Day Forty-One, August 14: " Artwork and Christmas Decorations." Hermitage to Wentworth Steps, 16.0 km., 5.5 hours.

I woke to the patter of rain on the window. Meteorologists had promised it would stop shortly, though, so I lingered a bit over coffee with Annie and her lovely daughter Kris.

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. 

Day Forty, August 13: "Bicycles and Old Ruins." Clappison Woods to Hermitage, 16.9 km., 5.5 hours.

I left on foot from Annie's, and headed into the maze of trails that is Clappison Woods. The Trail meandered into a wooded area after passing near wetlands behind some big box stores.  A buzz of cicadas on one side and the roar of Highway 6 on the other nearly prompted me to dig out my earplugs.

I stopped for a bit near the highway to examine the ruins of an old homestead, and thought how interesting it would be to learn its story.  Then it was through the tunnel underneath the highway with its graffiti-covered walls, which caused a niggling worry of mine to resurface:  I don't believe I am at all ready to re-enter society. I climbed a set of steep stairs up the escarpment and turned away from the graffiti, the noise, and those thoughts, for the time being.

The escarpment was topped with meadow swaying in the breeze, big heads of Queen Anne's Lace floating gently atop. Goldfinches and grasshoppers greeted me, and once more I found I could hear myself think. I followed the Trail across a road and entered RBG lands. They had placed many birdhouses in their meadows, and there were more rock ruins to explore.  Overlooks offered views of Hamilton, Burlington, and beyond, with the ubiquitous turkey vultures soaring below.

I paused to read the many interpretive signs throughout the Rock Chapel area.  The Trail arrived at a beautiful stonework bridge over a stream, and after crossing it I noticed a huge orange fungus atop a stump, bigger than a cauliflower, and had to stop to take pictures of it.

I reached a hydro tower and followed the Trail directly between its legs.  I fervently hoped walking through them wouldn't have the same effect as walking underneath a ladder.

Then a change of pace:  the Trail headed down, and through the streets of Dundas. There were plenty of interesting old houses to admire, but I couldn't help but wonder why I wasn't still up top, where I could see other hikers on overlooks.

A train passed over a stone railway bridge above my head, the big iron horse heading for faraway destinations.  Then the Trail took me through a golf course's utility area, where mounds of cedar chips delighted my olfactory senses.  The path beyond was a bit hair-raising, though:  local children on their bicycles use it as a thoroughfare, which required me to jump out of their way more than once.

Dundas Conservation Area was a pleasure to hike through, as always.  I stopped to gaze at an algae-topped pond, with its many geese, dragonflies, and different kinds of frogs.  The railway station-inspired Trail Centre had just closed when I arrived, but there were many interesting interpretive signs to read.

The Hermitage had changed immensely since I last saw it:  it is now a huge pile of rubble, with a few pallets covered in rocks, all laid out in a pattern.  I imagine the reassembly will be like completing a jigsaw puzzle.

The day ended with a dear friend picking me up and taking me into Dundas for a nice supper. There was a bit of miscommunication as far as the meeting place went, and after a bit of a wait I ended up hiking another 2+ km. out to the main road, but the extra hiking took me past the original sulphur spring, which was interesting to see.

During supper, the young waitress noticed my Bruce Trail maps and we struck up a conversation. Michele wants to plan a three-day hiking trip on the Bruce and was looking for suggestions as to location.  Then it was back to Annie's for another relaxing night.

Day Thirty-Nine, August 12: "Meadows and Wetlands." Mount Nemo to Clappison Woods, 16.0 km., 6 hours.

The day started out as overcast and very humid, but the wind cooled my skin and kept the bugs away.  The threat of rain was in the air but never quite followed through.

I walked from a wooded area into an open meadow, which I find is fast becoming my favourite type of hike, with its birds, butterflies, and open air.  About midmorning the wind finally blew the clouds away, and I emerged from a forest to find bright sunshine.  An apple hanging on a low branch knocked me on the head.  Tree swallows darted from shrub to shrub.  Through some trees, I caught glimpses of sunlight glistening on the surface of a small lake. 

Then the Trail took me along a hedgerow and into a marshy area, with a pond in the middle.  I counted thirteen turtles sunning themselves on a floating log.  They were all craning their necks, eyeing me warily.  As I watched, one slid into the water; I slipped away silently, so as not to bother them further. 

I noticed another pond, this one off the Trail a bit, but I couldn't resist a detour.  It was covered with green algae, and was positively teeming with life.  Birds flew constantly over its surface, enjoying a smorgasbord of insects.  Butterflies fluttered along the edge, dragonflies glowed in the sunlight, frogs called from lilypads.  I blinked when I recognized cedar waxwings flying low across the water.  I never realized they ate anything other than berries.

Two black squirrels chased each other and ran right past my feet before they discovered my presence.  I could have stood there all day, but eventually gave myself a shake and carried on down the Trail.

I came out onto a road and an open area, which gave me great views of Lake Ontario and its bordering cities and boroughs.  It all was becoming much closer.

Great Falls were lovely as always.  I pretty much had the entire area to myself, and really enjoyed the walk along the bubbling Grindstone Creek.  Then it was into the maze of trails in Clappison Woods, and out along a side trail to meet my friend Annie, who is housing this wayward traveller for the next two nights.

Day Thirty-Eight, August 11: "Lost Kittens and More Wrong Turns." Kilbride to Mount Nemo, 17.4 km., 6 hours.

The day dawned clear and dry, which was a tremendous relief after yesterday's rains.  I packed up slowly; I was sorry to leave Mandy's place after the two nights I had spent there.  I had met her during my early days on the Trail, up in the Peninsula where she was camping near me one night.  She'd offered me a place to stay once I'd reached her neck of the woods, and I'd gratefully accepted.  The past couple of nights she and her family had opened up their hearts and their home to me.  There sure are some remarkable people in the world.

The Trail began my day with a long boardwalk, fording streams that were overflowing after the downpour yesterday.  It then took me into the town of Kilbride, winding through the community complex and schoolyard.  Children were busy in a huge playground so unlike the ones I remember as a child.  Then through the residential section, where a realtor hammering a sign into someone's front lawn nodded to me and said, "Looks like you belong on the Bruce Trail!"  I pointed to a white blaze on a nearby hydro pole, and told him I actually was on the Bruce Trail.

On another hydro pole, this one right at a turn into the forest, a sign was posted about a missing kitten.  Lucas had somehow gotten loose in Mount Nemo the week before, and his owners were frantic with worry.  I made a mental note to keep an eye open, as my route for the day included that area.

The Trail kept me in the forest for a while, but I knew I was never far from civilization.  There were plenty of indications, from the sound of lawnmowers buzzing to the squeals of children playing.  An odd-looking steel bridge on stilts took me over a wide stream, and I puzzled over its design.  I couldn't imagine the water rising that high in the spring.

A couple of acorns fell from the tree above me, bouncing off my hat.  A tiny chipmunk, missing his tail, scurried across the path in front of me.  Then I was out to a road, which the Trail followed for much too long.  A turn, and it went alongside an old quarry.  I stopped often on this section, since it was peppered with geocaches to find and plenty of birds to watch in the adjacent meadow.

I was to meet my friends Violet and Adrian later that afternoon, and then spend the night at their campsite, but ran into them early.  They were scouting around for somewhere to ride their bikes.  I directed them to the start of the path, where they could leave their van and ride their bikes into Mount Nemo.

A stile brought me from this path into the road, and then onto the laneway into Mount Nemo.  A small group of people were gathered on the other side of the street; a young woman called to me from the group.  "Are you Layna's sister?" she asked.  "No," I said, puzzled.  "Oh," she replied.  "We have a friend whose sister is hiking the Bruce, end-to-end.  I thought you might be her."  And then a discussion ensued about my hike.  She told me about theirs:  they are also hiking the Bruce end-to-end, but doing "the ten-year plan", as she called it.

The overlooks in Mount Nemo were magnificent, serving up views of land and water that stretched for miles.  I gazed over the escarpment I'd travelled in the last few days, and found I could pick out Rattlesnake and Kelso.  It was so peaceful walking along the edge up there that I completely missed the turn that would take me down the escarpment.  There were still faded blazes showing on some trees (the Trail must have been rerouted here at one time) so I didn't realize my mistake until the path fizzled out about a kilometre past my turn.  Oops!  That was good for a couple of extra kilometres on the day.

Down to the bottom, and it was a long haul along busy roads to my rendezvous point with Violet and Adrian.  And then it was time for a nice cold beer.

Day Thirty-Seven, August 10: "Whispering Ravens and Downpours." Kelso to Kilbride, 22.3 km., 6.5 hours.

The sky was thick with grey clouds and humidity hung heavy in the air.  Rain held off until the afternoon, though, allowing me to enjoy the hike through Kelso and Rattlesnake Point.

All was quiet in Kelso when I started out.  I looked up at the rocky cliffs where I assumed I was headed.  There were many interesting interpretive signs to read as I passed through the museum area with its old farm buildings: the blacksmith shop, the bellcote, the driveshed.  Then the Trail, for the first time on my journey, actually went inside a building - the one that houses stairs and walkway over traintracks to the escarpment.

I noticed two ravens on an overhead wire, crouched closely together.  Curious, I aimed my binoculars at them.  It actually looked like they were whispering to each other.

The Trail took me past a lime kiln which was totally fenced off, unlike the overgrown ruins I'd seen alongside the Trail in Mulmur.  Then it led upwards along bluffs, past the ski hills and to lookouts over the 401 and Kelso's small lake. Plenty was happening down below now, perhaps a relay or a race, with many teens participating.

I shared the Trail here with many mountain bikes.  A couple of ATVs passed me as well, though I think they may have been Parks employees.  Then the Trail turned onto a busy road for a while, and took me into Rattlesnake Point.  I noticed the smell of pancakes drifting down to me from the camping area, which prompting me to stop and retrieve some of the lunch Mandy had packed for me from my backpack.

That's when the skies began to open, and the rain started teeming down.  I waited for a bit under the umbrella of a huge cedar, but the downpour wasn't slowing; if anything, it was worsening, with rumbles of distant thunder.  Resignedly, I ventured out into the pouring rain, and was soon soaked to the skin.  I inched my way along the Trail with its treacherous, slippery rocks, through the Crawford Lake area, right to Mandy's doorstep for the night.

Days Thirty-Five and Thirty-Six, August 8 and 9: "Thimbleberries and Big Bridges." Scotsdale to Kelso, 28.6 km.

My friend Violet joined me for the hike the first day.  The beginning was lined with boardwalk, just like the day before, and was an easy walk.  Violet was ahead of me when we flushed out some ruffed grouse from the bushes.  I couldn't help but laugh when she screeched and jumped at the sudden movement.

The Trail took us over a couple of stiles.   We stopped to find a geocache, then came upon a group of 33 hikers having their lunch at the side of the Trail - the largest group I'd come across yet.  They were being led by a guide from the Toronto club, and everyone looked like they were having a fantastic time.  After chatting with them for a few minutes we continued on to Limehouse, spending some time at its restored bunker and lime kilns.  Then to the Hole in the Wall, with its extremely tall ladder and rock corridor.

That evening was scheduled for my weekly supply drop, so we found Dan at the end of the Trail waiting for us.

The next morning he dropped me off at the same spot, where I continued southward along the Trail.  For a time it ran through hedgerows in between farmers' fields.  I found myself trying to avoid stepping on fallen apples and hopping toads.  Making my way through a meadow overgrown with wildflowers,  the Trail then turned into a cool forest where I discovered the remains of an old stile laying at the side of the path. Birdsong floated in the air from the tangle of applewood above my head.  I found myself wishing I knew the birds by their sound better than I do:  something to work on.

Then I ran into a bit of a problem.  I came out onto a road, but the blazes didn't show a right or left turn, and there didn't appear to be anything straight ahead.  I checked the map - it showed a left turn for only a few metres, then into the bush.  So I turned left, and found a Bruce Trail sign a few metres up, and an overgrown path.  I started down the path but it quickly fizzled out, with much deadfall blocking the way and no blazes to be seen.  After stumbling and bushwhacking through thick stuff for a few minutes, I finally came out to the well-worn Bruce Trail.  Curious, I backtracked on the Trail to see where I'd gone wrong.  Turns out it started to the right, not the left - the map must not have been updated, and the old sign not removed.  Found it in the end, though.

It was in Speyside that I began to hear the sounds of the big city:  at first, the sound of jets taking off from the airport, and then the roar of the 401.  The Trail runs along the edge of the escarpment here, allowing for many cityscape views.  I could pick out the CN Tower on the horizon.  Turkey vultures soared across my field of vision.

The walk was lovely.  I noticed quite a few maples tinged with red:  the season was progressing.  A baby garter snake slithered across the path in front of me, and I noted many tiny toads the size of my fingernail. Then the Trail took me across the Dufferin Quarry Bridge - a truly impressive structure.  Apparently it can even be seen from the 401.

I found a patch of thimbleberries on the other side of the bridge and stopped to savour a few.  Then it was down to a road and past a golf club, and through a passage under the 401 where my friend Mandy picked me up for the night.

Day Thirty-Four, August 7: "Wild Roses and Streakers." Cheltenham to Scotsdale Farm, 20.8 km., 7 hours.

I left around nine in the morning, after enjoying a lovely breakfast at the b&b in Cheltenham.  It was an interesting stay; the house is the oldest in Cheltenham, dating back to the early 1800s, with a descendant of the original owner/builder still living there.

The Trail took me along a street at first, where I was lucky enough to sight yet another indigo bunting.  It went past a cidery, which unfortunately (or fortunately) wasn't open at that hour.  I made a quick stop at the next corner to grab a geocache. Then, as the Trail made a turn into the forest, I ran into Hugh.

The hosts at the b&b had told me about an older man in the room next to me, who was also hiking the Bruce.  He was doing it in installments, with the b&b shuttling him to the trailheads each day while he stayed with them.  I hadn't run into him there, but when the hiker I spoke to on the Trail introduced himself, I knew it must be the same fellow.

We chatted for a while about our experiences on the Trail.  He is 75 years old, and is hoping to complete the entire Trail by late next year. Hiking from late April to early October, he generally hikes for four days a week, going home to rest for the other three.

We wished each other luck and went our separate ways down the Trail.  Mine brought me from forest onto a road, then down a railtrail.  I found six geocaches on that trail but they turned out to be challenge caches, and I'm not sure if I qualify.  Will have to check when I eventually get home.

Terra Cotta Conservation Area was leafy, green, and teeming with life.  A red squirrel scolded me as I made my way down the path - his path, apparently.  The skeeters were a bit thick in there, and I was busy swatting them away from my face when my left foot went down into a hole caused by an uprooted tree at the side of the Trail.  Down went my right knee, hard onto the ground. Didn't tear my pants at all, but did actually scrape the knee.

I crossed an interesting old bridge that forded a stream.  The floor was made of very thin slats, almost like the lath once used in plaster walls. On one side of the bridge was a small waterfall created by a beaverdam, and on the other was an equally small waterfall, this one the result of a rock ledge in the stream.

Crossing a road brought me into Silver Creek Conservation Area.  A youth group was hard at work in here, cutting deadwood.  Wild rose bushes lined the rock-studded Trail, and crevices began to show themselves again after being absent for a few days.

I had walked for about an hour without seeing any other hikers, when in mid-afternoon I was taken by surprise by a man who was approaching the white-blazed Trail from a side trail.  Normally you would greet each other and continue on your way, but this man was different.  It seems he had forgotten to put clothes on that morning. We saw each other at the same time, and both of us stopped short. He was devoid of backpack, shoes, everything - not a stitch on his body - and quickly turned on his heel to retreat back down the side trail.  A naturist, perhaps? Was there a nudist camp nearby? In any case, I carried on down the trail, marvelling at how I never knew what I would see next on the Bruce.

After crossing another road, the Trail turned into a series of rickety old boardwalks. I'm sure they must be originals that date back from when the Trail was first built.  Then I found myself out on Highway 7, where the day's hike ended.