During my days at the Wick, I find I like a balance of both: Rest and adventure. I fall asleep to the soporific sound of waves. I spend hours on my balcony, watching clouds slink by, waves unfurl, and surfers bob about like otters. In between beach walks and weather-watching, we strike out into town. We tuck into fresh-baked bread and hearty soup at the Common Loaf Bake Shop bakery and restaurant run by activist Maureen Fraser, who participated in the War of the Woods protests and blockades of the 1980s and 1990s to halt old-growth clear-cutting in Clayoquot Sound.
We stroll past quaint cafés, art galleries, and restaurants, with incredible views of the wilderness, islands and valleys of Clayoquot Sound in the backdrop. Tofino doesn’t hibernate during the winter. Locals and visitors wrap up in waterproof outers and warm undergarments (there is no bad weather, only bad clothing) for hikes and jaunts along driftwood-strewn beaches and old-growth forests. You can take a surf lesson—Tofino is Canada’s unofficial surf capital—or use the Pacific for post-sauna cold plunges.
But I always find myself pulled back to the view; constantly changing, I don’t want to miss a single shift of light or cresting wave. There’s something magnetic about this primal place, lessons about endurance, slowing down, and ‘This too shall pass’ to be gleaned from ancient Sitka spruces and storm-battered shores. I feel charged, invigorated, rinsed clean.
Come check-out time, it almost hurts to wrench my eyes away. I got some good action, but I know there’s a bigger storm out there. I’ll have to come back. In the meantime, I tide myself over with watching the Wick’s live feed of Chesterman Beach. Even after dark, when the screen is black, just for the roar.
