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GROUP TOURS

Go wild in America’s Pacific northwest

Hiking, camping and whale spotting. Martin Symington hits the trail from Washington state to British Columbia
A house on the water on Vancouver Island
A house on the water on Vancouver Island
GETTY IMAGES

I am deep in Olympic National Park in Washington state on the Pacific northwest of the US with a group of fellow travellers. Our trail snakes through branches and upended roots hung so thickly with shaggy green moss they look like mythical beasts. Above, the colossal trunks of sitka spruces and red cedars — some of the biggest and oldest trees on earth — soar 90m towards a sun-blocking canopy.

We amble, pause and inhale the rain-splashed scent of the primary temperate rainforest, here in one of America’s most remote protected areas. I usually prefer to travel on my own, but to reach otherwise inaccessible tracts and to view elusive wildlife I have joined a small escorted group.

There are five of us on this Olympic and Vancouver Island In-Depth tour, which has been put together by Grand American Adventures (GAA). Aside from our tour leader, Heather, a young Canadian brimming with brio, we are a mix of British and Swiss who mostly match GAA’s usual demographic of people in their forties, fifties and sixties.

Starting in Seattle and ending in Vancouver, the six-night itinerary will take us across the Strait of Juan de Fuca into Canada, to explore the far-flung reaches of Vancouver Island.

Rialto Beach in Olympic National Park
Rialto Beach in Olympic National Park
ALAMY

First comes Olympic and its trio of distinct ecosystems. Travellers have been mesmerised by this area since the British fur trader and explorer Captain John Meares first glimpsed a glistening white crown rising out of the 100km thumb of land while sailing between the Pacific and Puget Sound in 1788. He wrote: “If that not be the home wherein dwell the gods, it is beautiful enough to be, and I therefore call it Mount Olympus.” The name stuck.

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From the rainforest, Heather drives our minibus up an ice-gouged valley. “This is the most glaciated terrain in the US outside Alaska,” she says as we cross a river of ice melt cascading down from the mountains. Most days include a hike, usually just an hour or two and never particularly strenuous. Here we follow a trail round the heights of Hurricane Ridge while an astonishing 360-degree panorama plays out.

Sashes of mist unfurl to reveal fists of grey rock punching skywards out of a colossus of mauve-tinged ice. To the north, across a stretch of sea like hammered silver, we can make out hills darkly marked with woodlands: Vancouver Island, which we will reach in a couple of days.

We stay at a lodge on the forested shore of Lake Crescent, whose milky-blue hue reveals a glacial source. There are black bears, cougars, bobcats, elks and all sorts of smaller animals in the forest around Lake Crescent Lodge, but they make themselves scarce while we paddle canoes round the lake perimeter and hike up to thunderous Marymere Falls. A couple of times I spot a deer ghosting through the undergrowth, but am mindful of the warning given by a park ranger: “You are rarely far from a bear, so make plenty of noise to warn that humans are approaching. Never, ever, leave the trail. And if you do chance on a bear, just . . . slowly, slowly . . . back off.”

It’s a conundrum. People come here hoping to spot bears, but are then instructed to minimise the chances of seeing one.

Most of the places we stay are chosen for their seclusion and remoteness from the modern world. Dinnertime, usually over shared bottles of wine, is when snippets of life story are shared and we really get to know each other. By degrees we are becoming a sociable gang, enjoying new company and being away from our usual middle-aged lives.

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Next we weave along the banks of the rattling Sol Duc and Quillayute rivers towards the third Olympic ecosystem, a 112km stretch of rugged Pacific coastline more or less unaltered by humans. We reach Rialto Beach, a windswept expanse of white sand strewn with boulders, enormous pieces of driftwood and the yellowy-green tentacles of giant bull kelp that look like the washed-up bodies of sea monsters.

Some beaches are for lying on. This is one to stride along, while thunderous waves pound islets and outcrops that have been gnawed by the elements to form bizarre shapes: a cathedral spire, an ogre’s head, a pair of immense shark fins.

I bridge a stream via the trunk of a huge fallen sitka spruce, then scramble under a natural arch known as hole-in-the-wall to a headland swooped by seabirds. A sudden squall and deluge of rain only add to the drama. It is low tide, so I hunker down next to a rock pool filled with purple starfish and swaying anemones and watch the seascape’s changing mood.

A Steller sea lion on Race Rocks, Victoria
A Steller sea lion on Race Rocks, Victoria
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The next day we leave the US on a ferry from Port Angeles, crossing the Strait of Juan de Fuca to Victoria, on the southern tip of Vancouver Island. This rather small provincial capital of British Columbia seems to dine out on Victorian gentility. An unamused statue of the eponymous queen stands outside the parliament buildings. There are formal gardens and hotels serving afternoon tea. I am reminded of Cheltenham.

Cheltenham with whales, that is. Next — an example of just how varied this company’s trips are — we board a bouncing rigid inflatable boat (rib) and head out to sea in search of orcas and humpbacks. A distant geyser-like blow of white signals that we are on the trail of something. In truth, this is not the sort of sighting you post on Instagram. Rather, we are left ticking off the minutes between a humpback surfacing for breath with a quick blast from its spout and a glimpse of fluked tail as it dives.

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The rookery of Steller’s sea lions on Race Rocks is more engaging. Hundreds of the big blubbery creatures are blustering about on flippered feet, barking and occasionally charging at one another. Only when they slither off their rocks to disappear underwater do they regain a bit of grace. So unfazed are they by our presence that we can idle up to within a few metres, which is a bit too close and personal for some of our number, on account of the fishy stench.

Back in our minibus, we have barely bid farewell to the gardens of Victoria before things get rugged again. Vancouver Island is huge, about a quarter of the size of England, with a tiny population and swathes of trackless forest. We head up the west coast and into Pacific Rim National Park Reserve on the unofficial last leg of the Trans-Canada Highway, which begins 8,000km away in St John’s, Newfoundland.

The end of the road is Tofino, or “Tuff”, as the laid-back little settlement, famous for its surf culture, is affectionately known by its locals. Farther north is a labyrinth of islands and inlets reachable only by boat or float plane. I watch one land in plumes of spray then splutter to the jetty, a pure image of Canada’s great northern adventure.

Our final wildlife expedition is to coast along the shore of Meares Island in a Zodiac rib, looking for bears. There is no conundrum here because bears don’t feel threatened by waterborne humans. And vice-versa. It is not long before we are watching a female mooch out of the undergrowth and saunter down to the water’s edge. She studiously ignores us while, with her big black paws, she flicks rock crabs from their crevices and tucks in.

Hurricane Ridge, Olympic National Park
Hurricane Ridge, Olympic National Park
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“Up here the wildlife is exactly that. Wild. A bit like us,” says Jamie, our Tuff-guy skipper and guide. We bob, engine cut, awed by the spectacle of bear life unfolding before us. It is the first of several black bear sightings on an exquisite morning when we also follow a racoon foraging in rock pools and bald eagles on the high lookout.

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As well as nonstop adventure there’s a little time to chill too. Our final evening, before the drive and ferry to Vancouver city, involves a beach barbecue next to some swish yurts in shadowy woodland where we stay near Tofino. An osprey perches on a high branch, observing the salmon that Heather is readying for the grill.

This journey has shown us parts of North America much as they were before the hand of humans, the six of us agree, while the silvery sky fades to a night as black as bear fur.

NEED TO KNOW
Martin Symington was a guest of Grand American Adventures on its Olympic and Vancouver Island In-Depth tour. Six nights from £3,439pp, including the services of a tour leader and private transport, starting in Seattle and ending in Vancouver, departing on August 22 and September 5 (grandamericanadventures.com)

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