This marked my third time hiking the legendary West Coast Trail over the past four years. I’ve experienced everything from sunny skies to relentless drizzle—but nothing prepared me for what unfolded this time.

We set out knowing that rain was in the forecast. Environment Canada had predicted 20 to 25 mm of rainfall around day three or four. What we didn’t expect was a downpour of nearly 100 mm—a complete game-changer.

At first, the rain came down lightly, just enough to dampen the trail and raise an eyebrow. But within the hour, it intensified. The forest turned into a funnel, pouring sheets of rain directly onto us. My rain jacket, reliable on past trips, couldn’t handle the deluge. Water seeped through the seams and saturated my base layers. Then came the boots—once watertight thanks to gaiters, now soaking wet and squishing with every step.

As the trail flooded around us, I talked with my hiking partner. We needed a plan. Knowing that the West Coast Trail Guardian Cabins often offer the only real shelter, though they’re not always staffed. We decided that if no ranger was present at the next campsite, we would activate our Personal Locator Beacon (PLB) and call for an evacuation.

When we finally reached the site, we found the cabin empty. We made a decision. We moved down the beach toward the water’s edge, found a relatively safe spot, and activated the PLB. Then came the long wait. We huddled under a tarp, clutching a shared blanket, our bodies trembling from cold and fatigue.

Roughly two hours later, the Canadian Coast Guard arrived by boat. But the bay was littered with submerged hazards, making a direct landing impossible. Instead, they launched an inflatable rowboat to reach us onshore. After checking our vitals, they informed us that we were both teetering on the edge of hypothermia.

The crew wrapped us in dry blankets and fitted us with heated vests, preparing us for the ride back. Once on shore, they rechecked our vitals and directed us to a warm stove generously offered by local fishermen. Throughout the entire process, the Coast Guard reassured us that calling for help was the right decision.

Throughout the entire process, the Coast Guard operated with incredible professionalism and empathy. They reassured us that calling for help was absolutely the right decision. They even mentioned that we were likely the first of many hikers they expected to evacuate due to the extreme weather.

What started as a challenging but manageable hike quickly escalated into a dangerous situation. Soaked gear, plummeting body temperatures, and flooded trails turned the risk of hypothermia into a terrifying reality. We weren’t just uncomfortable—we were in real danger.

In the end, it wasn’t weakness that pulled us off the trail. It was experience, preparation, and knowing when to make the call.