Having jetted across North America, turbo-propped to the far side of Vancouver Island, motor-launched up to Clayoquot Sound, then horse-and-wagoned to the encampment where we would be overnighting in tents, I'd have to say "The Wilderness Outpost" was appropriately named.

As for the tents? Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not talking about some khaki-colored canvas thing, where you squeeze into a sleeping bag, while batting away the black flies. This is a queen-sized-bed affair, with antique furniture, both oil and electric lamps, and a propane-burning stove you light with a remote that looks almost like one for a color TV back in a more common conception of civilized that is rapidly fading from memory. This remote allows you to stay toasty under the down comforter until your accommodations reach the pre-programmed temperature. O.K., so the composting toilet is in a separate shed and you might have to step around a black bear between the tent and the john, but the half-dozen dogs that patrol the grounds do a great job of keeping critters away.

I am here with my wife, Candy, and she has assured me that those buggy, camping trips in pup tents of her girlhood would never be recreated in her adulthood. Just one look at the hot tub, overlooking the dazzling ribbon of light on a spit of sand sticking out into the cove and a peek inside the dining tent and . . . she has completely readjusted her idea of camping.

So, next day, I am brushing my teeth at an outdoor sink that is as nicely appointed as any in a fine hotel room, the difference being that I can see, behind me, through the mirror, a band of morning sunshine creeping down a wall of mountain, draped in old-growth cedar and hemlock, alternating with stands of towering alders. The shower, with doors that provide just enough cover to assure modesty, runs piping hot water that feels so good I don't want to quit. The bath-robed walk back to the tent is invigorating in the 40-degree air. Bring on the bears.

Could things get any better? Well, fresh-squeezed orange juice is a step in that direction. Rich, hot coffee is still on course. A mushroom-and-cheese omelet with home fries and thick strips of bacon or blueberry pancakes made with a flour and cornmeal mix, eaten at the counter that adjoins the kitchen, while the sun begins to paint reflections of color on a bay that is literally polished glass . . . the can-you-top-this contest is at full throttle.

The Outpost is part of a diptych enterprise called Clayoquot Wilderness Resorts; the other half being the Floating Resort and Healing Grounds Spa at Quait Bay, all of this at Clayoquot Sound, north of the town of Tofino on Vancouver Island, directly west of the city of the same name in Canada's far-western province of British Columbia. Normally, advertising taglines like "remote, refined, remarkable" tend to be hyped, but in the case of these two resorts, I'd say the terse description is an understatement. It's hard to even imagine a place more breathtaking than the fjord-like coastline and peppered islands that define Clayoquot Sound. The area takes your breath away irrespective of the weather. This is a region of temperate rainforest, and while we tend to associate "rainforest" with tropical climes, I have seen both and this northern variation on the theme is even more dramatic. The giant cedars and hemlocks that create the greatest drama in these woods are augmented with equally dramatic Sitka spruces along the shorelines. Limbs are draped in moss that glistens in the shafting sunlight, after a rain shower or before the lifting of the morning mist. The sense is that you have entered a world of liquid green.

The environs at Clayoquot Sound comprise one of the earth's few remaining stretches of primary, low-elevation, temperate rainforest, a habitat that exists as only a fraction of a percent of the planet's surface. So precious is this area, it has been designated a biosphere reserve, as defined by UNESCO. Anyone with a pulse, who has seen this, will want desperately to hold on to it.

The Clayoquot resorts are, to a great extent, the brainchildren of John Caton and his wife, Adele, who emigrated from eastern Canada in search of a vocation that would completely recreate their lifestyles. They teamed up with the Genovese Family Trust, drawn to the area by its remoteness and pristine beauty and dedicated to creating a venue for people to enjoy, while at the same time operating the enterprise in an eco-sensitive and environmentally sustainable manner.

As I watch the mist rise off the cove here at the mouth of the Bedwell River Valley, the plate-glass water looks almost as if it has been computer-generated. Candy and I are joining a kayaking tour this morning, but I almost don't want to disturb the water. Our guide, Josh Lewis, assures me that will not be an issue once the wind picks up. "We'll fly back on the return trip," he says.

We are outfitted in bibs to seal off the kayak and keep water from wetting our lower halves, a life-vest in case we tip over ("Highly unlikely," Josh assures.) and bright yellow boots. From the shore, we can see a black bear feeding among the rocks of a small peninsula directly in our path. Paddling in close is the first element of our itinerary.

"Don't actually touch the shore," Josh warns.

The experience is amazing. I've never seen a bear in the wild this close up. He gives us a few cursory glances but goes on about his feeding.

Still Life at Quait Bay

The glide around the cove reveals an array of the wildlife that inhabit these chilly waters. Mackerel, mussels, crabs, starfish with many more legs than the classic rendition and some as large as three-feet across - all of this visible through the crystal-clear waters. We do nose into the shore at a creek mouth, then climb the rocks a few yards inland to view a towering cedar tree, more than 1,000 years old, gutted and charred by a lightning strike but surviving nonetheless.

As predicted, the wind is now whipping wavelets in the cove and we do fly back to base.

In an accession to my need for a modern-techno fix, I check my e-mail in the rec tent, via the satellite communication system that keeps The Outpost in touch with the rest of the world.

I love fish sandwiches and the pale ale-battered Pacific halibut and chips here is a tangy affair that flakes in your mouth. Precede it with a seafood chowder and you have a few more reasons to enjoy being right on the water.

The afternoon is for horseback riding, along a trail through the rainforest, with Camille MacIntosh, a young woman whose ease with horses seems embodied in the way her straw cowgirl's hat and beautiful, beige-colored chaps look as if they were designed especially for her. Horses and I, on the other hand, have had a spotty relationship. Except for one magical week in the Dominican Republic when I actually did learn to gallop, English-saddle style and swing a polo mallet, the horses have pretty much had their way with me. Fortunately, on the tight trail here, there was not much room for them to get ornery and I found it far more preferable to be atop my mount, as we slogged through some pretty sloppy looking mud-holes. It allowed me to pay much more attention to the scenery: again the dripping greens, crystalline moisture, yellowed in sunlight; plus natural fern gardens everywhere; all of it alternating with the gray stone shorelines of the Bedwell River. From atop a suspension bridge, we could see the huge, shadowy bodies of salmon returning home to the river to spawn.

A duo of dogs from the camp stayed with us all the way: bear protection. Having watched them tree a bear that morning, I felt completely safe in their charge and so high atop my by-now trusty steed.

Somehow dinner in a "luxury" tent - truly - adds a special quality to the experience. The antique décor (chosen for all the accommodations and public areas by Clayoquot's multi-talented marketing maven, Laura Vandriel) seems to coax forward the flavor of any food or beverage placed before you. However, medium-rare, grilled Ahi tuna with mushroom risotto needs very little coaxing. After dinner, the rain has begun to fall heavily as we grab an oversized umbrella and dodge both raindrops and limbs on our way back to our tent. The patting of the rain on the tent canvas, for most of the night, adds a climatic music to the whole experience. The "rain" in "rainforest" . . . now that would be a good thing.

If a stay at the Outpost were not so . . . well, civilized, you could view relocation to the Floating Resort and Healing Grounds Spa at Quait Bay as a return to same. O.K., so a flush toilet in my room is more the kind of accommodation I'm used to, but those outdoor showers . . . they were tough to leave behind. On the other hand, no one should go through life without a hot stones massage in the hands of the likes of Gittan Klemetsrud, esthetician at the spa. When you reach my age, you naturally assume those aches and pains in places like the base of your neck and the small of your back are part of the process. They are simply a challenge in Gittan's hands. And what hands. The warmth of the stones along with her deep massaging probes had me wandering back to the hotel in a blissful daze.

I determined that the whale-watching boat ride and the Wild Side First Nations Interpretive Trail, the following day, would merely provide an excuse for a return trip to Gittan. Well, there was the incredible exhilaration of tearing across the sound in a bone-jarring Zodiac ride with Quaoishinis "Cosy" Lawson, which had massage written all over it. But spotting a spouting gray whale, whom Cosy told us was named Two Dot Star (its markings) was, after all, quite an experience in and of itself. Not to mention the small rocky isle covered in basking stellar sea lions. Or the twin eagles perched high in a hemlock along the rocky shoreline and yet another bear turning over rocks for shellfish and other goodies.

The hike, with Jordan Daniels, on Flores Island through pristine rainforest; along sandy beaches strewn in nature's most colossal examples of driftwood; fording an icy creek; lunching at a rocky point on a delicious chicken sandwich plus pear and a slice of banana bread; and listening to Jordan's interpretative stories en route was a good way to spend a day . . . breathing. Let's just say I earned the second massage.

There is simply no acceptable way to end a day of harrowing nautical and exploration experiences, followed by the requisite massage than . . . a three-olive Tanqueray Ten martini, followed by one of Chef Timothy May's natural food/local elements gourmet dinners. Dedicated to perfecting a signature Clayoquot cuisine, Chef May allows, "I mean finding the soul of the food and working with it. . . . exploring the true nature of ingredients and exposing the subtleties of each." To complement his fine food, Chef May draws on Canadian wines - many of them from the nearby valleys on mainland British Columbia that, each year, are growing in stature among the world's oenophiles.

Case in point: local, organic cauliflower soup, fresh thyme, truffle oil (Kettle Valley gewürztraminer); marinated, grilled vegetable salad, grilled tiger prawns, local field greens, balsamic reduction (Thanhaven barrel reserve pinot noir); local field strawberry sorbet; grilled Collwood pork chop, roasted garlic and rosemary mashed potatoes, maple-glazed purple dragon carrots, port jus (Domaine Combet cabernet franc); local organic field berries, lemon sabayon crisp vanilla hazelnut tuile (Domaine de Chabaton, late harvest optima). We had this at the food bar, smack up against the kitchen, prepared by Chef May's able sous-chef, Mitch Kmiecik and his assistants, so your mouth could set to watering before each course was placed before you.

Spend only a few days at this remarkable duet of resorts and your individual memories will fight for supremacy. Was it the geography, the climate, the food and beverages, the adventures, the hospitable, knowledgeable staff you met throughout? Dead heat on all accounts. The generalized umbrella for the whole experience is something truly, truly special. A fantastic landscape, with this little corner of it in the hands of people who recognize its inestimable value and are dealing with it with the delicacy it deserves . . . no, it requires. The experience will be burned into my being forever.