Juan de Fuca Marine Trail

In a Single Day

August 18, 2021

I think the following text messages sum up this trip rather concisely:

By 3 pm we were on the ferry from Tsawwassen heading to the island.

This was a spontaneous trip to say the least. The Juan de Fuca is a 47 kilometer long trail located along the west coast of Vancouver Island and is considered one of the classic hikes. Typically done in three to four days as a backpacking trip, it is by no means super difficult, but if the conditions aren’t right, the trail could be a muddy and slippery tangle of roots and rotting vegetation. Meandering its way up and down through the forest and along the beach, it adds over 1700 meters in cumulative elevation gain. And we wanted to run it.

The most glaring issue here is that I’m not a runner. I’d even go so far as to say I actively dislike running. Don’t get me wrong I’ve tried getting into it, but no matter what I do, be it running with music, podcast, or no auditory stimulation at all, it never seems to stick. This aversion to running meant that I hadn’t run more than 5km since high school where it was forced upon you. Amanda didn’t fare much better either. While possessing superior cardio due to her spin class obsession, she wasn’t a runner. All these signs pointed towards a very large and obvious red flag, but we ignored it.

Sailing to Swartz Bay, in light of what was to come the following day, I decided to pack in those calories and treat myself to a very large lunch on the ferry. Making sure to avoid the terrible ferry poutine of course. Upon arrival we headed into Victoria to raid Thrifty’s for food. We hadn’t even taken the time to plan our meals before leaving so we spent a while (as usual) wandering the aisles looking for anything that might strike our fancy.

Shopping finished, we finally pulled into the China Beach parking lot, the start of the trail. With no desire to spend money on booking a campsite, we decided on sleeping in the car. When this occurs, we are usually treated to the ample space of a Toyota Highlander (not sponsored). However, this time Amanda wasn’t able to take it so we were left with only one option: My mum’s small Audi hatchback. As darkness fell, we flattened the back seat and set up for the night. There really is an odd feeling that sets in when you sleep in the car.

While this trip seems entirely devoid of any logistics that’s not quite true. It was NEARLY entirely devoid of any logistics. The one thing we had to plan was our ride back to our car. See, we had parked near the southern trailhead at China Beach. The other end of the trail is located near Botanical Beach some 30km northwest. Luckily there is a daily shuttle from Port Renfrew just three kilometers north of Botanical which would take us back to China. This shuttle leaves at 5:45 pm sharp and will not wait a minute longer. We had to make the shuttle no matter what.

At 5:30 am our alarm goes off. Unfolding ourselves from the cramped car, we pack our lunch consisting of a dozen different snack bars then proceeded to palate half a peanut butter bagel before downing a RedBull and two coffees. At 6am sharp, we ran. Almost immediately I was out of breath, but we continued. Soon I got the hang of it and as the sky brightened, we were making good time. Oddly enough I was feeling pretty great. Running past campsites, we nodded a greeting to the few hikers stretching and crawling out of their tents. The constant up and down nature of the trail was laborious, but the intense concentration required not to trip over the roots and rocks kept the mind off the strain. We encountered very few people on the trail in the morning, but as the day wore on, we saw more and more. And so, the compliments came in. My gosh, the complete and utter ego boost. The shock, awe, congratulations, admiration, and words of encouragement from the people we exchanged fleeting words with was fueling my exhausted body. I was just a fool who started running against all better judgement.

The trail was in great running condition. While the trail had plenty of roots and rocks, it was dry. We were making such great time (for non-runners) and had plenty of energy left in the tank. At two hours we were cruising past the 17km marker. However, this smooth sailing had to come to an end. Shortly after this 17km marker, we must have made a wrong turn because we ended up following a trail of flagging tape up into the forest and away from the coast. This trail became increasingly difficult to follow. Amanda ran ahead as I struggled up hill, my pace slowing to a staggered walk-run as I tried to spot the pink flagging tape. In a clearing, I came upon a confused Amanda. The highway was just on the other side of the bushes. Where had we gone wrong? How could we have failed to follow a VERY clear dirt path that hundreds, if not thousands hike on every year?  We sat down for a snack and attempted to pull up some maps on our phone but with no cell service it was hopeless. We decide to find our way back down in search of the trail once more. This led to an exorbitant amount of time following the seemingly haphazardly placed pink, orange and red flagging tape in circles stumbling through what cannot even remotely be described as a trail. Just pure forest floor. Eventually we made it back to the proper trail unsure of what we did wrong. To make up for lost time we took off running. Suddenly, I spot something odd: the 17km trail marker. Didn’t we pass it going the other way? We stopped a couple of hikers and asked them which campsite they came from. “Bear Beach” they said. Damn, we were running backwards. Luckily, we had caught it before we ran too far. So back we go and the 17km trail marker passes us by for a third time.

Now at this point I can confirm that we never ran past that 17 km trail marker again. What I cannot confirm is that we didn’t follow that exact same flagging tape trail off the main path and back into the woods. Our brains must have been severely oxygen deprived from the running because we ended up back at the same clearing eating another snack bar seriously questioning our sanity. We had run about a kilometer off trail…twice…at the exact same spot.

Standing in that clearing we heard voices approach. A couple of hikers, big bags on their shoulders, pushed their way through the bushes from the direction of the road. Questioning them, we discovered that they had similarly left the trail mistakenly, but they had done so further up along the Juan de Fuca. Finding themselves on the road, they decided to walk along it until they found a trail back down. They had a map with them which provided some useful information. As we pointed the hikers in the right direction, we agreed we couldn’t handle treading over the same ground for a fourth time so we opted to run along the highway till we found a path back down. The couple’s map we photographed marked a few trails leading from the road to the Juan de Fuca. We must have mistakenly followed one of these trails up.

And so, spirits slightly lowered, too many hours lost, and several extra kilometers run, we jogged along the pavement until we reached a trail overgrown and hidden by the side of the road. Down this we descended towards Chin Beach and the proper trail. Once back on trail we stayed on trail. At this point I was getting tired, but we were only halfway there. I desperately hoped that the second half would be smoother.

The kilometers went by and with every distance marker we passed I began to think we’d pull it off. We ran and my legs just kept going. On the steep inclines we slowed to a strained walk and on the downhills, we ran madly, allowing gravity to do as much work as possible to preserve energy while desperately swinging our feet under us to prevent ourselves from tumbling out of control. It was quite something. Just before you had caught your breath from the last upward push, the downward slope stopped and curved upwards once again.

It went on and on but there is a certain point you reach when the pain in your legs, your feet, your body really don’t matter and you will genuinely run till you drop. I had reached that point. The 750ml of water we started with was long gone when we stopped at a creek to refill at kilometer 35. I inhaled another snack bar and we continued.

It wasn’t nonstop running by any means. Many of the beaches we traversed were rocky and slippery and would have broken our ankles, but it was certainly more running than I had ever done before. At around the 40km mark, pain in Amanda’s knee became excruciating. She insisted we continue jogging but I insisted we walk. So we did. Checking my watch, I realized that 5:45 was approaching and we didn’t even have a way to get from the trailhead to Port Renfrew. It would add another three kilometers. As the end was in sight my right knee became quite painful as well but with time ticking, we began running once more, faces grimaced.

Making it to the end of the trail was a great relief. We both could hardly believe that we ran 47km (plus the stupid detour) in a single day. Taking a photo with the trail sign, the seconds ticked away to shuttle departure time. We asked if the women who so kindly took the photo for us were headed to Port Renfrew and if they could drive us. Covered in mud and sweat we clambered into their packed car. They were on a road trip from Calgary and had a car filled with bags and bins. We made small talk as they sped us to our destination.

Fortunately, we made it on time. We collapsed down into the bus seats feeling physically exhausted but thrilled. Now we had done it. The shuttle wound it’s way along the narrow road finally depositing Amanda and I, now sporting very prominent new limps, to our awaiting car. It was getting late and there was no point in racing to the ferry, so we stopped in Sooke for a well earned dinner. Taking our time, we drove through Victoria and googled for a spot to camp. Settling on Island View Beach Regional Park, we pulled into a parking spot, threw down the back seat and spent night number two in the car. The next morning we were on the early ferry back to Vancouver with two quite badly injured knees. Amanda had done her LCL with some meniscus damage, and I had a “very much irritated” meniscus and hiking was “definitely out of the question for a while” according to my physio. Not the worst price to pay for such a poorly thought out, planned, and trained for trip.

The pain of the trip has mostly faded away. All that remain are the ego stroking compliments and the fact that we ran the Juan de Fuca in a day. We won’t learn any lessons from this trip. If anything, we learned that we can succeed even if we are woefully underprepared. West Coast Trail next year?