If you Google TRT, you are as likely to find Testosterone Replacement Therapy as you are the Tahoe Rim Trail. I never considered the correlation, let alone the causation between them. But perhaps I should.

Starting tomorrow, my three sons and I will begin a 170 mile circumnavigation of the largest alpine lake in North America.

TRT Map

80 KM

Powell Lake – Fiddlehead

I wake in the hut early, with plenty of time to kill. We are not expecting Perry and Steve until 9:00am, and the others are still sleeping.  I slink down to the water, remove most of my clothes, and swim in the surprisingly warm Powell Lake. I can feel the crystalized salts melting off my body.

For breakfast we have oatmeal and leftovers. I polish off chunks of cheese, which I chase with spoonfuls of Nutella. Later, I will become civilized.

Steve and Perry finally arrive at 9:30am. They lead us back to the car, but the rest of Steve’s group has already gone. They are now grunting up the trail to Tin Hat Hut, while we are gliding down logging roads to Powell River.

We are earlier than checkin time at the hotel, but our smiles and smells help us get enough rooms to start showers. We are re-united with Helene. She updates us on her her crazy adventures of rain, hail, mud trenches, German’s quitting, and eventually getting lost.

After showers, meals, and laundry, reality begins to set in.  The weather forecast is rain for the rest of the week. Coral decides to go with her husband to visit family. Marjie wants to explore day hikes, but no more major elevation and camping in the rain. Helene, my last hope, decides she too has had enough.

Alternative plans are made, flights changed, and good-byes said.

Someday I will to return to finish this trail.

80 – 90 – 80 KM

We wake and make our way to the small porch for breakfast, trying not to wake the canoers sharing our hut. We have a quick coffee or tea, and granola with powdered coconut milk. Today is a long climb up to Tin Hat Hut.

View Part Way up Tin Hat

The rain from the day before is still on the leaves and ferns. The overgrown trail gives us the opportunity to dry the forest with our pants. A valiant effort, but a miserable failure. The good news, however, is that the abundant berries are all freshly washed and ready for consumption.

The trail takes us through clear-cut logging patches. This logging is clearly a big part of the economy and history of the Sunshine Coast, but a bit of an eyesore when walking through it. We push on fairly steadily, taking very few breaks. Our goal is to reach the summit by 1:00.

The mountain is a bit of a mystery. It is named after the tin hats worn by loggers, but the mystery for us is that you can’t see the mountain until you are right on top of it. We pass the time shouting out each kilometer marker we pass. Our goal is marker 90, which we finally reach by 12:45pm.

Tin Hat Hut from Summit

We celebrate with sausage, cheese, and Nutella on crackers, but not necessarily all at the same time. We try to orient ourselves, but are frankly overwhelmed by the number of lakes, snow capped mountains on Vancouver island, and the Strait of Georgia. Somehow, even the outhouse by the shelter looks amazing from the summit.

Knowing how far we have to go back to Fiddlehead, we release our grip on the summit, and descend. We begin counting down the KM markers. We meet quite a few people heading up to the hut – one of the canoeing couples (without their canoe), a group of 4 hikers, a man with his dog, a couple of women, then another couple of men.  Clearly, it is going to be crowded on Tin Hat tonight.

As we arrive back at Fiddlehead, we begin again to consider how Perry is going to find us. Various logging roads go in various directions, but none of them to the Fiddlehead Hut.  We have agreed to sit tight, assuming the car can move, but the hut seems less likely.

I rehydrate broccoli and make soup. We have a nice conversation with locals, and fall asleep wondering when Perry and Steve will get here.

67 – 80 KM

It rains quite hard, not stopping until about midnight. Even cramped, we are happy to be in our island shelter. I heat water for coffee, and we mix powdered milk and granola.

Confederation Lake

Jim announces he is tapping out. He plans to walk back to the campground and repeat the ladies miraculous cab summons. He offers to take out any extra food and trash. We take a selfie of the group, say goodbye, and begin our now three-party ascent to Confederation Lake.

Confederation Lake Hut

The temperature is cool and the trail is relatively well graded, but steep. We make it to the Confederation Lake hut before noon. We have salami and cheese, and admire the lake, the shelter, and our speedy arrival. It is chilly and we quickly begin to cool. The ladies are eager to push on, so we load up and head for Fiddlehead.

There is a surprising amount of up on this steep trail down to Fiddlehead. We chat to pass the time, arriving a little after 4:00pm. The hut seems setup for water taxi access, and the road on the map is much clearer than the road on the ground. We are not sure how Coral’s husband Perry will be able to meet us, but that is a problem for future us.

Fiddlehead Hut

We have rice with potato curry, and plan tomorrow’s up and back day-hike to Tin Hat Mountain. It is the postcard hut for the entire Sunshine Coast Trail. If we can’t bag the entire trail, we are at least going to bag that postcard.

We share the hut with a couple of best friends, and a foursome of canoers. It’s a tad crowded, but everyone is very friendly and able to share…even their snores.

64 – 67 KM

First Nation Carvings

We sleep until 7:00am, which is something like backpacker’s 10:00am. We have coffee and breakfast rice – a concoction of instant rice with pudding mix, cinnamon, Craisins, and slivered almonds.

We pack up and beat the rain down the wheelchair accessible trail. There are a few interesting native carvings along the path, which leads us to a bridge to Anthony’s Island. We hope to meet up with Steve’s team, as they double back from Confederation Lake to a different shelter on the west side of Inland Lake.

We find a note at Anthony’s Island shelter that we have just missed the front of Steve’s party train. Holly and a few others pushed on to avoid the rain. Coral and Marjie hike up the trail to find Steve and the rest of his group. They eventually arrive and we share trail tales, and discuss options. They make clear the feared climb to Confederation Lake should not be. Our optimism grows.

Anthony’s Island Shelter

The forecast is for rain off and on all day, so we four settle into our tiny three platform cabin. The rocky ground has my name all over it. After a lunch of powdered peanut butter & Nutella on crackers, the ladies day-hike back to the campground in search of electrons for Coral’s iPhone. I wander north along the rainy shores, while Jim naps and dreams of drier far off places.

Coral and Marjie return. While their things were getting charged, they figure out how to take a cab from the campground to Powell River for candy, trail mix, and bug spray. Later, Jim is quite intrigued by the ladies’ cab adventure, and asks a lot of detailed questions about the logistics. Hmmm.

I make pasta with red sauce, and we fall asleep, sheltered from the still pouring rain.

58 – 64 KM

Last Group Photo

We wake to hear Helene’s final decision – she is going on with the Germans. The good news is that someone from our group might make the trail. The bad news is that we have to re-sort food and say goodbye. We take one last group picture before she leaves.

The rest of us will stroll towards a day of rest at Inland Lake. We are officially off plan.

Inland Lake

We stop at the car camping campground, borrow a canoe, and paddle and piddle around the lake. We are settling in with the parked RVs, kids circling on bikes, and bundles of firewood for 7 dollars Canadian. The highlight of my day is watching a bullfrog stock, catch, and eat swordtail butterflies.

Coral’s husband apparently misses her, and has agreed to bring in their 4 wheel drive vehicle. He is willing to pluck us out at Fiddlehead in a couple of days. He may even bring Steve’s group in, after their scheduled zero day. It will be kind of like a prisoner exchange. But to make it happen, we have to get up and over the dreaded Confederation Lake pass.

Frog Catches Butterfly

Steve calls via his satellite phone, and reports that the trail up to Confederation is not as bad as feared. Their fast pack was there by 11:00am, and the rest were there by 1:00pm. It appears we could have made it on the original plan, yet my three seem quite happy with their decision.

Tomorrow we will move 3 kilometers down to Anthony’s Island, to stage for our ascent to Confederation lake.

40 – 58 KM

I wake early and make breakfast burritos. We are trying to get an early jump on an 11 mile day. We are learning that STC miles are somewhat longer than normal miles.

Another Black Bear

As Coral presses through shoulder tall ferns, I hear bear sounds from the bushes. I hurry her along, as the snapping branches are getting loud.

Further down the trail we run into another bear. This one, clearly coming right for us. I guess these guys don’t like us eating their berries. I yell “Hey bear” as Coral bangs her walking sticks. Our presence is now clearly known. Eventually he veers off.

View Near Scout Mountain

We hike up and around Scout Mountain. The views from the top are amazing, but the down is brutally rocky and steep. I feel like I am learning new sailor terms from Jim, or at least hearing them with new found enthusiasm.

As a team, we are fading. We find a note from Steve. His group has fallen back a day, and is now planning to cut back miles and eventually double back for the zero day pickup. It takes us about 11 hours to travel 11 miles. Helene is going strong and can clearly complete the trail, but others have stopped having fun. This is a head game and some heads are no longer in it – not to mention knees and ankles.

We roll into camp by a decent 5:30pm, but the damage is already done. Alternate plans are being alternately discussed.

25 – 40 KM

We wake very early, and have coffee and bagels with cream cheese. We are on the trail before seven, which gives us an hour jump on the previous day. The next few kilometers, along flowing water, are flat, soft and magical. We wonder if this stretch encouraged the group ahead to keep going. It certainly encourages us.

Black Bear

As we meander smiling, Helene hears a noise. Looking around I quickly find a bear. He is quite conflicted between pulling down branches for berries and rubbing his bum on a log. He makes grunting noises, which we conclude are pleasure, if only because we prefer it.

We have a short but steep up section which brings reality back to our day.

Jim does not stop at the shortcut trail split. We do not know which way he went. We have a frantic moment, with me running down one trail, Helene the other, and Coral and Marjie staying put. We are all whistling and yelling for what seems like ages. Jim is apparently in a groove, and does not stop until a spectacular vista. He never even saw the split.

View from Jim’s Overlook

After catching him, I run back to the trail split, find Helene, then we all hike back to the newly name Jim Overlook, in memory of him overlooking the trail split.

Rieveley Pond Shelter

We hike on to Rieveley Pond Shelter, where we find an encouraging note. The group ahead pushed on. We lounge, filtered water and have rehydrated bean and cheese burritos.

The next few kilometers are quite spectacular, with cooler temperatures, cascading water, and occasion waterfalls. Gorge Falls should be named gorgeous. A dozen people could easily shower under it at the same time.

Every sign we run into indicates Sliammon lake is 4.4 kilometers. We are either walking in place, or this is some kind of sign about the math skills of the sign people. I have a feeling it is a minus sign.

Gorge Falls

We tumble down steep yet incredibly soft tread to the mysteriously warm Large Sliammon Lake. We swim in its warm glory, then make Pad Thai with peas for dinner.

We find no note from Steve, so have no idea how their trip is going. We fall asleep wondering.

12 – 25 KM

Last night was too hot to get under my quilt, so I was eaten alive by mosquitos. I am not sure why the screaming bullfrogs could not have defended me. Flat spot or not, I will pitch a tent, rather than a fit, tomorrow night.

Manzanita Hut

After coffee, hash browns and fake sausage, we soldier on towards Manzanita Hut. The 4 kilometers to the hut are pretty rugged. We think about and feel sorry for the Germans who pushed on last night after dinner. When we do finally make it to the hut, they are still here. They tell us they arrived after 11:00pm. We take pictures and enjoy the great views. They go on ahead, saddled with their “no I can do it without resupplying” monster packs.

Helene’s pack has a curse-able waist belt design, whose apparent hex is the requirement of a hex key. The key’s location is no longer known. We tighten the bolt several times with my pocket knife, but the keyed head is stripping, and we are not enjoying the show. I am unsure how it can possibly last 9 days.

Trail Break

The trail continues to offer us PUDs, or pointless ups and downs. Switchbacks? We don’t need no stinking switchbacks! At on overlook break we find a note from the other Fitpacking group 2 days ahead of us. It ominously states they hope to get to Plummer Creek in the daylight. Given it is light until after 9:30pm, perhaps things are not going so well.

We finally reached camp before 5:30pm and find another note saying they are probably changing their itinerary. Reading these sporadic notes is like trying to follow a reality TV show through Burma-Shave sign posts.

Plummer Creek Campground

The Germans are with us. They had planned to go further, but aching feet do not allow. We filter water to wash down our falafel dinner. Tomorrow we hope to get an early start, attempting to stay on our itinerary.

0 – 12 KM

Water Taxi

We wake in the Powell River Town Center Hotel, put our bags in storage, and have a buffet of coffee, microwave cheesy omelettes, and muffins. We await our chariot driver from the Sunshine Coast Shuttle. He arrives complaining that a previous group made him late to the water taxi. We do our best not to disappoint, so we hump it and are on the road by 7:30am. We make Lund in time for our water taxi, but not in time for the renowned Nancy’s Bakery. We can only dream of the glutenous gluttony we miss.

A couple of women pile in the boat with us. I point out an American bald eagle in the distance. The Canadians quickly point out that bald eagles are nothing more than screechy pests, as common and uncivilized as hordes of sea gulls. I reply, quietly, that their Canadian geese poop all over our golf courses. They seem quite pleased.

SCT Trailhead

At Sara’s Point, the boat driver wedges his taxi against a large rock, which appears to be flying up and down wildly. As we jump he says “go right,” apparently meaning “go correct,” because according to our map, right is clearly wrong. It takes us a while to overcome this implanted direction bug. Unfortunately, the other ladies do head right, and it is a long time before they realize their mistake and catch back up to us.

It is quite hot plowing through thick tree cover and Jurassic Park ferns. The trail is rocky at first, then gradually becomes more like we expect – soft and meandering. Bear scat appears, but no bear. A German couple, starting an hour behind us, does however see one.

Later, we meet a northbound family walking their neighbor’s dog, which turns and follows us, far away from the neighbor. The dog eventually passes us, and barks in the distance – at what we can only wonder. We feel a tad guilty when the neighbor of the neighborhood dog finally returns, frantically looking for it.

The trail gets rockier and crazier. It turns out that an amazing amount of up and down can happen between contour lines. What appear as flat and easy on the map, is anything but on the actual ground.

Helene hears what she believes is a jaguar, and I insist is a jet ski motor. Later, we come upon a vista overlooking a rock island, surprisingly covered by barking harbor seal-shaped jaguars and jet skis. At least that’s what we tell ourselves so that we can both be right. Or is it left?

Garter Snake

We finally make it to Wednesday lake. There are very few flat sites on our rocky ledge. And to top it off, the place is swarming with snakes. They are mostly black garters with yellow/blueish strips, though some are very brown. We must step carefully to avoid them. Bull frogs bull-horn quite loudly – so loudly in fact, that the Germans inquire what monster is making that monstrous noise. Unafraid, Marjie and Jim swim in the lake, while I cook veggies and rice.

With little room for a tent, I cowboy camp by a bench overlooking the water. We will have longer miles tomorrow, but an earlier start perhaps.

0 KM

I am guessing it was a moron named Oxy who christened British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast. British Columbia and sunshine? – in the same sentence? According to Current Results Weather and Science Facts website, the average annual sunshine for the Powell River area is 38%. My first thought – does this include night time? If so, 38% might not be that bad. But alas, as the website begrudgingly reveals, the figure only includes “the usual percentage of daylight hours.” The Sunshine Coast’s claim to fame must not be its weathered name.

Perhaps its claim then is the relatively new 180 km Sunshine Coast Trail (SCT). This trail began in 1992, with the final hut not completed until the spring of 2016. The Sunshine Coast Trail is the under-appreciated step-child of British Columbia’s far more famous, shorter, and yet more honestly named West Coast Trail. After all, the West Coast Trail is actually on the west coast. The Sunshine Coast Trail is seldom in the sunshine, and even less seldom on the coast. It is, however, a trail, so there is that. In fact, the SCT is advertised as Canada’s longest hut-to-hut hiking trail. I assume those 14 huts were built to keep the several inches of daily sunshine from drying out your soaking wet gear.

Sunshine Coast Trail

The huts are available free (first-come-first serve) and primarily house local weekend hikers. There are far more section hikers than thru-hikers. Those who do attempt the entire trail, usually start at Sarah Point, and work their way southeast-ish to Saltery Bay.

Getting to the trailhead can be tricky, and may involve a water taxi or car shuttle service.

Starting tomorrow morning, a few of us will start at Sarah Point, and see how far we get.

Horse Mountain Creek to Black Sands Beach

Last night the stars blazed, and the orbiting satellites vectored in all directions. The half-moon dipped silently into the sea. In the now total darkness, I could clearly see the Milky Way running right through Cassiopeia.

From the Rock to the Finish

This morning I wake to no fog. The wind howls, as it did all night, giving Brian a good test of his MSR Windburner stove. We enjoy Via coffee and breakfast snacks. We slowly gather up our things, not bothering to clean our pots or mugs. We will not be using them again. The car is now so close, yet seems so far away.

We are the first on the beach, and will clearly beat the guys to the finish line. We again search for that sweet spot of firmness in the sand. Before the impassable impassable, the one impassable even at low tide, we turn up and head to the parking lot.

We throw our packs in the car, and begin the long drive home.

Loading up for Home

Miller Flat to Horse Mountain Creek

Boulder Walking

With fewer miles to go, we are in no hurry to leave. We sleep in well past 7 am. Brian makes coffee while Bri and I trade breakfast snacks. I take her cinnamon PopTarts and she takes my smashed Honey Buns. I am not sure it makes much difference, but it feels like variety. During breakfast, a doe tows over her two tiny fawns, making us absolutely fawn at their adorableness. We also try to imagine their tenderness, but leave that discovery to the mountain lions.

Low Tide Pools

We are probably the last to leave camp. Rather than walking the virgin sand of yesterday, today we follow the zigzagging footprints of those ahead. No bother, the views are still spectacular. We scramble across rocky fields of ankle breaking boulders.

We break briefly at Shipman Creek. The rotting seal puts a slight damper on the otherwise idyllic scene. We continue through the impassable towards Buck Creek. We walk as close as we can to the firm sand by the lapping waves, occasionally chased comically to higher ground. For the most part, we keep our feet dry.

Filtering Water

At Bucks creek we break for lunch. Three guys nicely share the shade. We realize we have been on their same itinerary, camping each night in the same location. They too are looking to spend one more night in the Lost Coast. In other words, there are few options left, and we have competition. The next option is Gitchell Creek. The guys head out before us, to check it out.

At Gitchell Creek we do not find the guys, but rather a couple taking a late lunch. The couple is also considering their options. There is really only one spot, and they hint strongly they might stay. They suggest we check out Horse Mountain Creek, but we are sure the three guys are well on their way to that spot. We hike to a shady bunch of trees, but find no fresh water. We do, however, find more than enough mosquitoes. Rather than donate blood, we decide to push on.

Horse Mountain Creek seems further than we expect. When we arrive, the guys have already set up in the only decent shady spot. There is plenty of room in the sand, but it is uncomfortably hot in the direct sun. We grab some water and push on to a huge pair of rocks on the beach, where Brian and Bri camped two years ago. There is shade, and we claim it.

Making Dinner

We make awesome bean, cheese, rice, and salsa burritos. I finally get a chance to experience the inner tidal toilet. I know the rule is to deposit human waste by the sea, but it just feels wrong on all counts.

Sunset from my Sleeping Bag

I decide to forgo the tent, and cowboy camp. I am hoping fog does not make me regret my decision. We enjoy an awesome sunset.

Tomorrow should be a short walk out.

Sea Lion Gulch to Miller Flat

Brian wakes much earlier than I expect and begins making coffee on our pointy perch above Sea Lion Gulch. Apparently the tilted terrain did not translate to tranquil sleep. He is tired and a tad cranky. I chow down smashed Little Debbies, while Brian and Bri make the best of their cinnamon PopTarts. Bri clearly would prefer a fruit flavored tart, but the sweet views of the sea more than make up for the disappointment.

We leave camp well before our neighbors, and have the sandy beach all to ourselves. We take turns walking in each other’s footprints, as if sand drafting. The second and third steps on the same spot are clearly firmer and easier than the first. Looking back, it appears as though only one of us is making the Lost Coast journey.

Balancing Rock – Leave Beach

We spot the balancing rock, which is our visual clue to leave the beach for an up and over. We need to get around an impassable point. We eventually reach a private residence, and drop through a gate and down to the beach. The last part is so steep and muddy, we wonder if simply scrambling the rocks of the impassable point might have been easier.

The sandy beach occasionally changes into a field of lawn bowling and regular bowling size balls. We plod forward, trying to find the sweet spot of firmness between cliff and sea.

We rest briefly at Randal Creek, which is closed to camping for restoration. We then push on towards a late lunch spot in the sand and sun. Brian is hoping for an afternoon swim. On the way, we meet a large group of BLM employees on their way to perform trail work. Carrying Mcleods and Pulaskis, they stop to chat and check our permit. They seem pleased and almost surprised we actually have one.

Cracked Kayak

At lunch I cut and eat slices of salami, while Bri mixes up powdered hummus. Brian rolls up the hummus and apple slices in sweet flat bread. It is strange, but quite tasty. Brian takes a short heart-stopping swim. He returns quickly, mentioning something about losing both feeling and control of his legs.

Stinky Washed-Up Whale

As we hike on, the sea gods bring us a variety of gifts. We are presented with dead birds, a smashed kayak, and a washed up whale. The downwind odor from the whale is beyond words, at least words I am willing to write here.

We push through Big Flat, and cross the creek to Miller Flat, where we find a very nice and protected camp in the trees. We make stroganoff and enjoy a nice fire. Too tired to get up after our 11 miles of beach walking, we enjoy the filtered sunset through the trees.

With fewer miles to travel, tomorrow will be an easier day. This is welcome news, because the 7:00 am high tide will delay our start through the next 4.5 mile impassable zone.

Miller Flat Camp

Mattole to Sea Lion Gulch

We wake early and get on the road by 6:00 am. According to Google, our trip from the East Bay to Black Sands Beach will take anywhere from 4 to 6 hours. We target the Brick House coffee shop in Willits as our first stop, but almost miss it. A new freeway bypass opened last November, so the highway no longer goes through town. We double back for our coffee and breakfast sandwiches.

Our next stop is the King Range ranger station, where we inquire about water and tides. Early in the hike, near Punta Gorda, we will experience our first impassable, a no-go area during high tide. Hearing we will not be on the trail until about 3:30 pm, the ranger checks his tide table and recommends we NOT attempt it tonight. We are confused. His table shows high tide being much earlier than the 5:53 pm ours shows. I had printed ours the day before, from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) website. I assume they know something about lunar cycles.

Black Sands Beach

We head down to Black Sands Beach in plenty of time for our 1:30 shuttle. We meet a couple from Georgia who have just completed the hike. They are taking the shuttle back to their car.  The woman reports no problem with ticks, but minor problems with poison oak, and proceeds to show me the rash. She advises that wherever there is adequate space along the shore, there is probably a trail to avoid the exhausting sand. I imagine wherever there is a trail, there is probably that irritating poison oak, but perhaps I am just being rash.

The driver arrives early, and since everyone expected is accounted for, we get on the road by 1:15 pm. Along the way we hear history and gossip of the Lost Coast area. It includes repeated commentary about the poor condition of the roads and how Eureka takes all the tax dollars. We learn which pot farmers are successful and which ones have gone bust. We also learn that the guys selling top soil to pot farmers are actually making way more money than anyone, including the loggers. I silently wonder if fertilizer is a viable business opportunity, of if perhaps our driver already has that ground covered.

We are on the trail by 3:15 pm and start plodding through the sand. We stop to watch vultures enjoying not-exactly-fresh pulled-seal, and to rest our alive but painfully burning muscles​. The difference in strain on our bodies, of walking in loose versus well packed sand, is amazing.

Punta Gorda Lighthouse

We cruise through what seems like a tight squeeze, but really is not. We are surprised to round a corner and see the Punta Gorda lighthouse. We have apparently passed the ranger’s impassable point, without really noticing. A couple with their dog, returning from the lighthouse, warn us of swarms of ticks on the trail, and recommend we stay on the beach. They did not, however, warn us of the massive bachelor herd of Elephant Seals snorting and flipping sand on themselves. We choose Lyme disease over being mauled by rejected and frustrated bulls. We make a wide berth, and end up on a trail that climbs and hugs the cliffs.

Elephant Seals

We eventually make our way to Sea Lion Gulch, which is fairly packed with other backpackers heading in our same direction. They must have gotten an early jump on the trail, as we have not seen them during our hike.

We find an adequate, if not completely tilted, rocky perch, and pitch our tents. We make rice and three different Indian curries. We fall asleep to the sounds of breaking waves and barking sea mammals.

Tomorrow we face a full day of beach walking.

View from Sea Lion Gulch

There is a portion of the northern Californian coast so rugged that the famous California Highway One admits defeat, and goes around it. This isolated area, known as the Lost Coast, offers a spectacular 24.6 mile backpacking adventure through the King Range National Conservation Area. The sandy, rocky route clings to the tiny space between the Pacific Ocean and the steeply uplifted North American Plate. Several sections of the Lost Coast Trail (LCT) are so crammed against the cliff that they disappear twice a day, victims of the rising tides. Getting through these 4 mile stretches requires tide tables, but do not read them with your back to the sea, lest a sleeper wave takes you off to permanent slumber.

The Lost Coast Trail can be navigated northwest or southeast. Most hikers, however, choose southeast, hoping to have the prevailing winds at their back. Unless you are willing to do an out and back, the greatest logistical challenge seems to be getting back to your car. The drive between the two main trailheads (Mattole and Black Sands Beach) takes approximately 2 hours. You can drop your car at one end, hike to the other, and hope to hitch-hike back to your car. The remoteness of the roads makes this option a bit dicey. With two cars, you can drop one at each end. However, after the hike, going back to get your other car could cost you close to 3.5 hours.  I have also heard some clever people break into two groups, hike in the opposite direction, and exchange car keys midway through.

The most popular option, though costly, is to hire a transport shuttle. You can drop your car at Shelter Cove, take a park approved pre-paid shuttle to Mattole Trailhead, and walk the Lost Coast Trail back to your car. This is the option we have selected.

Rules have changed, and you can no longer get a walk-up permit. We got our backcountry permit through recreation.gov, for $10. Although you do NOT have to camp in designated sites, most backpackers congregate near the many freshwater streams seeping from the Kings Range. For the permit, you do need to identify which camping zone you expect to be in each night, though I am not sure how strictly this is enforced. During permitting, you may be surprised by a couple of rules. Each person must carry a bear canister. Since this costal area is so remote, black bears frequent the shoreline, scavenging. The most surprising rule, however, is that you must bury your human waste in the intertidal zone (wet sand area). Most of us are used to burying human waste 200 yards from water, but here, you practically have to be waist deep when depositing your waste. We certainly hope the remoteness means few people will have to bare witness.

Tomorrow morning three of us will drive from the Bay Area, in hopes of catching our 1:30 pm shuttle from Black Sands Beach to Mattole Trailhead.

With no generator to wake us, we sleep until the guides pound on our doors. We dress and head down to make our last sack lunches for the bus trip to Queenstown. But before that five hour trip, we have breakfast and prepare for our two hour cruise on Milford Sound.

Before we get on the boat we must give back our backpacks and Mitre Peak Bag. Everything we have is now in a giant pink plastic bag. We have officially transitioned from backpackers to homeless people.

On the cruise we enjoy waterfalls, birds, and fur seals.

We reboard the bus, and begin our long journey back to Queenstown. We wind through the georgous Fiord National Park, passing magically through the mountain wall in a long dark tunnel. 

On this trip we saw endangered short-necked Pateke ducks, cheeky Kea mountain parrots, and endangered Whio blue ducks. Yet the most incredible thing I witnessed was my wife Terri, carrying a backpack on a multi-day trek in the wilderness. It is something I do not expect to ever gaze upon again.

The generator starts promptly at 6:15 am. The clothes we pull on are much damper than we remember removing from the drying room last night. Oh well, they are completely dry compared to the hiking shoes, which have been in the boot room all night. The boot room seems less a drier, and more a humidor… keeping some 47 pairs of shoes a very consistent state of soggy. Actually, Colin and Elleneta’s are quite dry, because guide John told them to sneak their sneakers into the clothes drying room right before the generator shuts off at 10. Left at the normal clothes drying temperature, shoe glue melts and the sole separates from the body. But apparently timed just right, the shoes remain warm and soulful.

Our routine is becoming routine: drink coffee, make lunch, consume breakfast, which this time includes poached eggs and bacon. Today is a relatively flat 13 miles, and the weather seems partly cloudy but dry. We march along the Arthur River towards the dreaded Sandfly Point. These nasty biting creatures are everywhere, and the apparent point of the point’s name makes our destination a bit less desirable. 

Water from yesterday’s rain is still pouring out of every nook and cranny. Our first B&B is Dumpling Hut, where we use the bathrooms and fill our bottles.

We press on to the boatshed, where we are served hot drinks of coffee and Milo. Refreshed we make a short jaunt away from sandflies to Mackay Falls. Right next to the falls is Bell Rock, which Terri and I crawl into. It is not until Lewis crawls in with his lit up cell phone, that we can actually see the hollowed out bell shape we are now standing in. One of the guides later tells us the record is 31 people inside the bell. Frankly we felt a bit cramped with just the three of us.

We continue on to Giants Gate falls for lunch. It is cooler than expected, so we quickly scarf our food sitting on a log, within the spray of the falls. We continue on, counting mile markers, past Doughboy, and towards Sandfly Point. We duck into an enclosed shelter for hot drinks, and to escape the biting flies. The former being more successful than the later. In the shelter we find Lewis’ waterbottle, which is actually his friend’s. He has struggled to keep track of it the entire trip, so it seems appropriate that he has gotten off on the first boat without it.

The sandflies at Sandfly Point are apparently on their way to Mitre Peak Lodge, since they all board the boat with us.  The Quick ride takes us by Bowen Falls, impressive not only for its beauty, but also because it powers the Milford Sound Electric Company turbine. Unless the water fall shuts off at 10pm, we should have power all night. Given we are on a hiking tour, the bus ride from the dock to the lodge seems ridiculously short, but we take it. 

After a quick shower and rest, we head down for our lamb shank dinner. Lewis, who would normally cook this meal, sits with us, ready to be served by his mates. Not surprisingly, they can’t let it go without a bit of fun. Lewis is served a hunk of raw califlower, decorated to look like a lamb. We join in by serving him water from his lost and now found bottle. 

After dinner we have a short award ceremony, where names from every nationality are butched more than the lamb.

We retire with electricity, but succumb to fading energy.

The generator again wakes us too early. We head down to make sack lunches, for this our most difficult day. The McKinnon Pass is between us and the Quinton Lodge, and apparently sandwiches and chocolate are the only way to make it up and over. We are told to double whatever we had yesterday. If we had one sandwich we should make two. If we had two we should make four. The same goes for chocolate bars, including the newly added to our diet fudge slices. 

To our normal breakfast of cereal and yogart, we add Eggs Benedict. It is raining lightly but the Kea birds are not detered. These mountain parrots are tearing away at every bolt, rivet, nail or piece of cloth. We had been warned to keep everything indoors, including our shoes, so as not to tempt these cheeky characters. We now clearly see why.

We head out into a light drizzle. Our jackets and rain pants, which we fear will overheat us to the point of spontaneous combustion, remain buried in our packs. The world renowned views from the top of the pass, seem destined to evade us. We stop at our last B&B before the pass, with B&B being bladder emptying and bottle filling spot. The amount of water coming from the sky makes filling bottles seem silly, but we comply.

We zig-zag our way towards the top, where we break down and put on light rain jackets. The rain and wind is growing and blowing. The mile markers in this area seem mysteriously further apart then they should. We finally reach the monument, where we are treated with warm Milo, but no views. The actual lunch shelter is another 30 minutes away, and the warmth of the drink is long gone before we arrive. We are now soaked to the quick of our quick drying underwear.

In the shelter we scramble for space. We stuff ourselves with food, in the hope that warming our belly will some how warm the rest of our body. Our ultimate fantasy is to warm our bodies so much that we warm our soaking clothes. 

The crafty Kea birds, normally so common at the pass, are no where to be found. We were earlier told they have the intelligence and attitude of a three year old child. Given I do not see any three year old children dumb enough to be out in this weather, I think it might be true.

We rearrange some clothes, putting on more layers of wet. After one last hot drink, we head back out in the blowing wet clouds. We slip multiple times, some times in our wet shoes, and other times with our now loose tongues. Occasionally the clouds lift for brief but spectacular views of falls and cascades. Clear skies would make for incredible grand vistas, but pouring rain makes for unbelievable raging waters, which now seem to be sreaming out from everywhere.

By the time we finally reach Quinton Lodge, most walkers seem fine with not walking more of this finest walk in the world. The drying rooms are overflowing with fragrant fabric. After a hot drink, however, I press on the optional miles to and from Sutherland falls. The sun pokes out just long enough for me to get great views of the world’s fifth tallest waterfall, and New Zealand’s number one hit.

After dinner and a brief slide show, we retire. Tomorrow will be a much gentler 13 mile stroll to the boat launch, where we will catch a ride to Mitre Peak Lodge.

The generator wakes us before the sun has a chance to. We head to the Glade House for coffee and to make our trail lunches. We concoct various sandwiches, salads, and wraps, then toss in trail mix, fruit and chocolate. We are so exhausted from lunch making, we have to break for more coffee and our first course of breakfast: cereal, yogurt, fruit and juice. Later, we cram down eggs and bacon.

Today’s walk is a relatively flat 10 mile stroll through absolutely beautiful country. The weather is cool but clear, as we cross the Clinton River, to follow it generally northwest. There are about 25 people on the suspension bridge when the guides point out the “10 persons maximum” sign. We are a most energetic group, but clearly not the hiking club of Mensa. The path is wide, smooth, and as manicured as the 18th green at Pebble Beach. The river varies between so clear you are not sure there is water in it, to surreal deep emerald and aqua pools. The rainbow trout are the biggest I have ever seen. They seem comically disproportionate, like an SUV stretch limosine. It’s possible, but is it necessary? I try to imagine the fight these massive trout could give on a 4 lb line, but they seem far too magestic, clearly above that sort of thing.

The valley is unusually dry, and it is clear we are missing out on some of the spectacular falls and cascades. We are, however, quite content to enjoy the sunshine and breathtaking vistas. The Blue Bush Robins have no fear, and enjoy the insects we stir up by walking. When we stand still, they approach, pick at or shoes, and eventually jump up and smack our shins, as if to say “keep plowing, I’m still hungry.”

At our lunch stop we are entertained by a freshwater eel the size of my leg. He is completely unafraid. It is quite possible he has been previously hand fed, perhaps literally.The entire area seems a bit like the Galapagos. The animals, lacking major predators, are quite casual and confident.

We cool our feet in Prairie Lake, before the final push to Pompolona. After getting our treehouse like room, we head down for scones, jam and cream. The legend of the scones is that they contained a secret ingredient: candle wax. Perhaps not quite as bad as it seems, the first Milford Track guide/cook needed fat for the scones, and candles at that time were made from mutton fat. Problem solved.
After a quick shower, I head to the guest laundry to hand wash our clothes, ring them out in the hand cranked wrangler/strangler, then put them on a line in the drying room. I later point out to Terri that none of the Asian men on the trip are doing their own laundry, let alone their wives delicates. She seems unfazed by my observation.

Terri and I split our beef and mushroom dinners, and somehow force down the creme brulee. The generator is off again at ten. We fall asleep to the sounds, but not sights, of the nocturnal kiwis.