Well friends, it’s been a hell of a year so far, and I have to apologize for the sporadic nature of my “monthly” posts. Life has been a whirlwind lately, and I hope you can understand that crafting words for this blog has taken a backseat. But hey, we’re here now, and I hope you can cut me some slack. I reckon that five posts in a year isn’t that bad for me.
So let me fill you in a bit, I got myself a new job working at TMU slinging words as a copywriter. I’m churning out that sweet, sweet content for one of the department’s newsletters. It’s not the Great American Novel, but it puts some money in my pocket, keeps the creative juices flowing, and I get to interview some interesting people. Oh, and the team also seems pretty cool.
I’m also still going to school at TMU, and the course work this semester has been interesting to say the least. It’s mainly focused on writing for broadcast, which is a complete style change up from what I’m used to. I haven’t had any remarkable opportunities so far for boots on the ground reporting, but I did cover the Evergreen Conference last week. If you’re in Toronto, I highly recommend checking out Evergreen Brickworks in the Don Valley if you need a respite from the concrete city life.
Anyways, I’m not trying to bore you with the nitty-gritty details of my average nine-to-five. I promise, the good stuff is coming right up. Let me pivot here and get to the meat of the matter. October was wild. And I don’t use that word lightly. I took two trips that set my soul on fire.
Picture this: it’s mid-October, and the crisp air of Northern Ontario has just begun to flirt with the colours of autumn. At the last minute (as usual), I convinced a couple of friends to drive hours up north to go hiking. This time around, we decided to visit Killarney Provincial Park to hike The Crack.
We kicked off our journey from my buddy Justin’s cottage in Muskoka, hitting the road at the ungodly hour of 6 AM, chasing after that early morning light.
Our route took us by the magnificent French River, where the rising sun painted the sky with shades of gold and crimson. We couldn’t resist pulling over for a quick photoshoot – the sort of spontaneous beauty that makes road trips legendary.
Now, for those not in the know, Killarney Provincial Park is nothing short of a wilderness wonderland. It sprawls across the La Cloche Mountains, whose quartzite ridges glitter like a stash of precious gems in the sun. With over 50 lakes, their waters varying from turquoise to sapphire, beckon you to their shores. Some are so clear that you can peer down into the depths and spot every pebble. The setting here is so stunning that it even charmed the Group of Seven, legendary Canadian artists who couldn’t resist but petition the government to preserve this treasure as a provincial park.
Starting from the parking lot, it was a casual stroll through the forest. The trail started off like any other, following the red blazes. The red trail blazes lead you to The Crack, while the blue ones mark the more demanding La Cloche Silhouette Trail (which I will hopefully get to backpack one day).
As we trekked onward, we found ourselves immersed in a dense forest, a captivating blend of pine, spruce, oak, and maple. Man-made wooden bridges spanned calm marshes, making our journey smoother. Killarney Provincial Park, true to its reputation, proved to be a Canadian treasure.
As we followed those red trail markers, we found ourselves at a serene boardwalk by a picturesque lake. A perfect spot to catch your breath and appreciate the natural beauty that surrounds you. The Kakakise Lake passed by, and the path slowly led us up short, forested hills. Though soon enough, we reached a clearing that promised something more thrilling.
Then came the grand finale, the pièce de résistance, if you will – hiking through The Crack itself. It’s a rocky puzzle with a natural “staircase” of massive boulders. These colossal stones have broken away from the towering rock walls, creating a somewhat challenging ascent. While the actual hike won’t qualify as a rock-climbing clinic, a bit of fitness goes a long way, and it’s probably not a beginner’s hike.
But, oh, what a reward awaited us at the top! From that lofty perch, we feasted our eyes on the indigo expanse of Killarney and O.S.A Lakes, the grandeur of Georgian Bay, and the distant ridges of neighboring peaks. The winds might be biting, and the air might be brisk, but the views are like nothing else in Ontario. It was time to celebrate. We rummaged through our backpacks and, one by one, pulled out a stash of now room temperature beers that we had lugged all the way to the summit.
We toasted to our accomplishment and then, as if choreographed by some cosmic force, we settled into a comfortable silence. The views stretched out before us in all their glory, and we sat there, as still as the rocks beneath us, in awe of the landscape that unfolded before our eyes.
We watched the sun cast its golden spell over the turquoise lakes, bathing them in a soft, warm light. The ridges of the La Cloche Mountains stood tall and proud, as if sharing their ancient wisdom with us. Georgian Bay shimmered in the distance, and the whole world seemed to hold its breath.
Time lost its meaning as we sat there, taking in the majesty of nature. It felt like hours, but it was only mere minutes. None of us spoke, for words felt inadequate in the face of such beauty. Instead, we shared a silent camaraderie, knowing that we had embarked on a journey that would be etched in our memories forever.
After the breathtaking adventure of that trip, I couldn’t resist the call of the wild and had to immediately head back up North (anyone noticing a theme?) the next week.
As a sea of urban ants march towards their concrete citadels in Toronto on Lake Ontario last Friday morn, Jeff and I awoke to the rain’s rhythmic drumming on our tents on a much more tranquil lake a few hours upcountry. Set just a couple minutes drive into Algonquin Park, Canisbay Lake is home to a dozen or so backcountry sites of varying sizes, each more wooded, remote, and beautiful than the next.
Having spent little time on the Eastern side of Algonquin, I didn’t quite know what to expect. As we wound our way deeper into the park toward Canisbay Lake, we quickly fell in love with the area. Waterfalls, deep blue lakes, and forests aflame with the hues of autumn, all along the roadside – it was a vista to behold.
At the launch point of the lake, the reality of what was to come set in. We had taken a maximalist approach to packing—a luxury of canoe camping. After a familiar game of gear-Tetris, and with our canoe approaching max weight load, we pushed off and paddled out with maybe only a couple kilometers to cover to reach our weekend home-to-be.
For three days, we made a pine-needled point on the lake our home, a place equal parts functional and enigmatic, with a generous sprinkle of “what the fuck” thrown in. The sandy entrance was a potential beach if not for the chilling four-degree air, a siren’s call to the brave or the insane. The fire pit, perched perfectly close to the shoreline, offered a front-row seat to the wonders of Canisbay’s waters. Circular logs, the quintessential Algonquin campfire setup, circled the fire. And then, the dash of bewilderment: there’s the tallest bench I’ve ever seen in Algonquin just off to the side (which we ended up using as a table), along with the widest grill I’ve ever seen, and some sort of wok? Functionality was an afterthought, but they added a quirky charm to our little haven. Tent spots dotted the site, nestled within the exposed point, yet there were ample places to hang a tarp if needed (oh boy was it needed).
With our tents pitched and dinner simmering, we found a moment to soak in the wilderness that had replaced our mundane daily grind. A few hours earlier, we were battling traffic on the 401. Now, nothing but nature surrounded us in all directions. We had traded honking drivers for singing loons, and emails for fireside chats and early bedtimes. The juice was well worth the squeeze.
The beauty of canoe camping is that, assuming your itinerary involves zero portaging, you can treat it almost like car camping. The downside of canoe camping is, well, canoes kind of suck when the weather isn’t in you favour. Some bad weather can turn an otherwise mellow paddle into quite a soggy situation.
Nevertheless, and despite Mother Nature’s modest efforts to blow us off course on both our paddle in and out, we managed to stay out of the lake, but still wet from the heavy rain.
Over the course of three days, we tried our best to do the least. On these non-portage canoe trips, rest and relaxation is the be-all and end-all. Modest early breakfasts of squeezable baby food and granola bars. Afternoons spent huddled under a tarp. Early dehydrated dinners cooked over a small Whisperlite stove (I cannot stress this enough, do not buy AlpineAire’s al pastor with cilantro lime rice, it is fucking terribe!). Homemade protein bars for dessert. And, of course, the occasional sightseeing paddle in amidst torrential downpours added a dash of insanity to our otherwise languid routine.
Now, this might sound like purgatory to some, but when your existence revolves around screens of all shapes and sizes for more hours than you’d ever admit, those idyllic lakeside days are worth their weight in gold.
In the end, Algonquin Park did what it does best – it exceeded our wildest expectations. Trips like these yank you back to reality, reminding you why we toil day in and day out, enduring the daily grind, the office, the road, all for that shimmering prize of freedom and the promise of the next adventure. Because, when it’s all said and done, those moments spent with friends in special places like Canisbay Lake make every struggle worthwhile.
Until next time,
Miguel
Miguel Mabalay 