I had met the petite "Amazon Annie" many years ago, when we were both fairly new to geocaching. It was easy to strike up an instant friendship with the convivial, affable woman, and we have since enjoyed many caching trips together. She and Kris were excited about my hike, offering their home near the Bruce Trail as a base for me while I was in their area. Kris practises an ancient art called Encaustic painting, which involves embedding finely cut stencils into molten wax, and presented me with a beautiful piece of artwork she'd created. It depicted a lone tree, and I fancied it was one of the thousands I'd hiked past during my recent weeks on the Trail. Definitely a keepsake I will cherish forever.
Annie drove me to the Trailhead where I'd left off the evening before. After we exchanged farewells, I started out along the Trail under overcast but drier skies. A jogger easily overtook me, running up the hill I was struggling to walk up.
These are clean, wide paths with a tangle of colourful wildflowers on each side, through rolling hills and open forests. It is a very relaxing place to hike. I hadn't looked at the map for a while and didn't have a clue where I was, and I soon came to the realization that I really didn't care. I was just happily following the white blazes.
I stopped to examine an old cast-iron bell that had a deep crack down one side. It had been mounted in concrete in which these words were engraved: "Where there is no vision, the people perish." It commemorated the opening of the Resource Management Centre in 1970, but surely the bell is much older than that.
I followed the Trail to Sherman Falls, and watched the lacy streams of water in their freefall down the escarpment. I remembered caching here a few years back, when someone in our group was stung by a bee - maybe Shilo the dog. The Trail had been rerouted since then, and no longer travels up the escarpment to a lookout. I wondered what had happened - a change in land ownership, perhaps?
A line of big grey clouds appeared and rumblings began off in the distance, but still the rain held off. I crossed a busy road and climbed a steep set of stairs up the escarpment. At the top, I noticed a big 8-point buck standing stock-still through the trees. We watched each other for a few minutes, with me admiring him and he probably wishing I would leave and let him go about his business.
Two minutes further down the Trail I ran into Lorenzo. A young man of about 30, he was hiking with a large pack, and so we struck up a conversation. He, too, is through-hiking, but doing the Trail in four segments of ten days each. We compared notes on camping spots, and he commented on the canister of bear spray I still carry. Though I am now out of bear country I still feel much safer travelling with it, especially since I now know first-hand how effective it can be.
We wished each other "Happy Trails" after I told him to keep an eye out for the buck near the top of the stairs. Then the rain began, and I had to cope with slippery rock underfoot. It was still raining and quite windy when I reached the pedestrian bridge over Highway 403. I passed a bicyclist just going onto the bridge as I was stepping off, and I puzzled over how he was going to get his bike down all those stairs on the west side of the bridge, especially with everything being so slippery. I turned to watch him but could no longer see him through the rain.
The sky began to grow lighter in the distance, the roiling grey clouds retreating behind me, as I entered an open field. A baby snake slithered across the path in front of me, and I jumped when I heard the 'ding' of a bicycle bell break through the quietness. Two men rode past me on their bikes, grinning but apologizing for startling me.
I caught up with them about ten minutes later, in a wooded area where they'd stopped to rest. "Any more bicycle bells startle you?" one asked. "No," I answered. "I don't know what I was thinking - I must've really been lost in thought." "Well, that's exactly why we come to places like this, isn't it?" replied the other.
Then I found myself above that crazy, layered cliff that's visible directly above the 403 when driving up the rise. A stream trickled down from above me; I remembered being here one spring when it was a raging torrent - so powerful that I was afraid to let my German Shepherd cross hike over it, for fear he would be swept away.
Someone had hung Christmas decorations on a nearby apple tree, for some reason: four glass balls in a bright red colour. An ancient wall made of carefully pieced-together stones ran alongside the Trail, and I admired its craftsmanship.
The rain started up again, this time much stronger, just as I reached a golf course. Great timing, I thought. A few metres later and I entered the clubhouse to dry off and have a fresh salad for lunch.
It was a much drier walk in the afternoon, culminating at a bed and breakfast just off the Trail, where I met my friend Trish for the night.
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