Northern Vancouver island: The wild Pacific between washington and alaska (part 1)
Words: Kaiya Sjöholm
Photos: David Kenworthy & Kaiya Sjöholm
CROSSING TO THE ISLAND
The Journey Begins
I had been to San Josef Bay once before, as a kid. My memories of it were fragments: the towering sea stacks, the stretch of sand, the feeling of being somewhere far away from everything else.
This trip was a chance to see it again, to fill in the details, and explore more of the rugged northern tip of Vancouver Island. It is an area few people reach, set between Washington and Alaska along the Pacific.
The journey started with the low hum of the ferry pulling away from Horshoe Bay in West Vancouver, the coastline slipping by under a pale morning sky. About halfway across the Strait of Georgia, the water broke in the distance. Four whales were playing, diving, and surfacing together. Their blows rose in white mist against the horizon, the sound carrying over the still morning air.
It felt like a welcome to the coast's wilder side.
Not long after docking in Nanaimo, we made our first stop at Englishman River Falls. The trail wound through mossy forest before opening to a series of cascading waterfalls that poured into a deep, crystal-clear pool. We couldn't resist a quick swim. The water was shockingly cold, but so clean and refreshing that it felt like it rinsed off the city and marked the true start of the trip.
The further north you go on Vancouver Island, the more the modern world fades. Cell service drops, towns grow smaller, and the road begins to feel like it is carrying you to the edge of the map.
Woss fire lookout
Peaks with a Past
A few hours into the drive north, we made our first major detour to the Woss Fire Lookout on Mount Waddington, sitting at about 640 metres above sea level.
The site has deep roots in Vancouver Island's forestry history. It was first established in 1948 to support the booming logging industry in the Nimpkish Valley. By 1950, the BC Forest Service replaced the temporary structure with a permanent hip-roof lookout, complete with a cupola to give clear sightlines across the surrounding valleys and mountains. For decades, it was part of a provincial network of primary fire-detection towers, manned through fire season to spot and report wildfires.
For locals, the lookout was more than just a working tower. Its silhouette against the skyline became a familiar landmark, a sign that home was close after a long drive through the island's rugged interior.
Although it was eventually decommissioned, the lookout was restored in 2014 through a community-led effort and is now a recreation site. The original structure still stands, offering the same sweeping views it has for more than seventy years.
Getting there was no casual stroll. The route climbs steeply, first on loose dirt, then into near-vertical pitches where ropes are the only way up. At times, it felt more like climbing than hiking, hauling ourselves hand-over-hand with nothing but slope and sky in view.
Our golden retriever, Holly, bounded ahead with the kind of confidence only a dog can have. On the way down, that enthusiasm got her into trouble when she managed to disturb a hornet's nest halfway through a rope section. In an instant, they were everywhere. We scrambled down as fast as we could, swatting and wincing as the stings landed. Holly yelped once, shook it off, and kept moving, completely unfazed, while we were still brushing them away.
The climb up had been warm, so we wore our Short Sleeve Tech Tees to the top. But once we stepped out of the shelter of the forest, the wind rolled in, and we pulled on our River Run Hoodies to stay warm while taking in the 360º panorama of Woss Lake, the Nimpkish Valley, and the Bonanza Range.
Telegraph Cove
A Gateway to the Wild
Continuing north, the road wound toward Telegraph Cove, a tiny fishing village perched on stilts above the water. Once a hub for fishing and logging, it is now a place where adventure begins on the docks.
Our whale-watching trip wasn't aboard a big, enclosed vessel. We stepped into a small, rigid-hull Zodiac, climbing into Mustang Survival suits as rain pounded the harbour. The sky hung low, the water dark and restless, and every gust of wind carried the smell of the open Pacific.
Beneath the survival suit, I was grateful for my VOORMI baselayer bottoms and Expedition 1/4 Zip. The wool kept me warm and dry against the damp, even as the rain found every seam in the outer shell.
Once we cleared the cove, the strait came alive. Humpback whales surfaced all around us, their blows cutting through the downpour. We potted a pod of sleek, black-and-while Dall's porpoises darting through the swells, riding the bow wave of the boat with incredible speed. Eagles wheeled overhead, their calls carrying over the sound of the rain. Deer appeared at the shoreline, pausing to watch as we passed.
Then, in the calmer stretches between swells, we saw them: multiple groups of sea otters, floating together in loose rafts, holding hands as they bobbed in the waves. Some rolled onto their backs to groom, others simply drifted, linked in an easy rhythm that felt as timeless as the tide.
Out on the choppy grey water, a rhinoceros auklet bobbed calmly, its small horn-like bill a sharp contrast to the storm around it.
By the time we returned to the dock, we were soaked, windblown, and grinning. Telegraph Cove had given us a front-row seat to the wild, the kind you can't plan for and wouldn't trade for anything.
Stay tuned for Part 2.