Somewhere along the day’s walk, I picked up a blister on my big toe. Luckily, I caught it early and patched it up before it could turn into a bigger problem.

I was in my tent by 8:00, reading and jotting down diary notes before falling asleep. Keeping a daily journal was one of the best decisions I made—without it, this trip report would have been much harder to piece together!

West Coast Trail 2025 - Nitinaht Narrows to Klanawa

I was up early at 5:45 a.m., grabbed a shower, and had a quick breakfast—peanut butter on a bagel and some juice. With time to spare, I made my way over to the Parks Canada office for the 7:00 a.m. check-in and the 7:30 orientation. The briefing was… well, let’s just say it was cursory at best. At 7:45, Parks staff led us on a short ~15-minute hike to the boat dock. There were 15 hikers in our group. Thankfully, not all of them going the same direction as me. 

I was very happy with my pack weight! 23.5 lbs to start which included all food and full load of water, stuffed into a 34L backpack. Weight did not include big camera, hiking poles, bear spray and phone. 

The boat dock at Nitinaht Village.

We left Nitinaht Village at 8:05 a.m. and arrived at the Crab Shack at Nitinaht Narrows by 8:35. The journey started with stunning views before we were completely enveloped in a thick, coastal fog.

Our boat was driven by Carl Edgar, a familiar and respected name on the trail—he’s been ferrying West Coast Trail hikers across the Narrows for over 50 years! He and his wife Shelley, along with other family members, run the Crab Shack, nearby cabins, tent platforms, and the boat crossings. With the steady flow of hikers through the area, I imagine they do quite well.

The Crab Shack

One of the cabins

Even though I’d already eaten, I decided to have a second breakfast at the Crab Shack—just to say I’d eaten there. While waiting for food, I was pleasantly surprised to spot a Saskatoon Police Service shoulder flash pinned to the wall among a variety of other patches. A fun little connection to home.

At 10:00 a.m., after a short two-minute boat ride across the Narrows, I began my hike north.

Sam giving us a ride across the Narrows.

The trail started off with lots of mud and exposed roots, even though it hadn’t rained in a while. There were also plenty of boardwalks, ranging from excellent condition to completely falling apart. For a while, the trail followed a high ridge that—on a clear day—would’ve offered incredible views, but the fog never lifted.

Typical looking outhouse on the WCT.

The trail guardians are known for cutting faces in the salal leaves. It's fun to come across them on the trail! 

My main goal for the day was to reach the "hole in the wall" before the tide came in. To access it, I had to time a dash across about 10 feet of sand between waves —waiting for the water to recede and then hustling across and scrambling up onto the rock shelf to stay dry. Totally worth it.

Walking along the beach past "hole in the wall", I spotted the silhouette of a large bird perched on a rock out in the ocean. At first, I couldn’t tell if it was an eagle or a turkey vulture, but eventually the distinctive flash of a white head gave it away—bald eagle. As I fumbled to get my big camera ready, it launched from its perch, and I thought that was the end of my chance. But to my surprise, it circled back, sweeping gracefully over the water a couple of times. I managed to fire off a few quick shots—not too bad, considering the fog and the distance.

I then stopped at Tsusiat Falls, the most popular campsite on the trail. It’s easy to see why—there’s a picturesque pond at the base of the falls where people were swimming and lounging. But crowds aren’t really my thing, so I pushed on for another 2 km to Klanawa campsite.

Leaving Tsusiat meant climbing several long ladders back up to the main trail. Despite all the talk online about how hard they are, I didn’t find them difficult at all—my pack was relatively light, and I don’t mind heights.

One of the bigger obstacles between Tsusiat and Klanawa campsites is the Klanawa River, which usually requires a cable car crossing. I was a bit nervous about doing it solo, but when I arrived, there was a large group ahead of me and a few hikers behind, so it turned out to be easy—and actually a lot of fun.I reached Klanawa at 3:15 p.m., covering 9.5 km in about 5.25 hours. I stopped often for photos but didn’t take any long breaks—aside from about 45 minutes of waiting to cross the cable car.

The Klanawa campsite is nestled in the trees, and I found a small spot just big enough for my little tent—Andrew’s one-person ultralight Mountain Hardwear tent. It’s a bit of a squeeze unless you’re super slim and flexible like Andrew! Thankfully, there was lots of space between campers, and it turned into a gloriously quiet afternoon and evening.

Later, I went for a walk and discovered that, due to the low water level and lack of recent rain, I could have walked across the gravel bar at the mouth of the river instead of using the cable car. Oh well—chalk it up to the full experience!

I was tucked into my tent before 9:00 p.m. and could barely keep my eyes open. I slept incredibly well that night—only waking up once for a quick bathroom trip.