Late August: Looking Back - and Looking Forward

There are so many who have helped me realize this dream, so many who deserve my gratitude. 

I very much appreciate the hard work of the many BTC volunteers who have spent countless of their own hours painting blazes, building bridges and boardwalks, crafting steps out of logs, from the founders right through to the present day volunteers.

I also greatly appreciate the support and kind words from blog readers and Facebook friends.  They made sharing my experiences so easy. 

Julie's texts were an inspiration every day; I found myself eagerly awaiting the daily quote.  Trish's friendship absolutely shone the night she was prepared to dump her midnight shift, jump into her truck at 10:30 and drive three hours so I wouldn't be alone in a wilderness campsite in a thunderstorm.  The many kindnesses of Annette and Richard, Mandy and her family, Annie and Kris, Judy, Martin and Shalani, Shannon, Ted, Rhonda, Ron and Janet from the defunct B&B, Sandy Proudfoot, Violet and Adrian and their two girls, and many others I've met along the way, will never be forgotten.

But most of all, I am truly indebted to my husband Dan.  Without his love and support the logistics of a trek like this would have nearly been insurmountable.  He gave up his weekends throughout the summer to bring me fresh supplies every Saturday, and was always just a text or email away, all the while never complaining.


"Travel is the discovery of truth; an affirmation of the promise that humankind is far more beautiful than it is flawed.  With each trip comes a new optimism that where there is despair and hardship, there are ideas and people just waiting to be energized, to be empowered, to make a difference for good." 
- Dan Thompson, 'Following Whispers: Walking on the Rooftop of the World in Nepal's Himalayas'.

Day Forty-Eight, August 21: "The Finale". Woodend to Queenston, 12.5 km., four hours.

It was an exciting last day.  Rhonda drove me back to Woodend in the morning so I could carry on towards Queenston.  We had arranged to meet Gloria and her dear friend Gwen there before I started out, so I could present her with The Shoe.  She was quite ecstatic to get it back.  Turns out we live fairly close to each other, so I am looking forward to meeting up with her in the future.

The Trail soon left Woodend and travelled onto a road for a while.  It brought me past one of Niagara's famous Shoe Trees, and I couldn't help but be reminded of how Gloria had described her lost shoe to me - how she'd told me it had so much life left in it, how it held the promise of so many more miles.

When I passed through the Screaming Tunnels (which I remember visiting as a young teenager), I took the requisite photograph in case ghosts might show up on the image.  Then the Trail went over a fairly new pedestrian bridge that is also part of the Trans Canada Trail and the Laura Secord Legacy Trail.  Last time I travelled this section of the Bruce, we crossed the QEW via the adjacent railway bridge.

Peach orchards and wildflower-filled meadows, goldfinches and butterflies, cicadas and grasshoppers, buzzing bees and hopping frogs:  the sights and sounds of the Trail, my beloved Bruce Trail, seemed much more intensified that day.  And for the first time I noticed a sense of peace about me, a serenity I knew I didn't possess seven weeks ago when I first started out.  Poplar leaves were strewn over the path, interspersed with the odd maple leaf:  signs of autumn, the end of one season and the beginning of another. 

As I approached Queenston, as I grew nearer with each step, I found I was experiencing an odd mix of euphoria and sadness - a euphoria that I was fortunate enough in so many ways to be able to take this journey, and a profound sadness that this part of the journey was nearing completion.  It had proven to be one of the most interesting and challenging summers of my life.

Then it was out of the forest and along the paved path to the cairn that marks the southern terminus of the Bruce Trail.  Dan and the dogs, and dear friends Trish, Violet and Adrian were there to greet me, and to walk with me that last couple hundred metres.  Hesitantly, I reached out and touched the cool stone of the cairn, then kissed it.

I had made it. I had walked every step of the Bruce Trail, from Tobermory to Queenston, in forty-eight consecutive days.  I had lost fifteen pounds and two toenails, and I'd gained experiences I'd remember the rest of my life.  I had weathered a tornado and came very close to heat stroke. I had walked among thousand-year-old cedars, and marvelled at young saplings that perhaps one day will be just as old.  I'd skipped across rocks that were here long before I was born, and will still be here long after I'm gone.  I'd crawled through dark crevices into what felt like the very belly of the earth, and I'd gazed into treetops, watching raptors soar far below me.  I'd walked along ancient tracks that the Petun peoples travelled centuries ago, and through the virgin paths of brand new reroutes to the Trail.  I had made new friends and spent time making memories with old ones, in the process learning more about myself.  Perhaps it was necessary, inevitable that this was a solitary journey, perhaps I am getting closer to answering the "Why".

What's next?  I'm not sure.  But it's pretty exciting to think about.  After all, we really are limited only by our minds, aren't we?

 .

Day Forty-Seven, August 20: "Old Engineering Feats and Quotes of Inspiration." Merritton to Woodend, 7.9 km., three hours.

I spent the night at Violet's house, and the next morning she was kind enough to drop me back off at the pub so I could retrace my steps once again, and try to find the lost piece of paper with Gloria's phone number on it.  It had rained rather heavily during the night, and I didn't hold out a lot of hope for this endeavour, so was almost ecstatic when I did find the folded piece of paper along a small pathway I'd taken from the main Trail.  I unfolded it and held it out in front of me as I walked, so it wouldn't stick together as it dried.

The Trail became quite overgrown and very wet from last night's rain as I approached the Welland Canal.  Grasses grew thickly on either side of the path, and I picked my way gingerly through, trying to minimize the wetness from transferring to my pantlegs.  Poison ivy grew in dense clumps; I fervently hoped I wouldn't find The Shoe in the midst of one.  I crossed an old train track completely choked by weeds, and was amazed to find the rails and ties still intact. 

I noticed a clearing off to one side where someone had made a shelter out of tarps and old furniture.  No-one was home.  Rain started to fall again, so I pulled the brim of my hat further down over my eyes, then realized that if someone had found The Shoe and tied it to an overhead branch for discovery by the owner, I probably wouldn't notice it, so lifted the brim again.

The Trail crossed an active railroad track, and then ran right alongside it.  I'd seen this at least once before on my hike, but it still amazes me that this is allowed. 

I found The Shoe laying at the side of the Trail a short distance away from the tracks. Its colouring was muted because it was soaking wet, so I actually almost missed it.  With a big grin, I picked it up and tied it securely to my backpack.

The Trail took me out to a meadow, and then to the lift bridge over the Canal.  No ships were in sight, so there was no wait at the bridge.  Rain had pretty much stopped, though the skies still looked upset.  I hoped the meteorologist was correct with her prediction that it would clear.

The General Motors shift change was nearing, and the road was quite busy with employees arriving at work, but I managed to cross in front of the plant in one piece.  Then the Trail turned alongside the old canal.  Someone had trimmed the path here, making it quite wide, so it was an easy, dry walk.  An engineering feat in its day, the canal itself is now crumbling, as are many of the cement bollards.  I had to wonder how much longer it will last before falling in on itself. 

The buzz of my cellphone alerted me to an incoming text.  My friend Julie has been sending me daily motivational quotes since I'd first started out on July 4, most having to do with wilderness hiking.  They had given me much food for thought; today's was no exception:  "Conquer the trail, test your limits, share your experiences and don't let the opportunity to embrace nature's beauty pass by."   This one was not credited, and I would amend it to read "Revere the trail", rather than "Conquer".  I prefer not to conquer nature, but to live peaceably within it.  The conquering was done inside of me, to my own limits.
But there was one a few days ago that still haunts me.  "Returning home is the most difficult part of long-distance hiking.  You have grown outside the puzzle and your piece no longer fits."  (Cindy Ross).  I am apprehensive to see how that one will play out.

The Trail led me away from the old canal, and through a golf course.  It actually runs inside a hedgerow dissecting the course and is crossed regularly by paved golf paths, so I had to exercise caution as I came out to these little roadways: the rain had stopped, and more golfers were zipping along in carts.  Apples had fallen on the Trail like little land mines, lying in wait to wreak havoc with my ankles.  The wind had kicked up and the sun began to peek through the cloud cover and pervade the forest canopy.  I thought perhaps I was leaving the golf course, because each side of the hedgerow had become wider and thicker with trees.  Fallen pears began to join their apple comrades underfoot.

Then it was over a stile to the road, past the "Beware of Flying Golfballs" sign, and into the Woodend Conservation Area.  It was quiet and serene in there, despite the roar of the QEW below.  Crevices and huge layered rocks dotted the forest, in typical escarpment fashion.  I passed an old ruins, perhaps a lime kiln, standing ghostly in a glade below. 

The Trail brought me behind the old house, which is now an educational centre, and out to the road where my stepmother and dear friend Rhonda, who lives nearby, picked me up for the night.