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By Kate MacLennan published Jul 1, 2008

Ukee (as Ucluelet is called) may still be known as the cheap sibling of Tofino, but she’s hot on the heels of her sister to the north. Courtesy A Snug Harbour B&B

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There was a time on Vancouver Island when Tofino and Ucluelet, the bookends on Long Beach’s famed stretch of sand, were almost impossible to differentiate and practically nameless to all except those who lived there. But just over a decade ago, the 42-kilometre ribbon of road that joins them began to look more like a closed border than a scenic drive, dotted with protesters, anti-logging plywood signs, and pro-logging yellow ribbons. Clayoquot Sound had caught the world’s attention for better or worse, and the two fishing villages were pinned under the spotlight, and pitted against each other.

But this tale of two towns begins further back, when war was raging in Vietnam and British Columbia’s west coast was absorbing American draft dodgers. Many of them were well-educated, well-heeled kids who set up shacks by Wreck Bay and Long Beach. When the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve was established in 1970, the squatter community relocated to Tofino, where Chesterman Beach’s sandy kilometres were ideal for hippie encampments. With the artsy influx came an alternative vibe that nurtured a budding environmental movement. Meanwhile Ucluelet, then the bigger of the two townships, burgeoned on the strength of tourism. Standard summertime attractions included whale watching and wilderness tours on the Lady Rose around Barclay Sound. Both towns were in bed with the logging industry, but Ucluelet’s population was far more dependent upon it—for long-time locals, felling trees put food on the table. Ucluetians were pigeonholed as insensitive blue-collar rednecks while Tofitians were revered as valiant protectors of Mother Nature.

Throughout the ’80s, the subject of Clayoquot Sound became as sensitive as the wilderness itself. Locals suggest that the logging companies played up the schism between Tofitians and Ucluetians; others blame the media. Wherever the blame may land (on consultants, tree sitters, spin doctors, what have you), Ucluelet was labelled an example of what not to do (shear Mount Ozzard to the point of baldness, for instance), while Tofino was placed on a pedestal (Meares Island shined pristine and preserved as the backdrop). It made for a hell of a good story.

In the early ’90s, international activist groups like Greenpeace and the Sierra Club joined the fracas, and in the summer of ’93 the province intervened and put an end to the road blockades and business boycotts. By 1994, more than ten percent of Clayoquot’s rain forest was safely ensconced behind legislation, and “light logging” practices had been implemented. Tofino was firmly on the map while Ucluelet was left to pick up the pieces.

The villages have reconciled, but it’s still an issue that locals don’t care to rehash. These days, Ucluelet’s permanent population of 1,900 is slightly larger than Tofino’s, but weekends are a different story. Thanks to an aggressive tourism push (think storm watching), Tofino’s streets swell with unfamiliar faces come Friday night. It isn’t the artsy utopia it once was, but you can still find a shot of wheat grass, and large chains like Subway and Cactus Club have remained conspicuously absent. As for development, condominiums are popping up like skunk cabbage in spring. (The repercussions of which are beginning to surface—remember the Labour Day weekend in 2006, when Tofino ran out of water?) Homes on nearby Chesterman Beach developed in the mid 1960s (“Who would pay $1,600 for an acre lot with such a high water table?”) are today multimillion-dollar properties.

Ukee (as Ucluelet is called) may still be known as the cheap sibling of Tofino, but she’s hot on the heels of her sister to the north. Property prices are almost on par, and Ucluelet has hired a town planner who will build LEED standards into all community development. The downtown is evolving to keep pace—witness the arrival of the posh Black Rock Hotel, opening in September. Jack Nicklaus’s Wyndham Sea golf course (slated to open in 2011) will be accepting reservations in its resort hotel soon afterwards. And Ukee has greened up significantly; Mount Ozzard is no longer an eyesore.

There’s a fair way to go before the buzz reaches the fevered tourism pitch that Tofino maintains, but that might ultimately work to Ucluelet’s advantage. In any case, the question is not whether Ukee is stepping up, but whether Tofino will one day be left behind.

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