Ucluelet and Tofino: The End of the World
Arriving on Vancouver Island by ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Nanaimo, with a day to spare before our next meeting, we headed towards Tofino, a small port town located about 40 kilometers north of Ucluelet. The journey across the island took much longer than expected, as the road is exceptionally winding and rugged. It is a true dead-end road; beyond it lies only the vast Pacific Ocean and, eventually, China. The route cuts directly through an impressive, multi-century-old coniferous forest, known locally as the 'Rain Forest.'
MacMillan Provincial Park (Cathedral Grove)
This magnificent, untouched patch of forest is located near the center of Vancouver Island, between Parksville and Port Alberni. Established in 1947, MacMillan Park preserves one of the last remnants of the dense temperate rainforest that blanketed the entire island over a thousand years ago. Some of its oldest, most majestic Douglas firs have been standing for more than 500 years.
A little further toward Port Alberni, an old sawmill still operates at a very slow pace in the middle of the forest. A watermill powers the aging machinery, and in the wooden channels, you can spot large salmon bravely swimming upstream. From here, the landscape opens up to reveal sparkling lakes, deep fjords, and finally, the sea and the vast open ocean.
Here in Tofino, a German expatriate runs his hotel-restaurant entirely on his own. The interior is delightfully kitschy, and lively country music fills the room. "You like it? This is good music," he asks us proudly. The traditional country rhythm and his thick accent remind us strongly of a beer waltz in Munich. A plate of fish and chips accompanied by a glass of red wine, and we are perfectly satisfied. He is another original character who doesn’t seem to miss his homeland and runs his business exactly his own way, even if it doesn't please everyone. The room is clean, simple, and inexpensive. However, breakfast, which was supposed to be served between 8 am and 11 am, seems to be a thing of the past. "It’s closed! Open at 2 o’clock!" the innkeeper announces, his strong German accent fully intact even after 40 years in Canada.
At the port of this small town, indigenous people and outsiders living on the scattered surrounding islands come to restock. They load up on vital fuel for their boats and food for their families, before a quick push of the motor sends them disappearing over the horizon. You also frequently see small, highly maneuverable seaplanes that can land almost anywhere along the coast.
Everyone is incredibly friendly here, and the people are wonderfully laid back. Two young men repairing the engine of their small boat are completely absorbed in their own world, while their little mixed-breed dog effortlessly jumps back and forth from the dock to the boat, completely at ease.
A sign on the right side of the road leading to Ucluelet indicates a viewpoint over the ocean, accessible only by crossing through the 'Rain Forest'—a humid jungle filled with trees boasting impossibly thick trunks. The forest stretches for about two dense kilometers before finally meeting the sea.
Two determined hikers, wearing proper boots and carrying small backpacks, head down a narrow trail that delves deep into this virgin forest. Taking advantage of their momentum, we decide to follow a few steps behind. The path quickly becomes arduous; it descends steeply, cluttered with thick roots and flooded with deep mud in places. I’ve seen identical, rugged paths on Reunion Island. We spend our time climbing, descending, and constantly watching our step. The most exhausting part is maintaining balance while constantly changing rhythm. The forest is truly untouched. Thankfully, the path is well marked and it isn't raining. Persevering along this challenging trail, we miraculously emerge onto a pristine sandy beach, where the salty sea air instantly fills our lungs.
Ships must have anchored here in the past, dropping off men, weapons, and baggage in a heartbeat before confronting Mother Nature in all her grandeur. Standing here, facing the crashing waves, we feel as though we are at the very beginning—and the absolute end—of the world.
On our way back, perched quietly on a branch, a bird with vibrant blue and black feathers watches us without moving an inch. It seems fully aware of its own beauty, posing perfectly for the camera.
Between adventure and tourism, I often seek a deeper dimension, which perhaps I found here: Ucluelet greatly resembles Tofino but is noticeably larger. The houses, aligned neatly along the shoreline, are built on tall stilts. They look like large wooden cabins, featuring wide balconies that overlook the quiet inlet. Wooden stairs lead down to floating docks, offering an ideal stroll and a guaranteed unique, maritime atmosphere.
At the end of one dock, the Zeal, a beautiful commercial fishing boat, is securely moored. Once on the pontoon, activity is in full swing. Lending a hand to replace the heavy protective tires wedged between the hull and the dock is gladly accepted.
Jim, the captain, is a jovial and incredibly straightforward man. He invites me aboard and proudly introduces me to his crew. One man is maintaining the loud machinery, two are busy refurbishing the kitchen, and another stands eating hot soup in his bright yellow raincoat. There’s James, the mechanic from the Northern Territories; Dwain, the professional fisherman; Dave, the chief engineer; and Darren, nicknamed 'Whitey'—the occasional cook, a lawyer by profession, and the son of the Zeal's owner.
The weather is terrible today, and yesterday a small tornado even grazed the coast. The boat will remain safely docked, and the men are using this valuable downtime to put everything in perfect order.
It’s a bit like at L’Etoile; the work never truly ends, and the upcoming tourist season feels much like the next grand voyage at sea. I’ve always compared L’Etoile to a cargo ship: its boiler room serves as the engine room, the wide balcony feels like the ship’s main deck, and the visitors are the ones who take me on journeys. There’s also a captain, and yes, the ship can sink too.
Captain Jim takes me on a full tour of his vessel: the tight bunks, the compact kitchen, the narrow hallways, the massive hold where tons of fish and ice are stored, the noisy engine room, the deck piled with heavy fishing nets, and finally, the wheelhouse. It features a genuine wooden helm and brass thermometers of all sizes. A large computer screen connected to the web and GPS allows the pilot to track his exact position and the current market value of fish at any given time. "It’s a good job, we earn a good living," Jim tells me, settling comfortably in front of the wheel.
Outside, the weather remains bleak, and the boat sways gently on the ripples; both rain and wind have intensified. It feels incredibly cozy in the dining area, which is shared with the kitchen. We each enjoy a cold beer by the warm stove, devouring the excellent, hearty sandwiches served generously by the cook.
Before Dave, the machinist, returns to his grease and engine room, I show them some digital photos of my home region. Viewed from a fishing boat in British Columbia, the French Cévennes and small medieval villages like La Garde-Guérin seem unimaginably far away. The images leave a strong impression on the sailors, who clearly enjoy the change of scenery. Five months of hard work followed by seven months of travel is a lifestyle that would certainly please the captain. We exchange business cards and part with sincere handshakes.
We had just experienced true, authentic hospitality—the kind that is so rarely found! As an innkeeper myself, I take away this spontaneous, unexpected, and profoundly relevant lesson.
Ucluelet and Tofino, Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada - Map
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