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Delirium has obviously set in when the mud begins to look like chocolate cake mix.

Okay, so one can see that that is a blatant overreaction, but nonetheless, the 1^st Barnet Pathfinder’s Gold Camp this year was no piece of cake.

Kirsten, Jessica and Caiti organized the excursion on the Juan de Fuca Trail of Vancouver Island, and all were excited. We were to bravely journey out of Golden Ears Park: regardless of the Rain Curse that overshadows Gold Camp, regardless of many of the group members’ inherent klutzy penchants to hurt themselves and regardless of the mud.

We left on Friday morning, slightly apprehensive, but still excited. We sat through the car ride to the ferry, through a ferry ride, and even a two and a half hour car ride to the trailhead. We were all waiting to get on the trail.

Sombrio Beach, our starting point, was gorgeous. Our tent platforms faced the ocean, nestled just on the high tide line. We cooked on the beach, had a fire on the beach, and we fell asleep to the waves as they got closer and closer to the tents, until the tide ebbed in the early morning.

Saturday dawned, and we battled our first war of the day: trying to balance a pot of boiling water on those tiny Primus stoves! Another lesson learned: driftwood does not make the most ideal cooking surface.

After a hasty pack-up to avoid the rain that had, despite many prayers, arrived, we set out on the slippery rocks, walking sticks in hand. One step, two steps, three steps, that slow kilometre across the beach seemed tedious- and was only the beginning.

The trail reached upwards, a steep natural staircase of roots, slippery from the rain that managed to get through the canopy of foliage above. Single file we climbed up, then slipped down and climbed up again, bent on mastering the undulating Juan de Fuca Trail.

Every kilometre marker was met with cries of joy, because though a kilometre seems a meager distance, the measuring tape doesn’t climb the hills a hiker does: it gets to go in a straight line. Among many water breaks and stops to regroup, there were many slips, falls and tumbles, all accompanied by laughter. We made quite a sight to a few passing hikers, sprawled out on the edges of trail wherever one could find room to eat our lunches. We laughed at the fact that regardless of what one’s rain pants had been, we all matched now in sporting the classy color of mud that only someone at home in nature could appreciate. And at home in nature we were, because even the clicking of our heels and the repeated mantra of ‘there’s no place like home’ left us still standing ankle deep in mud, packs jingling.

Little Kuitsche campsite was a welcome site for us as we threw down our packs and sat down on the rocks over looking the ocean to air out our clothing, the rain having mercifully stopped. Camp was then quickly erected and we could relax, then cooked dinner: quick instant pastas and a common camp staple: bannock.

A rare occurrence at camp, we all went to bed early that night. The next morning consisted of the fastest breaking of camp many of us have seen, as it had poured rain the entire night and though we were dry, our things were not. We retook the trail as the rain began to dissipate, but there again was the mud.

Once again, each kilometre marker was met with a shout of glee, though that hike on Sunday seemed to be going much faster as the sunshine peeked through the clouds. That is, until the fear that had been pushed to the back of our minds was realized in the midst of our final kilometre: one of our many falls actually hurt. We had a twisted ankle on our hands. We consulted the leaders, and our action plan was formed: a group of us hiked forward to the truck and then came back without our packs. We all finished the last part together, some girls taking turns with the injured’s pack, other’s helping her navigate the trail on her ankle.

Kirsten made it through the end of her Gold Camp in one piece, just like the rest of us, though she was a little sore. We all enjoyed our private joke on the ferry that, yes, underneath our neat change of clothes, we were all still smeared with mud. We learned many things on that camp, all in the spirit of what a Gold Camp really should be: an adventure. Those girls truly earned their Gold Camping Emblems, and it was my pleasure, and that of many others, to have experienced it. Hopefully, it will set the stage for others who really want to set themselves apart and build an adventure of their own to colour the memories of their own camp.

And take it from me- the mud really doesn’t taste like chocolate cake mix.

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