Further North
In grade school I was introduced to the vastness that is Northern Ontario through a series of National Film Board productions by Bill Mason, a canoeist and documentary filmmaker. I was inspired by the way he portrayed Lake Superior with its ruggedness, its voyageur history, and its wondrous beauty. There was an intangible as well that I couldn't comprehend at the time, and it crept into my bones where it patiently awaited the day my heart could understand it.
This summer, my husband and I packed up our car and headed off to see what the north was all about. Having heard Gordon Lightfoot's song about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, I was expecting Lake Superior to be blustery, with whitecaps on swells two meters high. But when we arrived, gazing out at the vastness was as soothing as watching a sleeping baby breathe. With protruding cliffs, sandy bays, and jack pined islands, the scenery was stunning.
Next day we packed a lunch and hiked the Orphan Lake trail. This was a route the old trappers used, and it led us down to an isolated beach with rocks so old they had been tumbled into egg-shapes. With the sun warm and the lake inviting, we stripped down and jumped in. On the way back, we passed two hikers at a waterfall but didn't see anyone else until much later. It was astounding how few people were around even though this was peak tourist season.
Further east along Superior's northern coast was the village of Rossport. The folks there – innkeepers, boaters and tourists – knew how to enjoy life. We picked up on their cues and rented a kayak to explore the old volcanic islands. When the sun scorched down, we found harbour in a lagoon and relaxed over lunch.
Signs for the Terry Fox Courage Highway appeared further east, and we found it hard to believe anyone could run a marathon a day in a place where hills were more plentiful than vehicles. The cyclist, and even the lumber trucks, struggled with these steep grades, and we couldn't help but wonder how this young man got as far as he did.
Connected to the west of Superior, by a series of rivers and lakes, is Quetico Provincial Park. We canoed in and made a small island our home for four days. From there we explored the ranger station, sacred pictograms and old logging sites. What captured my imagination most was the elasticity of time. On the one hand, the intricately water-carved rocky shoreline emphasised the eons that had passed. On the other, with no signs or outhouses, and only a small section of the park logged, we felt close to the original voyageurs and their experiences.
Flowing into Superior from its northern most point is the town, river and lake named Nipigon. "They say Nipigin" the lad at the Rossport kayak shop told us. "If you say Nipigone, they'll know you're not from around here." We followed the Trans-Canada highway east from there and lost our connection to Superior near Longlac, where the rivers began flowing north to James Bay.
In Cochrane, we took the Polar Bear Express up to Moosonee and Moose Factory, which are at the mouth of the Moose River. The Hudson's Bay Company had recruited workers from the north of Scotland to settle this outpost, so it shouldn't have been surprising that some of the Cree played the fiddle and danced the Highland jig…but it was.
On our way home, we stopped in Cobalt, and even though the earth had been raped and left to rot by the silver prospectors, reclamation by nature and the townspeople had begun.
The resources in this province are plentiful, but as those dependent on them know, bounties come and go. However there was another asset that I noticed, and it was more precious, ubiquitous, and enduring than any substance the earth could produce. This asset was displayed many times and in many forms throughout the trip and was strong enough to resist the winds that shredded, the waters that carved, the sun that scorched, and the barons that exploited.
What the wilderness of Northern Ontario was trying to tell me, but I couldn't verbalize as a child, was, there's a power underneath it all that keeps driving us, a power that transcends landscape and culture, a power that dispenses with time and place, and a power that endures obstacle after obstacle. This power comes from the inherent knowing that goodness and justice, no matter what, will always find its way back. To me, this power, this strength of heart, is the greatest and most important resource we human beings have.
My child's imagination had sensed this, but it took an adult mind to truly comprehend it.
In grade school I was introduced to the vastness that is Northern Ontario through a series of National Film Board productions by Bill Mason, a canoeist and documentary filmmaker. I was inspired by the way he portrayed Lake Superior with its ruggedness, its voyageur history, and its wondrous beauty. There was an intangible as well that I couldn't comprehend at the time, and it crept into my bones where it patiently awaited the day my heart could understand it.
This summer, my husband and I packed up our car and headed off to see what the north was all about. Having heard Gordon Lightfoot's song about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, I was expecting Lake Superior to be blustery, with whitecaps on swells two meters high. But when we arrived, gazing out at the vastness was as soothing as watching a sleeping baby breathe. With protruding cliffs, sandy bays, and jack pined islands, the scenery was stunning.
Next day we packed a lunch and hiked the Orphan Lake trail. This was a route the old trappers used, and it led us down to an isolated beach with rocks so old they had been tumbled into egg-shapes. With the sun warm and the lake inviting, we stripped down and jumped in. On the way back, we passed two hikers at a waterfall but didn't see anyone else until much later. It was astounding how few people were around even though this was peak tourist season.
Further east along Superior's northern coast was the village of Rossport. The folks there – innkeepers, boaters and tourists – knew how to enjoy life. We picked up on their cues and rented a kayak to explore the old volcanic islands. When the sun scorched down, we found harbour in a lagoon and relaxed over lunch.
Signs for the Terry Fox Courage Highway appeared further east, and we found it hard to believe anyone could run a marathon a day in a place where hills were more plentiful than vehicles. The cyclist, and even the lumber trucks, struggled with these steep grades, and we couldn't help but wonder how this young man got as far as he did.
Connected to the west of Superior, by a series of rivers and lakes, is Quetico Provincial Park. We canoed in and made a small island our home for four days. From there we explored the ranger station, sacred pictograms and old logging sites. What captured my imagination most was the elasticity of time. On the one hand, the intricately water-carved rocky shoreline emphasised the eons that had passed. On the other, with no signs or outhouses, and only a small section of the park logged, we felt close to the original voyageurs and their experiences.
Flowing into Superior from its northern most point is the town, river and lake named Nipigon. "They say Nipigin" the lad at the Rossport kayak shop told us. "If you say Nipigone, they'll know you're not from around here." We followed the Trans-Canada highway east from there and lost our connection to Superior near Longlac, where the rivers began flowing north to James Bay.
In Cochrane, we took the Polar Bear Express up to Moosonee and Moose Factory, which are at the mouth of the Moose River. The Hudson's Bay Company had recruited workers from the north of Scotland to settle this outpost, so it shouldn't have been surprising that some of the Cree played the fiddle and danced the Highland jig…but it was.
On our way home, we stopped in Cobalt, and even though the earth had been raped and left to rot by the silver prospectors, reclamation by nature and the townspeople had begun.
The resources in this province are plentiful, but as those dependent on them know, bounties come and go. However there was another asset that I noticed, and it was more precious, ubiquitous, and enduring than any substance the earth could produce. This asset was displayed many times and in many forms throughout the trip and was strong enough to resist the winds that shredded, the waters that carved, the sun that scorched, and the barons that exploited.
What the wilderness of Northern Ontario was trying to tell me, but I couldn't verbalize as a child, was, there's a power underneath it all that keeps driving us, a power that transcends landscape and culture, a power that dispenses with time and place, and a power that endures obstacle after obstacle. This power comes from the inherent knowing that goodness and justice, no matter what, will always find its way back. To me, this power, this strength of heart, is the greatest and most important resource we human beings have.
My child's imagination had sensed this, but it took an adult mind to truly comprehend it.
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