Five of my family members and I set out to test our endurance trekking one of the most difficult trails in North America. The West Coast Trail, on the south west coast of Vancouver Island, covers 75 kilometers of rough and raw terrain. We were at the whim of nature's moods and splendor for eight incredible days.

We registered and were granted our permits at the Pachena Beach access to the trail. On a daily basis between May 1st and September 30th, 26 hikers are allowed to start at Pachena (north), and 26 at Gordon River (south). With the exception of an exit at mid-point along the trail, we were committed; as were fellow trekkers from around the globe, who greeted us as they passed by.

A mandatory briefing by Pacific Rim National Park Reserve staff detailed trail etiquette (burn or cart out all your garbage); the do's and don'ts of an encounter with a bear or cougar; and what to do in case of an injury. (Expect 24 hours for a rescue - days if the weather is bad.) Armed with a trail map and sheer determination, we took the much anticipated first step past the "start here" sign. We were weighted down with all we would subsist on until journey's end - camping gear, one change of clothes, and an amazing volume of food. Enough for three meals, plus two snacks a day per person for the amount of days we planned to be on the trial (plus extra, just in case). We spent several hours the day before our trek making sure that individual loads would not exceed the one-third body weight recommended by professionals.

The route follows the shoreline, either along the beach or through the temperate forest. Not for novice hikers - the little four words lettered on brochures flashed through my mind. It was my first hike. On a few occasions during the trek, I felt miserable. I just wanted to curl up and coddle my aching or cramped muscles. But, my training for three weeks of walking four or five hours every second day, increasing the weight on my back with each outing, was sufficient to see me through whatever the trail threw my way.

Suspension bridges set our hearts racing as we peered at the turbulent waters below. Manual cable cars, across rivers, easily slid down to the half way point. Hand-over-hand of muscle throbbing pulls was the only way up to the other side. Ladders, that never seemed to end. Some with over 200 rungs - like scaling a 25 storey building. Our tide table chart became our bible. We read it faithfully before venturing out into a surge channel to assure ourselves that we would not be caught up in the crashing waters of the incoming tide. Mud, and more mud, camouflaged slippery roots that sent us sprawling. The beach has its own variety of obstacles. We climbed over piles of logs that had been washed ashore or leapt from boulder to boulder for a mile stretch at a time.

I have never been more totally in the present. The next step became my focus as the wilderness unfolded before me. The forest air was filled with the essence of delectable pine. The breeze off the ocean was a salty intoxicant. Lush foliage slapped at our knees along narrow paths. Eagles soared above giant cedars. Seals frolicked in their briny home. I often had to be reminded to keep moving and that we had a certain distance to cover each day.

Setting up camp took a pitiful two hours the first few days. Our inefficiency at tent pitching, water purifying, meal preparation, and clean-up was honed down to a remarkable three quarters of an hour as the days rolled by. The last chore was always to bundle the food and hoist it up a tree away from the campsite and above a standing bear's extended paw. It's good to remember that things like toothpaste are considered edible by these hungry foragers.

As we approached our designated camp site one evening, we found fresh cougar tracks crossing the tenting area. We decided that the felines had first dibs and moved on. Our six hours of slogging turned into eight before we saw another suitable spot to bed down. By midnight our tent took on a five star hotel rating. I was quivering with exhaustion and must have passed out the moment my head hit my rolled up fleece pillow. I awoke to a loud rumbling sound and pressure against the side of the tent.

"Bear, bear, help, bear!" I hollered, frantically pushing against the caving-in nylon. The bear transformed into the firm grip of my partner trying to contain me. Several other groups were camped near by. Brave defenders were outside their tents in their tighty- whities with whatever weapons they could muster to ward off the intruder.

"Just a bad dream," my partner shouted on my behalf. He felt responsible knowing it was his unzipping the tent that simulated the growl I had heard.

Going was slow the next day and not entirely from the short sleep. A raft of deep ravines dotted this part of the trail. The only way to the other side was over narrow boardwalks slick with dew, or big knotted logs that taxed our balancing abilities.

"Watch this wonky loose board," warned Rob, who was in the lead. We saw him bounce a bit to demonstrate. He disappeared. We hastened over to where he last stood, and peered into a 24 foot chasm. Nothing.

"Hey, over here," came a shaky voice. He was straddling a fallen log that was anchored seven feet below, across the cavernous hollow. We hauled him up with everything intact except his pride.

An all day heavy rain left us in a soggy mess. When the following morning dawned bright and clear, we decided to take the day off. We spread our soaked gear to dry on the logs conveniently strewn along the beach. We indulged in an icy dip in the pools left behind with the out-going tide. Lethargically rolling over, we toasted ourselves in old sol's rays. A leisurely evening was spent around a crackling bonfire, roasting marshmallows and toes. Favorite songs and tall stories spiraled upward with the smoke.

The next day we were ready for anything, including getting up at 4 a.m. to cross the largest surge channel while the tide was out. Forty foot cliffs rose above us. Spectacular caves and sea arches had been hollowed out by the power of thrashing waves in high tide. We cautiously maneuvered over the slithery algae covered rocks. Though time was of the essence, this would not be a good place to succumb to an injury. Safely on the other side, we lingered awhile watching the fast rising tide swell up over the channel floor.

A little past the half way point on the trail a hut appeared enveloped in sizzling sounds and tantalizing odors - a hamburger joint run by a first nation family serving heavenly manna. Life was sweet; sitting around the umbrella table at the ocean's edge, munching on a juicy burger, in between guzzles of cold beer. Our team vegetarian, who had not eaten meat for 8 years, fell off the wagon.

Food became an abnormal fixation. From cheering gleefully when the day's menu included something out of your pack, thus lightening your load; to stealthily eyeing up others plates to make sure you had been doled out an equal portion. The great volumes of expended energy made more food than I had ever consumed seem insufficient.

"Come on, don't be so cheap with the trail mix." I sputtered jokingly (but I really meant it) during the afternoon break one day. Others childishly chimed in with covetous comments.

Our snack-ration gal sent the snack pack flying, with a parting, "Here, stuff it all down and do without from now on." Three more days left; hmm, she had a point. We regained control and begged her to keep her job as she was the only one with any will power. We were relieved when she agreed.

We consulted our park map daily, not only for direction, but for the historical data noted. It shows the location of the numerous ship wrecks along this coast. An actual hull rests on the beach. An old lighthouse commands one land point. An old donkey engine sits on a forest trail. The taunt cable used to move logs down to the water is still in place. How the pioneers ever got that monstrosity up there is mind-boggling. Many relics from the past are entwined along the way.

As we trudged along the beach one day we happened across an awesome sight. An old granddaddy of a sea lion, face strained upward, was luxuriating in the sun. We left him space as we circumlocuted his rolls of blubbery bulk. His head twisted to keep us in view, but other than that, he did not budge. Ten steps past him we stood staring at a totally impassable jagged cliff. Something was wrong. Only then did we notice that ours were the only footprints in the sand. We turned to back track. Are twitching whiskers and giggling belly a sea-lion's chuckle? Finally we came across the missed colored buoy that indicates that trekkers leave the beach and once again climb up to the forest path. Meeting this old patriarch was worth the extra miles.

Six days is the average time to complete the trail. Seven is recommended to really enjoy the experience. With our day of rest, we took eight.

There is nothing comparable to the euphoria of having met the challenge of this arduous trail unscathed; blisters, bruises, and minor cuts not counted. Being physically fit is only a part. I had to be mentally prepared to fast from my regular diet of comforts, in order to appreciate the feast of nature's bounty. I was never grubbier or more elated then when we trooped into a sea food restaurant at the trail's end to celebrate.

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