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Somewhere along the southwestern coast of Vancouver Island, we asked ourselves: What makes for a pure hiking experience?

Initially, staying pure meant not consuming anything that we had not brought onto the trail and carried on our backs the past four days. All nine of us had been very diligent, even refusing to sit on fold-up chairs that others had brought. After all, those chairs wouldn't have fit in our densely packed 70-litre bags.

But the deliciously salty aroma of fresh crabs was helping me consider changing our definition. The crabs had been caught from the lake in front of us, and they were prepared by the local natives who owned that region of the trail. Surely, this must be a legitimate part of a West Coast Trail adventure.

Indulging in this one meal couldn't possibly mean we weren't doing the trip the right way – could it? Would it mean we could no longer claim we “roughed out” the West Coast Trail?

It didn't help that since leaving Port Renfrew, our meals had generally consisted of dehydrated fruit and meat, pasta, oatmeal, energy bars, bagels and cheese that was melted from being too close to our sweaty backs.

For several minutes, we all stood amid the savoury smells of cooked crab, hashing out the arguments for and against the feast. Who among us would accept this aromatic lunch, and who would eat stale bagel with warm cheese again? Heads turned left and right as the nine of us looked at one another to see who would cave.

In the end, only John was strong enough to hold out. “You guys are weak,” he told us, shaking his head. The rest of us gave our orders to the chef/fisherman, rested our bags on the floating dock and awaited our meals.

When mine came, the tender meat didn't disappoint. With each bite, I thought, “This is the best $20 I've ever spent.” For a moment, I was convinced that all the hiking we had done through muddy trails and sandy beaches, climbing creaky wooden ladders, and jumping from boulder to boulder, might have all been leading to this.

As for the Diet Coke that accompanied my crab, well, if I was going to give in to temptation, I might as well give in to all my cravings.

I have since accepted the fact that I didn't have a pure experience. I would like to hike the West Coast Trail again –and next time I will try to say no to the crab lunch.

But, to be honest, I'll probably just say no to the Diet Coke.

Special to The Globe and Mail