| DAY 1 | 0.0 km |
| TOTAL | 0 km |
Hiking the Sunshine Coast TrailJuly 2024
Over five days this summer, I hiked the 180-km Sunshine Coast Trail near Powell River, an area a few hours north of Vancouver.
I set an ambitious goal of doing the hike in four days. But a thunderstorm threw off my plans.
I hiked. I didn’t die. I learned a little bit about myself.
On a July morning, I flew from Vancouver to Powell River. From there, I caught a ride with the Sunshine Coast Shuttle, a local company that offers rides to the trailhead.
Fun fact: We stopped by a town called Lund to pick up someone. Turns out, Lund is Mile 0 of Highway 101 which stretches all the way to Chile. (Yes! That Chile! In South America!)
It was another hour or so to the trail head, with some rough off roading at the end. But our driver Mark does this route all the time and we arrived without a hitch.
Sarah Point marks the beginning of the trail. I explored this wonderful hut, one of many located along this trail. The huts are all free and are maintained by volunteers.
Taking my first steps on the Sunshine Coast Trail!
The trail is marked with these S.C.T. SOUTH wooden signs and orange reflective markers. These signs became my best friends over the course of the next few days.
There are also these kilometer markers. I made it a lil’ ritual to yell out the distance when I ran into these. "10!"
A break at Wednesday Lake, one of the many many spots for swimming along the SCT.
After a bit of climbing, I made it to the next pitstop, the Manzanita Hut. The hut was beautiful, with glass panes facing the vista.
Inside the hut.
I continued on until late as a light rain began. But as they say: “There is no bad weather! Only bad clothing!” With the July warmth, I didn’t even need my rain jacket.
I reached Rieveley Pond hut at 11 p.m. after completing more than 34 kilometers. There were already people sleeping at the hut. I set up my tent and crawled in exhausted and quickly fell asleep.
In the morning, I met Jarvier from Spain. He was surprised I was up so early after a late night, and even more surprised when I told him I started at Sarah Point yesterday. We chatted a bit but I was ready before him so I said goodbye and set off.
He caught up with me surprisingly quickly, saying that I motivated him to get going. Over the next two days, we would keep running into each other. He called me the boss of the mountains. “Oh, the boss is here,” he would say when we ran into each other.
I didn’t think we would walk together as much as we did. Jarvier’s pack was maybe triple the size of mine. But to his credit, he kept up with me for quite a bit!
That morning we walked past gorgeous lakes and incredible views. Here’s Sliammon Lake.
I loved this view of Savary Island. I would keep hearing interesting stories about this Island over the next few days. It’s been added to the list.
After a long morning, I was so relieved when I reached the Shingle Mill Pub. This would be my only civilized meal over five days. I'll never get over the strange feeling of walking into a nice place carrying a large pack and covered in dirt.
Back on the trail with a beautiful view of Powell Lake.
Here’s Inland Lake, where people were paddleboarding, swimming and lounging. For a moment, it was a perfectly lovely afternoon, minus the 600-meter climb up to Confederation Lake awaiting me.
A British guy, who had come down from Confederation Lake on a day hike, cheerily said it was just another 6 kilometers to the hut, which left me feeling confident about reaching soon.
Before long, the trail began winding upwards, getting steeper and steeper, deeper and deeper into a thick forest. Jarvier, who started the climb with me, was soon nowhere to be found behind.
This part of the trail almost drove me insane. Every time I checked the map I looked devastatingly close to reaching. But the trail kept turning back and forth, switchbacks upon switchbacks. It felt never ending.
Finally around 9:30 p.m., moments before I was about to pull out my headlamp (and possibly all my hair), I reached Confederation Lake.
For two nights, I had reached in the dark. It was only in the morning that I get a good look at the hut I slept in.
I chatted with the 59-year-old Chicagoan, who was already asleep in the hut when I arrived last night. We talked about Chicago and backpacking as we went about our morning routine.
Meanwhile, Jarvier, who arrived even later than me last night, ate breakfast and packed with remarkable speed and set off before either of us.
I spent some time taping up the blisters on my feet before I set off. Everything hurts after two long days, but somehow my body agrees to keep going.
The third day involves a trek to the 1,100-meter Tin Hat mountain. The hike up was brutal, straight up the side of the mountain through a thick forest. There was no wind and the bugs were incessant.
This was where I came up with the idea of using “push mode,” something I channeled from Formula One. I always wondered what it meant when drivers were told to “push.” Surely they were going as fast as they can already. What more can they do? What do they mean “push”?
But on this trip, this concept clicked for me. It turns out there was always more to “push” out of myself. When faced with a big climb, I would tell myself “ok push mode” and I would put my head down taking one step after the other, no matter how hard it got. Before I knew it, I would have made it one kilometer further.
At the top of Tin Hat mountain.
Jarvier arrived about an hour after me, and helped take possibly the only photo of me on the whole trip.
As I descended the mountain, it started to rain. A drizzle quickly turned into a full-on thunderstorm. I decided to stop and wait out the rain while I was in a relatively thick part of a forest.
The temperature dropped quickly. I wanted to check the weather on my phone, but there was no service. For the first time on the trail, I felt scared.
I put on my down jacket and rain jacket, zipping up and pulling on the hoods tightly. I cursed myself for not bringing more warm layers as I shivered in the cold. I imagined all the scenarios in which I could die.
I wondered why I push myself so hard. I wondered what I was doing there. After some internal battle, I decided to take it easy (something I find very hard to do), and made a new plan for a five-day trip instead of four. This way I would end my night at Elk Lake hut which was only 5 km away, instead of going to Walt Hill which was even further.
I set off again when the rain lightened. The sun even came out to play for a bit. Life was full of hope again!
I made it to Elk Lake hut with a few hours of sunlight left. For the first time since I started my trip, I enjoyed a swim, lounged around, and went to bed clean and refreshed.
In the morning, I caught up with Jarvier who arrived after I had already sleep. Turns out he got caught in the rain on top of Tin Hat. All his stuff got wet.
Between the rain last night and the thick morning fog, nothing got dry. I put on my damp clothes, and set off. I said goodbye to Jarvier again, this time for real.
I had a hard time getting warm that morning as the sun hid behind thick clouds. I hustled down the mountain, wanting to get away from that lingering feeling of fear from yesterday. Finally around midday, we were back to blue skies and full sun.
At some point, I got on a logging road and departed from the trail. The SCT has been one of the most well marked trails I’ve been on. But I couldn’t find any signs in this part, I even circled back a few times. When I looked at the blue dot on my phone, it says I wasn’t on any road at all. I started to worry.
After a confusing hour or so, I was so relieved when I rejoined the trail. From then on, every time I saw the “S.C.T. South” sign, I chanted the name of the trail in joy.
I later learned that logging companies move roads around as they work on different areas, rendering the maps useless.
Later, as I reached Lois Lake, I was faced with a river crossing! I carefully stepped across, balancing on large rocks. Right as I thought I had made it safely across, I slipped and my right leg was submerged into the cold river water. Brrrrr.
The trail followed the banks of Lois Lake with great views.
And I saw some wild chickens!
The hike up towards Mount Troubridge was much nicer compared to Confederation Lake and Tin Hat, more straightforward and more open. Here’s Elephant Lake, which sits near the top of the mountain.
Towards the top of Mount Troubridge, the last big climb of the SCT, I put myself in “push mode.”
The Mount Troubridge Hut was perfectly nestled in the trees. Sam and Sarah (both British!) welcomed me as I walked into the hut breathless from the climb.
I cleaned myself up at the nearby Jocelyn Pond. Sam came by to filter some water.
Sarah was doing the trail over nine days, to train for the Te Araroa in New Zealand. Sam was doing day hikes around the area. We talked about backpacking, Vancouver, and everything in between.
After a while, Sam asked, “Have we met before?” Turns out, he was the British guy from two days ago, before the brutal hike up to Confederation Lake. He apologized that his comment wasn’t a fair warning about how hard the rest of the hike was.
As we chatted, Sarah also realized she shared a shuttle with the Chicagoan I met at Confederation Lake. We had a good laugh about how we all ran into the same people along the trail.
I felt grateful that I didn’t stick with my four day plan, or else I wouldn’t be having this truly lovely conversation.
As it got dark, we retreated into our sleeping bags on the loft and I drifted into a peaceful sleep. What a life it is to go to bed as the sun sets, and rise as the sun rises.
The last day was beautifully uneventful. I rose early and was the first off.
I climbed the rest of the way to the summit of Troubridge and took in the view.
Then it was a long, long, long descent down to the coast where I would follow it to my final destination, Saltery Bay.
After a brutal descent, I stopped at the Fairview Bay Hut for one last break. With only 10 kilometers left, I didn’t have to do any more mental math about mileage, water or food anymore.
The coast was beautiful and peaceful. I let out a small welp when I saw the ferry in the distance, a little bewildered that I was finally headed home.
Before I knew it, I had reached the end of the trail.
The Sunshine Coast Trail was so much harder than I had expected. I pushed myself with a harsh schedule. My plans were thrown off by rain and thunder.
But in these five days, I learned about myself, about my limits, about what I cared about, and what I’m willing to let go.
P.S. Thank you, Julia, for giving me a ride home across two ferries, and all the way back to Vancouver. It’s truly rare that one enjoys spending six hours with a complete stranger.