Blisters and Bliss calls walking along the shoreline a "Beach Boogie." I prefer the Tideshelf Tango. Sand is certainly nicer to walk than the inland forest trails— no mud, no roots, and straight wide bays means travelling at a multiple of the speed of the inland route. But sand shifts, while tidal flats— what a great way to walk up the coast!
Flat as a sidewalk, holding only sheets of water as shallow as bootsoles. Shale layers and barnacles keep the surface grippy when wet, and in the fissures of deeper tidewater, crabs skitter and minnows dart among anemone that range in size from dimes to dinner plates.
Leaving camp we had to wade Walbran Creek to reach our beach route. The sun was already shining hot on the open sand. Dressed down to shorts, water shoes, and a light collared sun shirt, there was a tropical, piratical feel to the creek crossing and subsequent tideshelf tango around tree-topped flowerpot headlands.
At Bonilla Point there’s a lovely campsite and waterfall pool where I stripped to shorts and took a cool shower in the falls.
Carmanah Point campground is pretty too. F—— and S——- stopped there as we pressed on. Carmanah Point Lighthouse watches over the wide arc of white sand here. Sun glittered off of perfectly curling waves.
The remains of Nytom are an interesting spot to stop for lunch. Peter Nytom (renamed Knighton at residential school) married Monique, a white Montrealer, in the late 80s, and the couple moved back to the traditional home of Peter's family in 1991. On maps the area beneath Carmanah Point along this beach is Ditidaht First Nation, but Peter asserted total independence when he and Monique built their little shack below the sweeping lighthouse beam. Peter called their land Quabadiwa. Hikers enjoying their hospitality called it Chez Monique. The shack grew into an unregulated restaurant, serving burgers to hungry trekkers. The establishment survived Monique's death but not Peter's. After his boat capsized on a supply run, Sandi Knighton maintained the restaurant part-time under the new name "Nytom"— increasingly part-time, with openings becoming rarer and rarer. There were signs of life when we stopped. The fence was aromatic fresh-cut cedar. Woodwork and beadmaking in process was visible on the burger stand counter. But we saw and heard not a peep of current human life.
Just past Nytom the trail climbs steeply and briefly up a tight notch into the clifftop Carmanah rainforest, home of famous skyscraper Sitka Spruce.
Carmanah is also a former Victoria-based folk-rock band (playing as Miina these days I think.)
Let's go walking through the forest / let's go waltzing with the trees
And that makes me think, what would bands named for other points along the trail sound like? Mostly they'd be pretty similar to Carmanah. Cullite, Walbran, Nitinaht, and so on. Bonilla sounds like bubblegum pop. Logan Creek and Owen Point sound like Nashville pop-country singers. Anything with too much of that west-coast ts root wouldn't play well in the States I think, so Tsusiat and Tsocowis may be out. Black River would be soulsy and Coal Creek would be gritty Appalachian bluegrass. Camper Bay might be right up my alley but I think may risk sounding too much like what people who don't like the Lumineers think the Lumineers sound like. If it was spelled as Camper Bae it'd be right out. Thrasher Cove, of course, would be pirate metal.
Emerging from the forest we visited the 1891 lighthouse grounds. Sadly this place is being automated by the Coast Guard overlords, so there will be no more fresh-baked cookies as we've heard mentioned. Pity, I think I could make a good lighthouse keeper. The Keeper we met seemed tired of having to deal with tourists, but did set up a telescope for us to peer closer at the sea lion colony hauled out on an offshore rock. She also confirmed that the tides were okay for us to return to the beach down the steep stairs to the north. Beneath the lighthouse tower, a "Frankenwhale" skeleton is made up of the washed-in bones of different species. A huge humpback (?) skull looks a bit funny on the disproportional orca body.
The pockmarked tideshelf north of Carmanah is a lunar landscape. It's not far from there to Cribs Creek and the camps. This may have been my favourite camp. It was still wonderfully warm, and we got set up with lots of daylight to spare. The Cribs themselves are a ridge of gently sloped rocks sheltering a wide pool of tidewater where seabirds congregate by the hundreds for a crabmeat feast. We would have our own feast at the Nitinaht Narrows Crabshack the next day.
My mood was much improved from the day before as I climbed onto the Cribs to watch the sun set at last totally uninhibited into the endless Pacific horizon. I waited for a green flash I never saw. I'll keep waiting.
Staring up the center of the Three Sisters - sitka spruce that are some of the tallest trees in Canada Taken in Carmanah Walbran Provincial Park Vancouver Island BC
