One of the many reasons I’m gaga for glamping is because it offers an all-access pass to nature, and at Wya Point Resort, perched on the cusp of Canada’s West Coast, this access is VIP.
Located a few hours from Vancouver, BC, via car and a trip aboard BC Ferries, connecting the mainland to Vancouver Island, I arrived at Way Point Resort with my family in the early evening. The sun was starting to set, bathing the resort’s private beach in a pink, blue, and golden-hued light so complex it would be difficult for Pantone to capture it in a color chip.
So taken by the way the light was peeking through the old-growth trees towering over the Pacific Ocean, we dashed out of our car and ran to the resort’s sandy cove before even setting foot in our yurt. Once the sun sank into the horizon, we walked a few steps to our “glampsite” and realized we could have witnessed the kaleidoscope sky from the lounge chairs topping the cedar deck circling our yurt.
Built strong and sturdy by the Ucluelet First Nation—the original inhabitants of the land—to withstand their position at the edge of the Pacific Rim, the 15 beach-access yurts at Wya Point Resort are far from fair-weather. Indoor wood-burning stoves provide heat in the winter, while the pop-up rooftop skylight cools in the summer. Small indoor kitchens—intended to complement the outdoor grill—provide just enough space to prepare a coastal feast.
At 8:00 p.m. the tide rolled in and with it, waves so powerful, their froth dusted our yurt’s window with millions of micro bubbles. The sound of the waves juxtaposed against the quietness of nature soothed my soul into a sleep so deep I awoke the next morning to the cry of eagles.
After an obligatory sunrise beachcombing session where we checked out tide pools teeming with sea anemones and starfish, we headed into the nearby town of Ucluelet. Locally-roasted coffee from The Foggy Bean Coffee Co was on our menu, as was a coastal hike along the 5.5-mile Wild Pacific Trail.
Before returning to our woodsy hideaway, we felt it was our duty to the destination (and our inner foodies) to pick up salmon and halibut caught that morning for an evening cookout.
Barbecuing local fish under a canopy of ancient cedars, I was struck by the privilege of Pacific Rim glamping, and the front-row seat Wya Point Resort gives you to the Pacific wild.
Know this:
– Well-equipped bathrooms are a few steps from each yurt.
– In addition to yurts, Way Point Resort also features campsites, as well as a collection of nine beachfront, timber-frame lodges.
– The region is famous for fishing, surfing, kayaking, and wildlife viewing, so there’s no shortage of activities.
Imagine arriving to the shore of a glacial lake, surrounded by yellow poplar trees and snow-capped mountains and saying, “We’re home.” This my friends, is campervanning in New Zealand, where each night you stop at an absurdly gorgeous place, make a gourmet meal, open a bottle of Marlborough wine, and then wake up to a million-dollar view, free of charge. We carried on like this for 10 glorious in our Maui Ultima campervan—our luxury studio apartment on wheels—exploring the South Island’s mountains, glaciers, fjords, colonial towns, beaches, and alpine villages. There are so many exquisite and remote places to experience in New Zealand, that a rental car and a few hotel stays wasn’t going to cut it. With the ability to move at our own pace, go wherever inspired us, and have the amenities of home on hand, we found the keys to total freedom and adventure.
We picked up our two-berth Mercedes Sprinter with its spacious living area, efficient kitchen, full bathroom, ingenious storage, and modern accents and couldn’t believe how posh a campervan could be. Watch this video for the full tour of our faithful steed and mobile palace.
Our 1472-mile route was ambitious but there isn’t a single place on this itinerary we’d cut on this crazy clockwise loop. Starting with Christchurch, Lake Alexandrina, Mount Cook/Tasman Glacier, Oamaru, Moeraki Boulders, Dunedin, Otago Peninsula, Curio Bay, Catlins Conservation Park, Invercargill, Te Anau, Milford Sound, Queenstown, Lake Wanaka, Haast, Franz Josef Glacier, Arthur’s Pass back to Christchurch.
We left Christchurch way later than expected so the new plan was to get as close to the world heritage site of Mount Cook National Park as possible before dark. We zoomed into our trusty Maps With Me app, trying to survey the digital landscape for a pretty place to sleep and found a spot overlooking Lake Alexandrina. In New Zealand it’s legal to “Freedom Camp,” which means if your vehicle has its own bathroom (like our Maui) and the land isn’t signposted, you can overnight park on public land. Freedom camping allowed us to wake up to views like this every day.
After admiring the tallest mountain in Australasia, we headed south on Canterbury’s Highway 8 going from snowy mountains to teal seas to the stunning city of Dunedin. We were dazzled by the Victorian and Edwardian architecture and lively vibe of this university town.
The Otago Pennisula, a 20-km long finger of land jutting off Dunedin has some of the best marine life and bird watching in the world with the albatross colonies, endangered yellow eyed penguins, hooker sea lions, sea elephants and more. We pulled over to watch some seals and made a seafood dinner in our fully equipped kitchen.
Continuing along the southern coastal roads into the Catlins, there were not only gorgeous beaches but Lord-of-the-Ring style podocarp forests. We took a hike to a waterfall and I could have sworn we saw a few hobbits darting between the moss-encrusted trees.
Every visitor that comes to the South Island has Fjordland National Park and its world-famous Milford Sound on his list. There is no freedom camping in the park so we stopped at Deer Flat campground in the shadow of the 5,000-foot mountains and made ourselves a hearty meal before hiking and kayaking the day away.
Milford Sound is said to be an 8th Wonder of the World and after our four-hour kayak expedition between the majestic mountains, hanging glaciers, and gushing waterfalls…we’d have to agree. Fjordland National Park is a wildly popular place, attracting plenty of tour buses, but with our campervan we were able to zip to the lesser known vistas and trails without the crowds.
Our whirlwind road-trip continued to the Adventure Capital of Queenstown and its adrenaline effects immediately took hold. Within an hour of our arrival to this alpine town, we signed up to bungee jump, jet boat the Shotover river, and ride the world’s largest gorge swing. Maybe its the town’s hundreds of adventure activities on offer or the seductive nature of the Remarkable Mountains and Lake Wakatipu, but Queenstown got our heart racing like no other.
We couldn’t leave Queenstown without a stop at the famous Fergburger for a Bambi—venison burger with spicy mango chutney. With full bellies we started our drive to Glenorchy, the hippy town at the head of Lake Wakitipu. It should have taken us 40 minutes but add in 20 photo stops to document the coastal gorgeousness and it took us close to two hours.
Cruising back through Queenstown with our mouths agape, we made our way north to Lake Wanaka and Lake Hawea. These sister lakes aren’t nearly as popular as Wakatipu, but dear lord are they spectacular. Glacier-cut mountains shoot from all sides of the deep waters and no matter how many panoramics you take, you can’t fit all the beauty in.
Over the waterfalls of Haas Pass and out to the West Coast, we made our way towards Franz Josef Glacier. We took a helicopter ride to the top to the pristine white peaks but by just pulling our camper over, we got this view.
A friend recommended a campsite near the glacier but with our gas kitchen, solar panels, kitchen, and bathroom, we had no reason or desire to use these shared facilities. Instead we found a quiet spot in line with Franz Josef, fired up our slide-out BBQ, and enjoyed grilled lamb and red wine at our private table for two.
We made our way back to Christchurch via the stunning Arthur’s Pass and couldn’t stop marveling at how much we saw in ten days. Our campervan saved us from booking hotels, having to pack up each day, and staying on the tourist track. It allowed us to truly explore the pristine South Island and discover a whole new way to travel the world.
Mike and Anne Howard left on their honeymoon in 2012 and have been traveling the world ever since. HoneyTrek.com chronicles their adventures across 7 continents, 44 countries, and counting! Their writing, photography, and the story of the “World’s Longest Honeymoon” can also be found on Condé Nast Traveler, BBC Travel, The Knot, Los Angeles Times, CBS, and dozens of other international publications. Connect with @HoneyTrek on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.
Editor’s Note: Wilson Island’s tented paradise is currently taking a vacation of its own. Check back for updates on its reopening. In the meantime, check out nearby Heron Island, another southern Great Barrier Reef castaway stay.
While planning a trip to Australia, my husband and I knew our tropical getaway had to incorporate two things: Glamping and the Great Barrier Reef. Is there a better travel cocktail? To our extreme delight, this combo led us to Wilson Island, a private coral cay with six tents, on-demand wine, and a personal chef in the southern Great Barrier Reef.
Reaching paradise found is no small feat, though, when you’re sipping Champagne at sunset watching baby turtles hatch before your eyes, the plane and two-boat journey fades into oblivion.
On Wilson, there’s no fancy dock or water toys or plunge pool. The lack of these luxuries only adds to the castaway allure. Upon arrival, our skipper put the speedboat in neutral and let us off three feet from shore. I hiked up my dress, dodged a few waves, waded up to the deserted beach, and stood in awe for a good five minutes.
Basking in island bliss, I met my host, one of two staff members who tend to guests’ every island need. She welcomed us, explained Wilson’s “island time” flow—breakfast, beach, wine, lunch, snorkel, Champagne, dinner, sleep (repeat)—and carried our bags to the tent. As she was walking away I noticed she had no shoes on, and realized, “what’s the point?” The entire enclave is serenaded in sand.
Closed on three sides and secluded from other guests by the islet’s thick tropical foliage, my sand-hued safari-style stay was graced with a timber base, a king-sized bed, and a white hammock gently swaying in the wind. The ocean side of our plot was left open offering a view more magnificent than priceless art. It should be noted that I never closed that fourth tent flap, the vista was too soul-soothing.
Keen on exploring the five-acre footprint, we found the central washhouse for when nature calls (or we needed a solar-powered shower), and the Longhouse, where all meals are prepared and served. Peering at the board games, books, and rows of wine, we got stalled here when we met the chef who rushed over during prep to offer us some chocolate and wine.
Hand-in-hand, we took our pinot gris to the beach and strolled speechless as birds flew overhead and the waves lapped up over our feet. For the next hour, I searched for places to hide, so I’d never have to leave.
For lunch, we sat at a 12-person long table topped in shells and multi-utensil place settings. Over more wine, macadamia nut-crated barramundi—brought to shore by local fisherman—sweet potato purée, and watermelon granita, we traded travel stories with the other island-goers. Despite the formal menu, t-shirts and bathing suit coverups were the most elegant attire. At Wilson, you come as you are, sea-swept hair and all.
Full and little tipsy from our feast, we spent the afternoon transitioning between sand and surf, snorkelling with turtles, (friendly) reef sharks—yes, I almost peed my bathing suit at the sight—and a gazillion tropical fish in a rainbow of color.
While sharing the water with sharks is bucket list-level, it was nighttime that created the most lasting impression. As we were watching the sun paint a tangerine hue on the horizon, we were summoned to a communal beachfront pavilion where Champagne paired with cheese and crudités was served on a silver platter.
Just as my bubbly was fizzing over my flute, someone yelled “turtle.” In a flash, I ran over—making sure to keep a respectable distance—and for the next 30 minutes watched a baby turtle hatch from its egg, dodge rocks and driftwood on its way to shore, and flail like a toddler as it learned to swim.
In a state of is-this-for-real bliss I started weeping, knowing I was experiencing something near otherworldly. Once I composed myself, I asked our host if there were any cancellations for the next night. I knew in advance the island was fully booked, but after my eye-popping day, I felt the universe was on my side.
A few minutes later she came back and informed me there had been a double booking and we could stay another evening. All I had was 24 hours worth of clothes, but I didn’t care. We were shipwrecked in style, and for the next 36 hours, I was on a mission of Great Barrier Reef proportions.
