Toquart Bay
by Barb Rees
A chorus line of waves dance across the black sandy beach past an audience of RV’ers. Whether camping in tents or rubber-tired luxury units, they all come to enjoy the bounty and beauty of Vancouver Island’s West Coast - without the commercialism.
To get there, we turned off Highway #4 across from Kennedy Lake, and drove up Maggie Lake/Toquart Bay road. Here, during the 60’s, Noranda operated a mine, trucking iron ore to a crusher at Toquart Bay, resulting in mounds of black sand and iron tailings. The tailings dump gradually grew large enough that it surrounded Tree Island and formed the land the campsite sits on.
After 16 km of washboard and gravel, we arrived at Toquart Bay Campground and Marina only to find campers tucked into every available spot. Regulars start reserving “their” site in January, so don’t drive in without a reservation.
Open year-round, camping fees are refreshing: $14 or $7 a night for seniors April 1-Oct1. I stood on our beachfront site and let the ocean breeze kiss my face as I listened to the sounds of happy campers fill the air. There are numerous islands scattered throughout the bay, and I can hardly believe we are here for five heavenly days: five days of freedom from busy-ness and techo-dependency.
This Hawaiian style beach is made up of soft, black sand, and is not overrun with people, which makes it easy to enjoy the wilderness which abounds here. Kids of all ages shove magnets into the sand and come up looking like fuzzy caterpillars, while others fly multi-colorful kites. Joe, from his vantage point in his luxury bus, watches his son Joe Jr. patiently teach his daughter to ride a pink 2-wheeler. He says his first camping trip here was with a sleeping bag when he worked for the mine in 1962. “I learned (to ride) here too,” he says. He went on to explain that it’s essentially a big family of families who have been coming here for generations. The owner, Bruce, and the park hosts, brook no nonsense. There won’t be any raunchy parties, racing cars, or rude neighbors. It’s a family affair.
Joe Jr. takes us out on their boat to tour the bays and the islands. On the way back, he stops the boat to pull a crab trap and hauls in four huge Dungeness crab. As Joe Jr. and I stand at the cleaning table on the wharf killing and washing the crab, he confides he doesn’t even like them, so we go home with fresh crab. An hour later we are drooling over crab in garlic butter and sipping chilled wine. This wasn’t the first time we’d been shown such generosity there: an Albertan fell in love with our little puppy, Pali, and gave us crab; our neighbors brought home a 35-pound Sockeye and gave us a nice slab of salmon.
Many of the campers dock their boats at the marina, then go fishing five or six miles offshore in open water. Others stay closer to home with zodiacs and small aluminums. Kayakers from far and wide use Toquart as their jumping-off spot to explore the Broken Group Islands. A young couple of kayakers next to us fished and crabbed right from their kayaks: readily sharing wine and knowledge, Dwayne taught us how to catch mackerel from the wharf. They (the mackerel) are so enthusiastic, they almost jump onto the hooked flesh of one of their own. Besides these bountiful feasts, we picked oysters and barbequed them over the fire. Five days of sitting by the ocean reading or writing, eating fresh seafood, and listening to eagles’ calls and fishermens' tales filled our hearts with joy.
Be prepared for: Water from a hand pump, no sani-dump other than a pipe behind the pit toilet, no power, very limited cell phone service, and, you must carry your garbage out with you. In the summer, cold fog and chilly winds can move in unexpectedly, so bring warm clothing. But none of these details matter when, after a day of fishing or kayaking, you enjoy dinner by a beach-side campfire while the rest of BC is under a fire ban.
Bruce Chappell operates this 86-site campground on First Nations lease land, while his wife, Shirley Mack, runs the store six km away on the Macoah reserve. Toquart is the Anglicized version of “Toquaht” which means ‘people of the narrow channel’. The store stands where one of the Toquaht summer camps was once pitched. Today, it provides propane and groceries, and Shirley will freeze your fish - for a price.
Beach-front camping, full marina, oyster picking, clamming, crabbing, kayaking the Broken Group Islands, wildlife viewing, deep sea fishing, and sitting around the fire watching stars appear in a black velvet sky... Does it get any better? Yes it does: during the fall and winter months, when the whales, sea lions, and bears move into this ancient fishing ground.
Learn more about Barb and Dave Rees’s travels and books at: www.write2dream.com