Beyond the map and far from a signal, a spontaneous adventure becomes a quiet kind of magic in the wilds of Northern Ontario.
By David Spies
Full disclosure, I did not know the road that I am currently on existed 15 minutes ago.
The truck’s built in GPS is also unaware that it exists.
I pulled out my Backroads Northwestern Ontario book when I first turned onto the road, after it appeared out of nowhere and there it was, a little industry road off the highway, hiding right before some real nice boulders.
It also confirmed that I am now on a very large parcel of Crown land.
It’s my third summer in northern Ontario. I grew up in the turquoise waters and patchwork of forested islands within Thousand Islands National Park outside of Gananoque. My family spent lots of time outside, but we certainly were not exploring a road that doesn’t appear on a GPS in an area without cell service and no official destination.
Since moving, I have learned that the lack of an official destination can define an adventure while north of north. Up here, there isn’t a race to computers in an attempt to book campsites as soon as reservations open for the year.
Instead, you end up slowly meandering down a road it feels like you’ve discovered. The Hip flow out of the radio, although the internal soundtrack in my mind is blasting the Indiana Jones theme song.
The further I travel, the steeper the slope to my right becomes. Deep in Canadian Shield land, boulders decorate the lower angle slopes, as large rock faces reach above and beyond the treetops.
To the left, sunlight bounces through the trees, reflecting off a glassy, undisturbed lake.
The dirt road winds and buckles along the shoreline before a long sweeping left turn brings me to a fork in the road.
The tracks that I have been following continue down the dirt road to the left. My option to the right appears to be more trail than road, with thick bushes lining either side. There wouldn’t be enough room to make a 23-point turn if someone else was coming from the opposite direction.
Just as I’m about to continue following the tire tracks left, I realize that the tall grass on the trail is exactly that—tall. There aren’t any tire marks treads. No one has taken that fork in a while.
After some slow meandering in 4×4, the trail opens up to a small clearing.
A slightly overgrown footpath leads to a sandy beach on the lake. As soon as the engine stills, peace and calm envelop the landscape.
I settle into the familiar rhythm of getting camp constructed. Within 15 minutes, the paddleboard is unloaded, rooftop nest is deployed and the bed has been made.
Standing barefoot in the sand, it feels like I’m in the Pacific Northwest. A slight haze from wildfires thousands of kilometres away clings to mountain peaks on the lake’s distant shore.
It’s nearly impossible to put the amount of peace present at this moment into words. As far as I can see, there is no evidence that any other human exists on the planet. I walk along the shoreline, watching small birds dip, duck and dive through thick conifer branches.
Collecting driftwood, it’s not long before I am sitting fireside watching the sun dip towards the distant horizon. Splashes of pink and orange paint clouds slowly drifting through the sky.
The hiss of sausages cooking alongside the snap and crackle of the fire are the only sounds breaking the serenity of the north woods.
When the sun disappears, the stars come out to play. Growing up in southern Ontario, I thought I knew how the night sky looks. Then I moved to Thunder Bay.
As soon as you are twenty kilometres out of the city, the night sky here is alight with infinite galaxies. I have travelled to 42 different countries across 3 continents and the only place I’ve seen more stars was during a four-day crossing of the Pacific Ocean from California to Hawai’i.
I thought that I had been exposed to wilderness before. Whether it be on the British Columbia coast, jungles of Colombia or the middle of the Joshua Tree desert.
Yet in all those places, city life exists just outside the boundary. It’s a couple hours to Vancouver, Cartaghena, or Palm Springs.
Here, you are 550 kilometres from Minneapolis. 800 away from Winnipeg. 1,500 from Toronto.
When I told my grandmother that I was going to move here, she told me there’s nothing up there but rocks and trees. She wasn’t wrong.
There are a ton of rocks and even more trees up here. That’s the beauty of being north of north. It’s rocks and trees, not city blocks and streets.
It’s north of north. And there is no place I would rather be.
Photography courtesy Destination Ontario, David Spies