Homeward Bound

Omigod.  We're back in Tecumseh.  This hit me when we turned from HWY 2 onto old Tecumseh Rd. and approached my Mom's house.   I realized that I was home (well, Tecumseh home) one block from the house.  That was weird.  Duncan said it happened to him too, so I'm not totally crazy…or we're both totally crazy.  

The last week of the Northern Ontario journey was my favourite.  Let me take you there…

We eventually were able to drag ourselves off of Gail's uber-comfy couch, and get our butts a little farther northwest.  Our destination was Atikokan, a tiny town of 3400 people which boasts being the "Canoe Capital of Canada".  Good news, since this was our base camp from which to venture into Quetico, a provincial park that is also part of a wilderness preservation area flowing into Minnesota to make up the Superior National Forest.  We got into town a little late and were feeling pretty lazy, so we scoped out the town and found an awesome spot to park for the night in a recreation area just outside the main town.  There was a lovely pond and hiking and biking trails, as well as facilities that looked like they were for rodeo events.  We had a nice picnic table for cooking/eating at, and it was dark, really dark, allowing us to really appreciate our last few nights under the beautiful stars.

When it's too cold to tent this is where we live.

Fairly often I can see stars in the night sky above me; always on clear nights at my parents' places, and occasionally even in Halifax.  But there are some really special places where the stars are not only above you but behind you, beside you, and right in front of you (where I lived briefly in South Africa was like this).  Our nights in Atikokan and Quetico, where the city lights are completely absent, were like this.  I was surrounded (save for below me) by stars, literally.  Places like this remind me of the Earth's roundness, you can really see it here.  I'm also reminded of its rotation, both on its own axis and its elliptical around the Sun - that beautiful cycle that gives us our seasons and a rightful sense of impermanence as they shift in and out of each other.  The season has definitely changed, right before our eyes.  The trees here are all brilliant red, orange, and yellow, but richer than that, maybe better described as crimson, copper, and amber.  The nights are crisp enough to remind us that summer is long over, but when the sun comes out, the afternoons are warm and welcoming enough to keep us venturing outside, telling us that the warmer season isn't completely forgotten.  The impermanence of the seasons around us reminded me of the impermanence of our travels as they came to an end.  In the last week I definitely stayed up a little later each night, gazed out the window of the van more often (don't worry I'm usually riding shotgun), read and wrote more, and I even started working on the crochet project I've been ignoring for four weeks.

Setting up camp in the parking lot at Beaverhouse Lake.

To learn more about the mysterious (and dauntingly large) Quetico, Duncan and I hung out at the research library that's located at the main campground in the park for an afternoon.  There, the in-house librarian, Andrea, who has been there for twenty-three years, gave us more than enough information to figure out where we wanted to go.  I was especially interested in the pictographs and petroglyphs left by Aboriginal groups who hunted and fished the resource-rich grounds for thousands of years.  Andrea, eager to share the parks secrets with us, gave me maps of all the sacred sites, and showed me different canoe routes to take to get to them; she even pulled out a book written about North American pictographs to show me while I explored the museum upstairs, which she opened up and illuminated just for Duncan and I (they're officially closed for the season), privileged patrons gaining private access to the wealth of history collected and displayed there, just by being around late enough in the season - it makes us seem extra hard core being up there at this time of year!  We hung out there longer than we had expected to, and so spent another night at our great "campsite" before heading into canoe paradise.  Well, that night changed the course of our travels.  It was SO COLD!  It must have gone down to at least -5 degrees because both Duncan and I woke up in the middle of the night, frozen.  Neither of us could get back to sleep until after dawn (a pattern that my on again, off again insomnia has made me completely used to, but which took its toll on Duncan, a seasoned sleeper-through-the-nighter).  So, we decided that back country camping in deep, dark, and wet Quetico was out since we really aren't properly equipped for winter camping.  Canoe in tow, we headed to Beaverhouse Lake since it offered the best chance of finding pictographs on a day canoe that didn't require any serious portaging - we rented the cheapest (read heaviest) canoe in town - 100% aluminum and 100% pain in the arse to portage.  Getting to Beaverhouse was interesting.  We took a dirt road off the highway twenty kilometres to an even smaller, even dirtier dirt road that wound round and round and climbed up and down leading us to believe that we had taken a wrong turn somewhere, until we finally reached the parking area and the short path to the lake - phew.  We camped out one more frigid night, and got our canoe on in the morning.

Ready to get our canoe on.

Quetico feels like a spiritual place, haunted with history, full of secrets.  I swear I heard whispers and giggles blowing through the trees along the shore as we paddle by silently; I often found myself turning around to see if there were campers on land.  You would never guess that this land was utilized for thousands of years for harvesting various resources (which we learned at the library); it is pristine.  It really makes you think twice about the havoc we're reeking on the poor planet which bore us.  Why did we not only ignore, but commit cultural genocide on the way of life that was able to maintain the dignity of the land while taking what was needed of it for comfortable survival?  What have we done to this beautiful land, and what will it take to convince the masses of the necessity of a cultural revolution (or reversion)?

My muscle up front.

Beautiful rock faces.

Whispering shorelines.

Cool lichens that match the birch leaves.

The paddle was about twenty kilometres round trip, so we had to move quickly if we wanted to find the elusive pictographs, stop for lunch, and get back before the winds became too strong to paddle through and the sky too dark for navigating.  A couple of times along our path we were unsure if we had wandered too far, missed a critical crossing, or lost our way.  Luckily in a place so rife with the mystical, we were provided with a guide: a lone loon who appeared three times at critical junctions along the paddle leading us to the pictograph site.  I know this is the part where anyone in my immediate family is rolling their eyes at their "hippy-dippy, new age, cushy, idealistic" daughter or sister, but I don't care.  In the last week of being in the bush I started seeing more animals in the stars at night and on the ground during the day, and especially noticing when they showed up at important moments.  Like the fox who visited and revisited us on the Sibley Peninsula - the fox being an assistant in remaining sly and hidden, at a time when we were going back to the same squat-spot over and over because of a lack of other options (a risky move that landed us visits from O.P.P. in other areas).  That spot, little black fox guiding us, was our best van camp site on the whole trip allowing us to hang out on the peninsula for longer than we did anywhere else and really get a feel for the place.  I feel a closeness with nature here that I try to maintain in my daily life, but is so often lost in a city of any size.  Every day up here, living in the tent and van, I was completely dependent on the grace of nature; she determines the course of my day and my moods, what I eat and how I spend my time - and I like it.  I really believe that the loon guided us to the pictographs which we might not have been able to find without her assistance.  The site was beautiful, but easy to miss; I was ready to move on after a scan of the rock face bearing the markings when Duncan spotted them.  We found a small moose, hand prints, and some abstract figures - not a huge site, but moving nonetheless, a stark reminder of our country's past (an era I've fantasized about since childhood).

Abstracts.

More abstracts.

Hand prints.

Little moose.

Close up.

Granite.

Beautiful layers.

Smiles plastered on our faces and a sense of accomplishment from our findings floating around in our heads, Duncan and I stopped for lunch in a little cove and headed for land.  The people working at the ministry of natural resources had told us that the prevailing winds in Quetico are from the west, but they were definitely from the north on our way out  making for a tough northeast paddle inland.  It took longer than our paddle out, but we eventually made it in and decided to get a move on - we were heading home high on being let in on just one of Quetico's many secrets, an appreciated privilege.

Blue skies!

Cool bark breaking apart.

Peek-a-Boo Canoe.

Lunch spot. 

Oh haaai.

We powered through all the way to the east shores of Lake Superior and spent a night at the picnic area where we had met the Acadian couple on our drive west a few weeks before.  Day two we made it all the way to Thessalon along the north shore of Georgian Bay.  Day three down to the Manitoulan Islands and South Baymouth where we met a couple we connected with right away.  Tom and his wife, White Sparrow, took us under their wing right from the start, bringing firewood over to our campsite as we unpacked our tiny camp stove and measly food supplies.  Once the sun went down they invited us over to their campfire where they warmed us up with pot after pot of piping hot coffee, and never-ending conversation.  Tom, a quarter Cherokee and from New Mexico, is into (deeply into) everything from extra terrestrial influence on ancient and modern civilizations to comparative religion and Serbian politics; I suspect he can talk the ear off of anyone, and we were in the mood to listen.  White Sparrow, half Ojibway and from Meaford, Ontario, is much quieter.  Clearly a mother at heart, she packed a whole goodie bag with crackers, pudding, homemade applesauce, fish, and liquorice for us to take back to the van that night.  Self-professed "truth-seekers" they were a wealth of cultural, spiritual, and historical information.  The two of them had felt called, by the Great Spirit, to the Manitoulan Islands where Tom, an ex-FBI agent ended up working as an undercover investigator in a murder case in Wikwemikonsing First Nation; a case that he solved, putting his own life at risk in the corrupt community.  Meanwhile, Sparrow, a healer, worked in the community helping people battle mental and physical ailments which were plentiful - I guess the calling was real.  We talked deep into the night and when it finally got too cold and there wasn't much fire wood left, we retired, but were invited over to their winnebago for another pot of coffee in the morning, where we stayed for a couple hours chatting more and more, only leaving when we absolutely had to go catch a ferry.  We exchanged emails and I'm sure we'll be in touch.  If you're reading this, thank you so much for your kindness and spiritual insights Sparrow and Tom!  

Crane (or heron?) on the beach in Thessalon.

Leaving our mark on the Lake Superior east shore.

Hugs and goodbyes swapped, we headed out, ferried over to Tobermory at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula and headed to my Aunt Rita and Uncle Gary's house in Port Elgin where we had hot showers, delicious food, an amazing bed, and an ample movie collection to choose a night time filck from - we watched The Big Chill.  It was heaven!  I drank too much wine (as per usual), and realized that a month of not drinking really will lower your tolerance when I woke up with a headache the next morning.  Luckily, another shower and some salsa and eggs cured that right up.  Rita took us for a walk on the beautiful Lake Huron beach and then to the local sweet shop, Mill Creek Chocolates, where we stocked up on caramel corn with almonds, chocolate covered marshmallows, candy apples, and chocolate dipped maple fudge.  Mmmmmm.  The chocolate, caramel apple really hit the spot.  More hugs given, more goodbyes said, four hours down the road and here we are, in my Mom's den, watching too much TV and putting off the piles of laundry lingering in the hallway.

Wind power along Highway 21.

More wind.

Reflections on the trip:

- Northern Ontario is beautiful and there is a lot more north of where we were, waiting to be explored.

- Duncan and I almost killed each other on only a couple of occasions, but we didn't, and what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

- CBC is my best friend.  I am so proud of our national radio station when I listen to the musical choices of Rich Terfry, Bob Macowitz, and yes, even Jian Ghomeshi (he's a bit of a twit, but he has a damn fine show), and the talk shows on during the day, especially Living Out Loud and As It Happens - I love you Barbara Budd! 

- Showering is the best.

- Plan around the weather and always be flexible.

- Keep your eyes wide open on every hike, because the small plants, animals, and fungi are gorgeous and big animals are really good at hiding.

- FUCK THE BEAR BELL!

- When you fart in your sleeping bag (which you will be doing when half your diet is nuts, apricots, and prunes), you have a choice to make.  Keep the hood of your bag tightly wrapped around your head, or let it out.  Even if it's really stinky (maybe especially if it's really stinky) you should suffer in there alone; don't stink up the whole tent.  Plus, it's kind of like peeing in your wetsuit - it's so warm!

- The spiritual is much more apparent in the woods and on the water (maybe I should have spaced this one out a bit farther from the last one).  

- Simplicity is beautiful.

This portion of the trip may be over, but on Tuesday we head to Halifax and in a months time we head to Asia, so there will be more to come.  Thanks for reading y'all!