Day Twenty-One, July 25: "Apprehension and Guitar Strings". Eugenia Falls to Old Baldy, 14.5 km., 4.5 hours.

I waved goodbye to Violet and Judy at the trailhead, after making plans to get together again before the end of my journey.  Taking the first steps on the Trail that morning was difficult; I had become comfortable over the last three days, knowing where my bed would be each night, and what to expect.  I soon flowed back into the rhythm of the hike, though, as I followed the rushing waters of the Beaver River.

The soft strumming of a guitar floated through the air, and I soon came upon the source:  a rather pensive-looking young man seated on a rock by the river.  I skirted around him quietly so as to not disturb him.

The Trail climbed to an overlook and allowed me views of the land I would be traversing in the next few days.  It seemed to stretch on forever.

Then I passed both ends of an old stone tunnel that was built in the early 1900s as a power project.  The endeavour was abandoned before it ever reached fruition. An interesting bit of history that is well-documented in the area.

I also saw more people on the Trail than I'd seen in the past week:  a runner, a group of six seniors, and about four smaller groups of teens - a sure sign it was the weekend. One of the groups of teens marched by me reciting the Lord's Prayer.  A bible camp nearby, perhaps?

I cut through a Bruce Trail parking lot full of hikers' cars, then crossed a road and was back into the bush, where I knew I was once more alone by the cobwebs crisscrossing the Trail.

The wind started picking up around midmorning, and with it came rainclouds, dark and ominous.  Beech leaves rustled, trees swayed and creaked.  I passed two tall narrow watertowers which I imagined supplied the folks in the valley.  In the clearing I could see the old abandoned ski hill on the other side.

A red-tailed hawk took flight, and two eastern kingbirds raised a fuss as I drew near an apple tree.  I glanced around but couldn't spy their nest.

There were fewer waterfalls on this side of the valley, and the Trail was much less rocky here.  For the most part I was walking in a mixed forest that topped the bare rock face of the escarpment.  Then I reached Old Baldy, a rockface that is visible for miles, where my old baldy (sorry, Dan!) picked me up for the weekly supply drop.

On our drive out of the area, a family of wild turkeys crossed the dirt road in front of us.  It seemed like a never-ending procession of poults:  every time we would start to pull ahead, another would pop out of the bush.