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Ucluelet is staking its future on tourism

Jack Souther checks out changing face of Ucluelet
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Ucluelet is to Tofino what Pemberton is to Whistler. Photo by Jack Souther

By Jack Souther

The western edge of British Columbia, where the land and the ocean overlap in a maze of islands, fjords, forested ridges, and ice-capped peaks, is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and those of us fortunate enough to live here are never far from either the sea or the mountains. We cherish them equally and many of us have a love affair with both. Ask a Whistler snowboarder where he's going for a holiday and he'll likely say the surfing beaches of Tofino and, asked the same question, the Tofino surfer could well say the ski slopes of Whistler.

Surfer Kim Vertefuille, who lives in Pemberton and works as a ski patroller and fireman in Whistler has been riding Tofino's surf for at least the last 10 years. And Trudy Alder, a suburb skier who moved to Whistler in 1967, first launched her kayak in Barkley Sound 15 years ago and has gone back almost every summer since. "It's an incredible place," she says. And, having been there many times myself I couldn't agree more.

But it was not scenery or recreation that first attracted people there. Raw logs from the forest and salmon from the ocean were once seen as an endless source of wealth. Resource-based communities prospered on both the coast and in the forested valleys of the mountains. But one by one, as their traditional resources diminished, many of B.C.'s logging, fishing, and mining towns turned to tourism as a source of revenue.

Now that it has become a world-class tourist destination it's easy to forget that even Whistler was once little more than another logging camp. The first time I drove the network of dirt haul-roads to what is now Whistler Village there were no ski lifts, The railway brought a trickle of tourists to the solitude of Rainbow Lodge but most of the activity was centred around the Mons logging depot, and the stumps in the 19-mile cut-block were still smoldering from the last slash-burn.

A few weeks ago Kim dropped in for a morning coffee after his night shift at the fire hall and we talked about the changes in our favorite ocean-side resorts during the years we had been going to the west coast. Tofino, where Kim spends his holidays surfing, and Ucluelet, where Betty and I go to kayak, are only 40 km apart. They both face ocean on one side and forest on the other but their histories are very different.

"In many ways," Kim said, "Ucluelet is to Tofino what Pemberton is to Whistler."

And we agreed that the mountain communities where we live have much in common with the surf-side communities where we go to play. While Whistler and Tofino have become almost exclusively geared to tourism, Pemberton, with its active logging and farming community, and Ucluelet, where logging and fishing are still important, still have a substantial resource base to their economies. But in Ucluelet things have begun to change.

I thought about this as I was driving to Ucluelet last July. With a van crowding my rear bumper and my little Subaru, top-heavy with two ocean kayaks, leaning precariously over an outside corner I was happy to see the sign: "Slower traffic use pullouts".

The first time I drove this road there were no pullouts. Large tracts of old-growth forest still covered this part of Vancouver Island and Long Beach was a place where hippies could squat in driftwood shacks — back in the ’60s Highway 4 to Tofino and Ucluelet was still a single-track gravel road full of potholes. Private cars were allowed to use it only after the logging trucks had completed their day's haul. Although it's now paved and most of the logging trucks are gone the narrow winding stretch along Kennedy River is both scenic and challenging, and during the height of the tourist season, it can still be a white-knuckle drive.

The guy in the van waved a "thank you" and I got a fleeting glimpse of his California plates. Highway 4, the road that was built to haul away trees, now brings more than a million visitors each year to the west coast.

At the western entrance to town, where the Pacific Rim Highway swings on to Peninsula Road a "Welcome to Ucluelet" greeting is carved into a log from one of the giant trees that used to grow here. And just past the welcome sign the Canadian Princess, draped with flags, is tied up in the boat basin where the commercial fishing fleet sits idle among a forest of masts and rigging. A “no vacancy” sign hangs on the covered gangway leading to the ship and I am glad we made reservations to stay at Suzie's Seaview B&B. Although all of the Canadian Princess's staterooms and cabins are full the dining room on her lower deck has space and, while waiting for my order of BBQ ribs, I read the ship's history printed on the back of the menu.

Built in 1932 and christened the William J. Stewart, the ship served 43 years as a hydrographic survey vessel, charting the waters of the B.C. coast. In 1979 she was towed to Ucluelet, renamed the Canadian Princess and converted to a sport fishing resort and floating hotel — the flagship of Ucluelet's budding tourist industry. Our meal was excellent — enough tasty ribs for dinner plus a takeout-box for later. Their chef must still be catering to loggers’ appetites.

That evening we shared a cup of tea with Jack and Suzie in the comfortable living room of their B&B. Jack, who worked for B.C. Tel before he retired, has lived in Ucluelet for the past 30 years. He remembers when the town was a quiet, prosperous little logging and fishing community with one of the highest per-capita incomes in B.C. What few tourists there were back then turned right at "the Junction" and headed for Long Beach and Tofino, and Ucluelet was happy to see them go.

For a while there was a sign posted at the Junction with an arrow labeled "hippies" pointing right toward Tofino and one labeled "loggers" pointing left to Ucluelet. "It’s different now," Jack says, "the real-estate developers have bought up huge chunks of land in and around the town. There's building going on everywhere — condos, private homes and four- and 5-star hotels going up right on the waterfront — even a golf course designed by Jack Nicklaus between here and the Junction. Bare lots there will probably go for close to a million."

The war in the woods

Although a few adventurous tourists trickled into the Tofino/Long Beach area by boat before the road was built it was the opening of Highway 4 across central Vancouver Island that triggered the beginning of the west coast tourism boom. In 1959 logging companies operating on opposite sides of the island agreed to link their existing dirt-track roads and provide the first overland connection between the west coast and Port Alberni. It wasn't paved for another 13 years but many of those who braved the dust and potholes were appalled by what they saw and brought the reality of clearcut logging to public attention. Logging in Clayoquot Sound, near Tofino, reached its height in the late 1980s with the cutting of almost a million cubic metres per year and the village of Ucluelet was the third largest landing port for wild salmon on the west coast. At that rate neither harvest could be sustained. By the 1990s the remaining old-growth trees were harder to reach and the annual cut began to decline. But in the end it was public reaction to the devastation of clear-cut logging that forced things to change.

The first skirmish in the "war in the woods" began in 1983 with a protest against the proposed clear cutting of 90 per cent of Meares Island just offshore from Tofino. But the main battle came in 1993 when the government approved the clearcutting of two-thirds of Clayoquot Sound. Public outrage against this decision triggered the largest peaceful civil disobedience protest in Canadian history. The Friends of Clayoquot set up a camp for protestors at what became known as "the black hole" near the junction of Highway 4 and the Pacific Rim Highway. They blocked roads and bridges until logging was halted. Before a compromise was finally reached 825 people had been arrested and the protest had gained international attention, attracting the support of such notables as Robert Kennedy Jr.

Like most wars there were no clear winners. Cutting rights were transferred to the First Nations who promised to log sustainably and preserve the remaining old growth. Harvest rates were reduced, cut blocks made smaller and, in a largely symbolic gesture, Clayoquot Sound was defined as "the last of the temperate rainforest" and made an UNESCO Biosphere Reserve.

The publicity generated by the war in the woods produced a tidal wave of tourists from around the world. It also fueled and put a bitter edge on the traditionally friendly rivalry between the two coastal towns. Tofino embraced the emerging tourism market while Ucluelet elected to stick with its boom-and-bust resource-based economy. During the 1990s Tofino became a focus of environmental activism, provided services to the flood of visitors, and experienced unprecedented growth in its economy and population. Down the road in Ucluelet unemployed loggers blamed the "tree huggers" for shutting down the forest, commercial fishing was beginning to collapse, and the media began referring to Ucluelet as "Tofino's ugly little step sister."

Suzie poured me another cup of tea. "It was a rough time for Ucluelet," she told me, "well-to-do families suddenly had nothing. For a while there were hardly enough kids here to keep the school open." Although the war in the woods was a fight to correct the B.C. government's irresponsible stewardship of the forest resource, it was individual loggers and their families who were caught in the middle and suffered most of the hardship and abuse. With the town's economy in tatters many of Ucluelet's working class citizens were forced to move out.

Since logging along Highway 4 ended the forest has begun to heal and the devastation left by endless clearcuts is now muted by second growth. No evidence of "the black hole" and its thousands of protestors remains. Instead the Pacific Rim Visitor Centre at the junction of Highway 4 and the Pacific Rim Highway provides tourists with information on accommodation, camping, trails, beaches, and local events. From here it's 36 km to Tofino but only eight to Ucluelet and the lady at the information desk says more and more tourists are turning left and making Ucluelet their destination.

Life on the Edge

It's not hard to understand why Ucluelet's "Life on the Edge" has become such a magnet for both visitors and new residents. Located on a narrow isthmus of land at the western entrance to Barkley Sound the town is a gateway to the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve. To the west, between Ucluelet and Tofino, in the Long Beach unit of the park, the surf rolls in over a succession of broad sandy beaches. To the east, in Barkley Sound, the Broken Group is a kayaker’s paradise, protected from the open ocean by a cluster of pristine rocks and islands. And still farther east, on the other side of Barkley Sound, the old turn-of-the century cable station of Bamfield is the start of the West Coast Trail, a challenging 75 km backpacking route along the wave-pounded cliffs and beaches at the edge of the rainforest. All three segments of the park are easily accessible from Ucluelet.

On the morning of our departure for the Broken Group I unloaded our kayaks on Government Wharf at Whiskey Dock, parked the car on nearby Cedar Street, and, with my box of left-over ribs, found a comfortable bench overlooking the wharf and waited for our ship to arrive. With commercial salmon fishing closed the harbour, except for the tourists, is quiet.

On one side of the dock a couple of masons are putting a stone facing on the huge Whiskey development taking shape on the waterfront. The complex offers "waterfront living" in strata units with rental income, plus a brew pub, restaurant, and retail space, and it's being solidly built for the long term.

On the other side of the wharf, at Jamie's Whaling Station, a group of outbound kayakers bounce through the wake of an incoming whale-watching boat. Bundled up in their identical bright red floatation suits and arranged like Lego figures on benches at the front of their craft the whale watchers are a big part of Jamie's, and Ucluelet’s, business.

A weather-beaten fellow in jeans settles down on the next bench, lights up a joint, and we watch the Ocean Rebel pull in to the dock and start unloading her catch. "Them's lingcod for the live fish market," the fellow on the next bench volunteers. "By tomorrow," he adds, "some of them fish could be swimmin' in a fancy Chicago restaurant. Good money in live fish now. But the salmon is done. Can't make a living if the government won't let you fish."

We watched as hundreds of thrashing fish were transferred from the hold of the Ocean Rebel into aerated tanks on waiting trucks. Most are destined for the sushi market, others will end up in glass-fronted tanks where patrons of high-end restaurants can choose which one they want the chef to prepare and be assured that their fish is fresh.

As I was finishing the last of my ribs the Frances Barkley, her top deck bristling with tourists, sounded her horn and pulled in behind the Rebel. Engineer Bill Put secured the gangplank and the crowd of passengers dispersed into town. Some will be staying a while, others are on a day-cruise and, after an hour's shopping in Ucluelet, will re-board the ship for her return through the Broken Group Islands to Sechart, Bamfield, and back to Port Alberni.

Captain Brooke George helped me load our kayaks and I asked him how the summer was going.

"Steady" he replied, "been busy all season and no end in sight."

As we pulled away from the wharf I watched the last truckload of live cod leave the dock and looked at the massive gear that had dragged them off the bottom. I wondered how long it would be before the cod go the way of wild salmon and old-growth timber — and whether tourist boats would someday be the only ones docking here.

A new beginning

Back in Whistler I talked to Trudy Alder about our mid-summer kayak trip to the Broken Group and told her we were going back to Ucluelet again in September. "Be sure and look up my friend Tracy Morben," she told me — and I'm glad I did. We found her in the office of her kayak company near the western end of Ucluelet harbour. Majestic Ocean Kayaking is now a thriving business that offers guests a choice of half- or multi-day trips throughout Barkley and Clayoquot sounds. And Tracy started it all from scratch.

She grew up in Whistler, where she worked 20 years as a ski instructor and a variety of second jobs needed to keep a roof over her head and food on the table. "I lived that life," she says, but in 1993 she was ready for a change. With a pocket full of borrowed money she moved to Ucluelet and set up her kayak business.

"As soon as I got here I was accused of being an environmentalist," she says with a laugh. "Hey, what do they mean I'm just someone who likes sports.”

But in 1993, the year of the big protest, being called an environmentalist in Ucluelet was not a compliment.

"I wouldn't talk to those guys," she says, "I wouldn't take sides. I just sat on the fence and did my own thing. But after the logging shut down this town hit rock bottom. It was depressing. Nothing for people to do but collect U.I. drink beer and wait to see what would happen next.

“Then people started noticing that something was going on down here. Some of them hung out B&B signs and started welcoming tourists instead of ignoring them."

Tracy points to the plaques hanging above her desk. For the past two years she has received the Chamber of Commerce award for her efforts in promoting tourism in Ucluelet.

"The tourist industry has turned this place around," she adds. "Families are coming back into the community, there are kids in school, and new businesses are opening every month."

No longer a forgotten backwater at the end of a spur road, Tofino's "ugly little stepsister" has become a vibrant, rapidly growing community that is belatedly staking its future on the tourist industry. Blessed with a superbly sheltered harbour and inner boat basin, and strategically located between Clayoquot and Barkley Sounds, the town is poised to take full advantage of its beautiful natural setting. Ucluelet is rapidly becoming a year-round resort and tourist destination in its own right, offering "Life on the Edge" to both its 1,753 permanent residents and thousands of annual visitors. The challenge now will be finding that elusive balance between tourism, and a sustainable logging, and commercial fishing industry.

We spent the rest of the day hiking the Wild Pacific Trail. The 2.5 km lighthouse loop trail begins right at the western end of town and meanders through pristine rain forest around the southern edge of the peninsula where the trees lean permanently away from the rocky, storm-lashed headlands. Amphitrite Point where the lighthouse stands commands stunning views over Barkley Sound to the Broken Group Islands. In late March, during the Whale Festival, people gather here to watch the annual migration of the Grey Whales. And during the winter, when this headland can be pounded by 30-metre waves, tourists don their rain gear and come here to witness the fury of winter storms.

The trail, built by volunteers and funded by donations to the Wild Pacific Trail Society, will eventually join the Long Beach segment of Pacific Rim Park at Florencia Bay. We followed it past Big Beach, where footings are being poured for a five-star hotel, and continued along the mix of boardwalks, stairs, and gravel paths that follow the edge of the forest for another six km. The sounds of construction were soon lost to the surf, the intermittent moaning of a weather buoy, and a cacophony of bird sounds from the forest. At intervals along the trail, short paths lead out to viewpoints with a bench.

Before returning to town and a gourmet dinner at the old Matterson House Restaurant we sat and watched the sky and the sea turn a brilliant red as the sun dipped into the Pacific. This, I thought, is what "Life on the Edge" is all about. And this is why so many of us keep coming back.

SIDEBAR

Ucluelet’s loss

On Sept. 3, a few days before our second trip to Ucluelet, Captain Brooke George was killed in a hiking accident on Victoria Peak. He will be sadly missed by all of us who shared the wheelhouse of the Lady Rose and the Frances Barkley with him on our trips to and from the west coast.



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