ALGONQUIN PARK AND TYPE TWO FUN
When you think of Ontario Parks and endless backcountry, I predict the first park that pops into your head is Algonquin Provincial Park. It is the largest and considered most aesthetic park in the province. You don’t have to be an avid hiker or backpacker to know that at the very least, this park exists.
While planning a yearly fall hiking trip with my friend Steven, Algonquin came to mind as a great follow up to the previous years trip into Frontenac Provincial Park – I was hounored to assist him in his first backcountry camping trip and I was jazzed for the next.
That’s right, jazzed.
We chose the Western Uplands Trail, and booked without hesitation. The route is described as difficult and offers three loops within it. There is a small, medium and large loop. Naturally, I set us up to hike the big loop, with over 80km of trail to cover and over 2000m of elevation gain to climb.
⚠️IMPORTANT NOTICE – The trail has increments of this elevation spread out, meaning you do continual up and down. She’s Canadian Shield and she’s curvy.
Back to the trail…
When we checked in at the gate the friendly attendant took our information and confirmed our sites. As her fingers clicked away on the keyboard her eyes widened and she said something to the effect of, “oh, you’re doing the big loop.” It was not a warning or a judgement on my soft stature, it was shock, like why would anyone want to torture themselves with tackling this thing during a fall heatwave.
Day one began and within the first hour the temperature had risen as fast as the elevation. The sweatband I so proudly purchased for this trip was no longer able to retain any moisture. There were fallen trees, bog crossings, boardwalks, rocks, roots and bends that tugged at my usual pace.
I am not an agile individual; I am more moose than martin. After I lunged successfully over the first tree hurdle, I mentally patted myself on the back. Twas not two seconds later I found myself laying on my left side, pack slammed into the ground yelling out to my friend.
“I’m ok, I fell.” I hollered.
He laughed, watched me rise to my feet and we continued.
No big deal, I fall all the time in all sorts of situations. I rounded a bend or two, climbed another hill and caught up to Steven, who is consistently ahead of me.
This is due to a cocktail of him being younger, stronger and being genetically gifted with extended legs. I on the other hand, have the unnecessary gift of a long torso, petit limbs and a wheezy disposition.
The expression on his face as he slumped over on a decaying log indicated we had hit a snag.
“My pole broke” he said as he held a bent hiking pole in the air.
We exchanged amused glances, then he did his best to smack the separated piece back in place. We resolved that next break if it did not stay, we could use duct tape.
With a few steps, the pole fixed itself and the hike continued. Carefully and slowly, we made our way up and inward. It was hot, I was tired, but we kept on.
I know that backpacking is “delayed fun” (see also type 2 fun) and the first day of any trip I struggle to cope with the aches I feel. The ones I erased from last time. This pain then releases a harsh reality…
I’m not at the fun part, I’m at the hard part.
The first day dragged hours longer than anticipated as we navigated the terrain. The amount of 13km we planned to reach our site turned closer to 16km. I had severely underestimated the terrain, and the heat.
By the time we made our site there was not so much as a speck of energy for anything other than set up, food, bear hang and bed.
We didn’t even play a single round of Yatzee.
I lay in my tent that night with growing concerns and as the air slowly seeped out of my air mattress sinking me into the solid ground, I had a sneaking suspicion this trail was not finished punishing me yet. Worse, it was just getting started.
“I can fix it with duct tape” ran through my head as I drifted off into one of those wonderful tent sleeps where you are not sure if you slept at all despite the drool.
You know the one, where you wake up every 4 minutes and you know that before the sun comes out you’re going to have to pee?
The next day we ingested our cliff bars and dried fruit and packed up camp. With our usual banter and cheer absent it was clear this was going to be another heat warning day and neither of us was impressed with what lay ahead.
We sighed, tied our laces and set out to our second site.
⚠️IMPORTANT NOTICE – The Western Uplands Trail is beautiful in terms of “in the woods” but it is not an “epic view” hike. The campsites though? STUNNING.
Back to the trail…
Having water during a hike is essential, meaning never go into the woods without a filter (plus purification tabs in first aid) and a source – powdered water if there isn’t one.
Our site night one had promised water access, but it did not. The trip down the cliff face to the lake was not a viable option, so we set out with half a litre each with intent to find a spot on the way or at the next lake 3km away.
Not having full water supply when the heat is rising is unnerving. We kept our eyes peeled for a source as we hiked.
Steven leading as usual with his impossible stride shouted back to me about 30 minutes in; he spotted a promising wildlife path to the water. We headed down, dropped our packs and grabbed our purifying gear.
Adoring the water as I do, I quickly changed into my crocs and readied myself to pass water from the lake.
I slipped in the cool refreshment up to my knees, and sighed relief. The lake bottom consisted of roots, muck and pine needles. I shift around to maintain my footing and bubbles popped around me.
Delightful – I thought. I filled up and passed water to Steven who sat on shore. He filtered.
The bubbles settles yet my legs felt funny in the water. Under my weight I sank slightly and muck stuck to my ankles and feet.
I was not overly enthused at the idea of what I was stepping on and in; but was so focused on hydrating, I hadn’t given it much thought.
I preach the importance of remaining calm in the backcountry. I don’t have an extensive list of rules, but that’s an important one. On a backcountry trip, enivitibly something goes wrong.
I’d stated it to Steven countless times. Remain calm. See a bear? Lost? Diarrhea? Same answer. Stop, assess, respond. It is crucial, to remain calm.
Steven sat and watched the drops of the lake run through the filer. It was slowly dripping clean water into his bottle when he fixed his focus on the side.
He then said the words that caused me to abandon all rational thought and most importantly, the ability to remain calm.
“Hey,” he said with gentle amusement “there’s a leech on my bottle.”
Without hesitation I hollered, “I knew it, I freakin’ knew it, I’m done!”
Instantly I was aware that funny feeling wasn’t just the effervescent water. My previous concernes were validated as I raised my leg out of the lake.
Spread across my heel was a 3-inch blood sucking leech, and he was not alone. His slightly smaller friend sat atop my foot, a buddy rested on my right heel and countless tiny little associates took up real estate on my calves.
Loudly demanding Steven move aside, I hurled myself upon the shore then tossed my crocs into the bushes as I ripped and yelled.
Steven snickered and it grew into a laugh, until he saw my first assailant squirming on the ground next to him.
“Nope”, he proclaimed as he stood up and shook off.
We rapidly grabbed our gear and raced to the trail where he helped me rid myself of the remaining leeches.
This took a good 10 minutes.
We sat trailside as I got my heartrate down to a nonemergency level; then bandaged and cleaned the small wounds on my legs and feet. (self inflicted, clearly).
I sighed heavy, wondering why I do this type of stuff for a vactiion, then glanced over to see my pack (which I also flung in a panic) sitting in what appeared to be poison oak.
“Oh for fox sake,” I grunted, “look”.
Steven looked at me confused until I added, “My pack is sitting in poison oak.”
Humidity levels and heat, breakdown of gear, leeches, and now this crap. But instead of crying or cursing, we broke into hysterical laughter.
That’s when I felt it, sure this was still difficult, but the fun wasn’t just later, it was also now.
BACK TO 2003 FOR A MOMENT
This wasn’t the first time I had a moment of panic in Algonquin Provincial Park…
In 2003, twenty years and a couple months prior to ths incident, I pulled canoes up and stood on the sandy beach of a beautiful lake in this very park. Leg hair blowing in the wind, and sport sandals strapped to my feet (peak of backcountry fashion).
I was a canoe trip leader with a Slim Shady Haircut and a Lorax persona leading campers on exciting backcountry adventures.
I had given the talks required for the trip to the girls before departure which included the importance of, you guessed it, remaining calm.
I banked the last canoe as the campers stood in view of me. I cleared my throat and began spouting off something “inspirational” about achieving goals as we were about to embark on a lengthy portage.
I was interrupted mid speech when a camper exclaimed loudly that my foot was bleeding. Odd, I thought, I didn’t pass any rocks to scrape myself on and the absence of pain indicated I was fine.
I felt fine, until I looked down.
Under my sport sandal strap and a steady flow of blood sat a massive leech. He was wrapped around my big toe stretching between it and the piggy that stayed home, neatly nestled under the strap of my shoe.
Given this was two decades ago, the general idea was if you have a leech, you are to pour salt on it, which we now know is not a good idea (scrape it off or let it eat, it will depart in its own when its done). But I had warned campers, and reiterated, if it happens, remain calm, I will get the salt.
Instead of using this teachable moment to educate, the campers witnessed (in horror); as a stream of obscenities spewed out of me. I tore the leech from me and tossed it back into the lake from which it came.
I did a few full body shakes while letting out burst of shrieks I didn’t even know I was capable of making.
Once I was done panicking, and before I tended to the wound, I made sure to address the campers.
In a controlled but laboured breath, I said, “That was an example of how not to deal with a leech.”
So, heed my warning, there are leeches in the water. They will find you from time to time and latch on causing a panic that runs through you like taco bell.
Stay calm. For the love of David Suzuki, stay calm.
Then, scrape them off gently with something sharp (credit card, your nail).
Or, if you’ve reached level five ecologist, wait for them to finish feeding and they will fall off.
😶 FINAL THOUGHTS
Do we want to remain calm on trail in stressful situations? Yes. Do we always? No. And that’s okay. Besides, no one remembers the time they had that epic camping trip where they didn’t panic, it was super easy and it all went according to plan.
Now go fill your hiking boots and check out the lakes this park and province have to offer…
Because anything worth doing requires a touch of difficulty. Don’t let the delay, keep you from the fun.
But, like…watch out for leeches.
Get Into Nature – Stay Safe (and calm) and Happy Hiking
Western Uplands Trail – September 2023