Destination OFFLINE: Two Nights Unplugged at a Remote Vancouver Island Lake
I don’t think I’ve ever needed a camping trip as much as I needed this one…
After shooting and editing a beautiful wedding on Gabriola Island and the biggest pro wrestling show in Western Canada, I had reached my limit on sitting in front of a computer screen. It was time to unplug…
I reached out to my friend Francis, who I can always count on for an adventure. He recently moved to Honeymoon bay on Lake Cowichan and we’ve since been exploring that area more throughly.
Unsurprisingly, Francis was game for a couple nights in the back country. His work also demands a fair amount of time online and I think he was equally excited for some nature time. I packed up all the camping gear I could need, and then some, and headed south towards the Cowichan Valley.
A map, a loaded 4Runner, and no firm plan
I arrived in Honeymoon Bay around dinner time. We picked up some burgers from a local restaurant and got straight to planning.
But here’s the thing… We didn’t want to end up at a conventional campground.
We wanted isolation.
We sat across from each other, My foldable backroads map splayed across the table. There is an enormous amount of unfamiliar backcountry accessible right through Francis’ backyard. I’ve spent my entire adult life driving the backroads of Vancouver Island. I saw a significant sized lake on the map and, making an educated guess, decided we should investigate it.
Francis’ 4Runner loaded up with camping gear
Before long we had the only plan we really needed: Load up the 4runner with camping gear and cameras, point it towards the backroads west of Lake Cowichan, and see what happens.
I met Francis in the kitchen the next morning. Several cups of strong black coffee had us fuelled up for the hard part - Loading up.
Like most camping trips, I packed way more gear than I needed. Francis seems to have the same affliction. Luckily everything fit in the 4runner with room to spare. Feeling confident that we had anything a man could need in the bush, we finally set off on the Gordon River Main.
Cell service disappears rapidly out there. I packed my well-traveled Backroads Mapbook for the journey, but Francis, tending to keep up with new technology better than I do, loaded up the Backroad Maps App on his phone. With the entire map downloaded and available offline we were able to see our position in realtime as well as plot the course to our mystery lake and potential camp spot.
Using the backroads mapbooks app on iPhone
For years I’ve wanted a good GPS to take out into the backcountry. I often convince myself that the perfect model doesn’t exist, or that I’ve gone this long and never actually needed one (knock on wood, right?).
But, I have to admit that the Backroads Maps App is an invaluable tool. I think having those maps available offline paired with the now available satellite messaging being rolled out on iOS will make handheld GPS devices obsolete.
The Gordon River Main was familiar territory, but eventually we reached a branch road that neither of us had driven before. Almost immediately the road began to climb and twist up a mountainside over rough blasted rock. We, slowly but surely, reached the summit of the mountain pass and were greeted with a breathtaking view. A deep valley full of giant trees unfolded below us.
We began our descent and soon found ourselves on another mainline. Once again heading west we soon got our first glimpse of the lake. I think Francis and I were both sold immediately.
Birds eye view of the backcountry lake
Finding the perfect backcountry lake
Francis testing the water temperature of the lake
The empty campsites, just metres from the glassy green water, are well established. The road loops through a small area on the north shore of the lake connecting 3 or 4 different sites. Each site has its own rickety dock fashioned from scrap wood and old plastic barrels. We took a short break from driving to take in the serene lake scene. This would work for camping, but it was still early.
If there was something even better hiding a little farther down the road, we wanted to know about it.
Back in the 4runner, we soon found ourselves approaching a newly erected gate and a parked work truck. Sitting in the truck was Bryce, the man responsible for guarding the gate. At first he seemed cautious. His job was to tell us to turn around. After all, not everyone thats pulling up to the gate has friendly intentions.
Protesters signs along the logging roads
Logging in the surrounding valleys has once again sparked controversy and renewed attention from activists and conservationists alike. Bryce explained that the BC Supreme Court has granted an injunction closing access to Carmanah Walbran Provincial Park to the public. Despite this, activists are still finding ways to disrupt the logging activity in the area. According to Bryce, Part of their efforts include harassing him at the gate.
It’s no secret that I’m not a big proponent of forestry industry on Vancouver Island. I recognize that it’s an important resource and practice, but I have concerns about the scale and methods by which it’s done. That said, I’m far from an expert on the subject.
Whatever side of the conversation you find yourself on, it’s impossible not to appreciate the spectacular beauty of old growth forests on this corner of Vancouver Island. Carmanah Walbran has been on my list for years, and both Francis and I are hoping to get in there in the future to experience it first hand.
Bryce quickly relaxed as we made it evident that we weren’t there to give him a hard time. We stood by the trucks talking about potential campsites in the area. His first recommendation was the lake we had just left; a good sign, but I wanted to pry a little more. Just then I felt raindrops on my face. Despite a clear forecast, the weather took a turn. Bryce wiped the rain drops off of his tablet to show me some hidden gems on his own maps. Armed with fresh information, we thanked Bryce for his time and headed farther intro the backcountry.
Rain splattered across the windshield. The temperature dropped noticeably as we continued towards Nitinat lake. Another twisting mountain pass offered up more stunning views of old growth trees standing tall above a river valley. Before long we arrived at the Nitinat Lake Recreation Site – a small first nations campground on the North East shore of the lake.
Being a paid site, this isn’t exactly what we were looking for, but curiosity got the better of us, so we drove through to take a look around.
Almost immediately we noticed something that made both of us laugh.
As we drove through the main entrance to the campground, we soon arrived at a covered gazebo. Beneath it was over a dozen campers. Every one of them was staring down at their phones and not a single person glanced up while we drove by.
There’s something strange, sad, and sort of funny about driving hours into the wilderness only to find people clustered around a wifi signal like moths to a flame…
It was a reminder of why we had come out here in the first place.
Not to scroll.
Not to check email or instagram.
To unplug from the internet and connect instead with nature.
We high tailed it out of there and go back on the main road. Using the backroads MacBooks app, we noticed a provincial park not far away that featured a small pullout leading to the river bank. This was definitely worth a look.
The little riverside campsite was beautiful in its own way. Towering trees shaded the riverbank, and the sound of the moving water drifted through the forest. It would have been a perfectly good place to camp for a night.
But in a glance Francis and I both knew that the lake was calling us back.
Sometimes a place just feels right.
We retraced our route over the mountain pass. The rain let up somewhere along the way. The closer we got the lake the more I realized how hungry I was after a day of traveling.
Dinner is served: Beef stew over the campfire
It was close to dinner time when we arrived back at the lake. Thankfully no one else arrived while we were gone, leaving all of the sites available to us. We picked our favourite and backed in the 4runner.
My MSR tent set up near the lake
We had a few hours of light left, but lots of work to do. I first hustled on my own set up, popping my MSR Hubba Hubba tent up in a matter of minutes. I inflated my sleeping pad and rolled out a bag inside. Knowing that my “bed was made” so to speak, I could now shift focus on the fire. I brought a small amount of fire wood with us, and we had collected a bit more from the riverside campsite we had just left. I worked fast and furiously to get a fire going. The tinder quickly took a spark and soon after that the cedar kindling crackled with flame. Within minutes a steady column of smoke and heat was rising into the cool evening air.
Meanwhile Francis prepped some veggies for dinner. Our plan from the start was to use his new cast iron dutch oven to make a beef stew over the fire. With the fire now roaring, I took a moment to catch my breath.
Our ingredients were prepped, our chairs were set up next to the fire while the logs slowly burned down to hot coals perfect for cooking. As soon as we were able, I tossed the onions and the beef into the pot to start browning. Francis brought garlic he had grown, and I brought rosemary and potatoes from my own garden. Adding the broth and veggies, we were finally getting close to eating. My mouth watered at the sight of the colourful pot of stew quietly bubbling away on the bed of glowing embers.
Beef stew simmering on the campfire
As soon as the spoon reached my mouth I knew all the hard work, preparation and waiting had been worth it. I can’t think of too many things more gratifying than a real, hearty meal cooked slowly over a campfire. This is the moment I had been waiting for.
The light faded faster than my impulses to check Instagram. I reminded myself what this trip was all about as I settled into watching the fire flicker in the darkness.
The only sound beyond the crackling fire was a chorus of bullfrogs and the distant call of a Loon from across the lake. Absolute perfection.
The fire… There’s something special about it. It felt effortless sitting around the fire for hours with my good friend. We swapped stories, shared new creative ideas, watched the stars and honestly, lost track of time. Eventually we let the fire burn down into glowing embers and finally called it a night.
Coffee, a cold plunge, and very little on the agenda
I woke up early the next morning, and just like every other night I’ve spent in a tent, I woke up rough. Francis was right behind me waking from a bed he built in the 4runner. I don’t think he slept much better. The first order of business was, of course, making coffee. Normally I use a French press for coffee but Francis brought a percolator. My dad has always claimed the percolator is the way to go so I thought we’d better try it. I used my JetBoil to heat the water and before long I was sipping on some strong black coffee.
Now, the coffee definitely helped me feel alive but it only took us about halfway there. Francis, as he often does, proposed a swim in the lake. How could I refuse? A quick costume change and we were standing on the dock eyeing up the crystal clear water. It looked inviting sparking in the morning sun.
Well, Francis was right. The combination of coffee and cold water brought us back to life, and just in time too. We had ambitions of bacon and eggs for breakfast and the only way to cook that was to get the fire going again.
Dylan tending to the campfire
I scrounged up some firewood from the forest and got to work. We used the dutch oven again, first cooking some bacon nice and slow before cracking 6 farm fresh eggs into the leftover grease.
While I worked the fire, Francis worked on another pot of coffee. The aroma of fresh coffee and a big breakfast was mouth watering. Now fed, Caffeinated, and freshly bathed in the lake, it was time to sit and enjoy the lake. Francis laid on the dock with a book. I strung my hammock between two trees and rested my eyes.
I drifted in an out of sleep listening to the birdsong of many Swainson’s thrush. For hours this and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore was the only sound to be heard. As the day grew later we began hearing more traffic on the main road.
Freshly napped, I joined Francis on the dock. Looking across the lake we were sure we could see a small clearing that may be another campsite. Now, we had some options… We could drive over there, or we could swim.
We, of course, elected to swim.
The cool water washed the remaining cobwebs away. By the time we swam across to what was infact a boat access only campsite and back, I was feeling completely energized. And good thing too, because I had work to do.
Francis returned to his book while I wandered off in search of a dead or fallen tree. I found a 25’ tree fallen in the brush next to one of the adjacent campsites. I used my collapsible saw to cut about 12 feet off, which I then carried on my shoulder back to camp. The hard part was sawing this down into manageable sized rounds. Francis and I took turns ripping 16”-20” pieces off of the tree which then needed to be split by axe.
After lots of sweat and perseverance, we finally had a healthy stash of firewood for the night.
And just in time, because I was getting hungry.
Hot dogs, unexpected visitors, and a midnight boat launch
This dinner was going to be slightly less glamorous than the beef stew from the night before, but nonetheless it is a campfire classic. Hotdogs.
We weren’t content with plain ol’ hotdogs though. Having some bacon leftover and needing to use it up we decided to get fancy with our cookout.
Once again, I built up a big fire just to let it burn down to hot coals. I slow cooked the last of the bacon in the dutch oven and moved it next to the fire just as it reached perfection. I’m not just tooting my own horn here, that bacon was cooked perfectly.
We had each fashioned our own roasting sticks for the hot dogs and were eager to get cooking.
After what felt like ages the hot dogs were finally ready. I cut a slit into the wiener and stuffed small slices of cheddar cheese inside before laying a thick slice of bacon inside the bun. Once dressed with ketchup and mustard we were eating like kings.
With full bellies and aching backs, we once again settled around the fire.
The day began to fade quickly.
Just before sunset a pickup truck rolled into the camp carrying a group of younger guys who were apparently scouting the area for a future camp out.
Meanwhile, another truck pulled up to the lake.
A man hopped out of his truck and approached the group of young guys first.
I overheard him ask a very unusual question…
“Hey, have you guys seen a marmot?”
As he made his way over to our campfire, I asked him to clarify.
“Did you just say a marmot??”
We soon discovered that he works for a wildlife recovery program and was searching for a young male marmot that had become “frisky” and had wandered a remarkable distance from the alpine meadows where he belongs. Apparently it was spotted somewhere in the area and this biologist was trying to relocate it.
Talk about a needle in a haystack.
We hadn’t encountered a marmot, unfortunately, but we did end up chatting with the biologist for quite a while.
What really struck me wasn’t just the unusual nature of his job. It was how genuinely excited he was to talk about it. This guy lit up when we started asking questions about the Marmot. He told us about being flown in by helicopter to remote alpine meadows, monitoring wildlife in places few people ever get to visit, and spending his time working in some of British Columbia’s wildest landscapes.
As someone who’s fascinated by exploration, remote places, and adventure, I found myself thinking, “Now that is a cool job”.
I, of course, recommended that he start bringing a good camera around with him.
Eventually he wished us a good evening and continued his search for the lost marmot.
Sunset at the lake
Darkness settled over the lake. Francis and I returned to exactly what we’d been doing before.
Feeding the camp fire.
Talking.
Watching the stars emerge in the night sky.
There wasn't much wind, so every sound seemed to carry across the water. The occasional splash of a fish. The crackle of cedar burning in the fire. Somewhere in the distance, the faint call of an owl.
Then, sometime around 11:30, headlights appeared.
Another pickup rolled into camp towing a small aluminum boat behind it.
A young guy hopped out, his girlfriend right behind him. He walked over to introduce himself, exchanged a few words with us, and casually mentioned that he planned to launch the boat... right then.
In complete darkness.
He expertly backed the trailed down to the water while his girlfriend organized gear in the truck. Before long we could hear his little two-stroke outboard sputter to life.
They loaded up the boat and took off into the night.
Had we been trying to sleep, I probably would’ve been less than impressed
But sitting around the fire, watching this whole operation unfold, I had to admire his determination.
He had a destination in mind and wasn’t about to let the dark stop him from getting there.
We watched his spotlight spill over the campsite across the lake just before the engine fell silent.
Eventually our fire burned down to a bed of glowing embers.
The woodpile we’d worked so hard to build was depleted and the conversation slowed.
Without saying much, we both knew the night had come to an end.
Tomorrow we’d pack up and head home.
Astrophotography of the stars over the lake
Taking the long way home
Foggy morning at the lake
Morning came quietly.
Neither of us had slept particularly well, but by this point we’d accepted that as part of camping. One final pot of coffee slowly perked away while camp began to disappear around us.
My tent came down.
My sleeping bag was rolled up.
Piece by piece we loaded things back into the 4Runner.
Our little campsite that had been home for the last two nights slowly returned to exactly as we’d found it.
Before we left, Francis wandered down to the dock for one last swim.
I stood on the shoreline with my mug of coffee, looking across the lake, savouring the last few moments of tranquility.
Eventually we climbed into the truck and pointed ourselves towards home.
We weren’t in much of a hurry. We decided to take the long way home, another loop of road that we hadn’t explored before. Every side road was another opportunity to discover a future campsite.
That’s one of the things I love most about Vancouver Island’s backcountry – you never really run out of places to explore. Every trip leaves you with three more destinations for the next one.
By the time we reached pavement again, phone reception quietly returned.
Neither of us had realized how completely we’d disconnected until our devices suddenly erupted with notifications.
Emails.
Messages.
Missed calls.
The resulting screen time binge was admittedly shameful. It didn’t take long before I felt the need to return to the backcountry.
There was still lots of work waiting when I got home. Hundreds of photos to edit, video to sort through, laundry to do, gear to put away.
But first… A hot shower and a proper nights sleep in my own bed.
What I took away from the lake
I learned a few things during this camping trip.
I'm officially convinced that flipping bacon with a stick is a skill I don't particularly need to master. A proper spatula has earned a permanent place in my camping kit.
I'm also seriously considering replacing my tent with a hammock setup. My current hammock is great for an afternoon nap, but after donating what felt like several litres of blood to mosquitoes over the weekend, something with an integrated bug net—and maybe even a rain fly—is looking pretty appealing. Whether I'd actually sleep better suspended between two trees remains to be seen, but I'm willing to find out. My eye is on the hawk nest ultralight hammock.
With how dry the summer had become, I suspected the fire ban would arrive any day.
And it did.
In a way, that made me appreciate this trip even more. We managed to sneak in one last weekend of campfires before the season changed.
As I looked through the photos afterwards, I realized that none of them really capture the most important benefits of a weekend of camping.
The quiet.
The conversations.
The conversations.
The smell of cedar smoke woven into my clothes.
The feeling of diving into cold water after a slow morning around camp.
Those are the things that stay with you.
Maybe that's why I keep coming back to places like this.
The scenery is beautiful, sure.
But the real reason has never been the destination.
It's the feeling you leave with when you finally point the truck back toward home.
And before long...
You'll find yourself looking at the map all over again.
I’m reminded of a passage from an acclaimed Canadian historian and writer:
“When a Vancouver Islander wants to take a holiday, he follows the habit of the busman in the old tale and stays on his Island.
You see, the Vancouver Islander is different from other people in this – he not only professes a sublime faith in the superiorIty of his Island to all other places, but he demonstrates it by leaving it as seldom an he can.
He knows that no matter how many times he may travel the Island there will always be some new place to see, some new road to follow, some new trail to be explored, some new adventure to be found by the seashore or in the forest.
Discovering and rediscovering the Island thus is an endless task. We have been doing It regularly for many years and we never seem to get nearer the end. And we don't want to.”
-Bruce Alistair McKelvie
Capture Your Own Vancouver Island Story
Exploring places like this backcountry lake reminds me why I love photographing on Vancouver Island. Each ruin, forest trail and coastline offers stories waiting to be told. If this inspires you, let’s plan a Wild Portrait Session together. I’ll guide you to locations that match your story and capture portraits that feel like you.
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“Tucked into Vancouver Island’s backcountry west of Lake Cowichan, a remote lake offered a welcome escape from hours behind a screen. In this post, Vancouver Island photographer Dylan Phillips shares two nights of campfire cooking, cold-water swims, and unexpected encounters—and reflects on what a few days outdoors can give us beyond the photographs we bring home.”