THE FIRST STEPS
They say that the first step to finishing a trail is the one you take at the trailhead. I disagree. I think the first step to finishing any trail is the one you take to go outside. This is the story of how a simple step into nature can bring you back from the edge of anything. This is my story of the Bruce Trail.
I first heard about the Bruce Trail on a crisp fall afternoon during a field trip with my classmates, my mom as a chaperone. It was almost the turn of the decade, the one before the millennium, and I was in elementary school. An outdoor educator announced to our class that we were standing on Canada’s oldest and longest marked trail — nearly 900 kilometers of continuous trail from Queenston, Ontario (close to where we stood) to Tobermory, Ontario, at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula.
It was not a distance I could fathom, yet I couldn’t help but lag behind the group as my mind imagined me on an endless trail heading north, having adventures like the ones in the books I’d read. I got lost in this dream, and although it faded over time, my love of outdoor exploration remained and flourished as I aged. I did, however, promise my mom on the way home that someday, I was going to “walk the whole thing.”
Over three decades later, on September 28, 2024, that impossible dream became reality. Nine sections, eight hundred and ninety kilometers, and over ten thousand mosquito bites later, I took my last step and touched the northern terminus in Tobermory, marking the my completion of the Bruce Trail.
BACK TO MY PROMISE
In January of 2017, I was walking along a local lakeside trail, trying to distract myself from an impending phone call. The snow fell gently around me and the sky was a somber silver. It was a gorgeous day, but I couldn’t see it,
The call came in, and my worst fears were confirmed as my mother told me her cancer was back, and this time, there was no cure.
Feeling lost, I decided to take my worries to another definite path, the Bruce Trail. It was two months following the “news” when I placed my hand on the Southern Terminus. I planned to do the entire trail for two reasons: I promised my mom, and because emotionally I didn’t know where else to go.
After finishing the Niagara Section over a series of days hikes, my mom’s health took a slow, then rapid, decline. This led to hospital stays and eventually seven final weeks in hospice. She died on a rainy fall afternoon in 2019, leaving me shattered and eight sections short.
THE LONG RETURN
Grief kept me from returning to the Bruce Trail, and for the first year after my mom passed, I remained trapped between working then remaining sedentary on my couch. Weighed down by grief and the isolation of covid, I decided I needed a thru-hike to pull myself away from screens and sadness. With time and travel restrictions, I was unable to do the Bruce, so I opted to thru-hike the Rideau Trail from Kingston to Ottawa instead.
I completed it on the anniversary of her passing, and I felt revived. From there, I meandered along trails and camped in countless provincial parks, but it wasn’t the Bruce. I kept telling myself, eventually….
On a random cold, damp day in March of 2023, six years after my ‘start’, I returned to the Iroquoia section with a quiet promise: This time, I’ll finish. That promise carried not just my grief, but a renewed appreciation for the ecological wonders of the Niagara Escarpment. It started with a trickle of hikes, and soon became a flood of kilometres.
Between September 2023 and September 2024, I covered the final 750 kilometers between a hectic work schedule and everyday tasks, leading me to the day I finished the Bruce Trail.
WHAT THE TRAIL GAVE ME
Along the almost 900 kilometers, I hiked through Carolinian forests, maple swamps, meadow marshes, caves and crevasses, city streets, and winding country roads. Every section of trail containing living ecosystems worth protecting as much as the glacial glory of the Niagara Escarpment that it follows.
I chatted with day hikers, through-hikers, and residents who kindly shared their property with the trail. I met volunteers, trail angels, and the occasional lost hiker.
I went from seeking solace in the woods, to reveling in the company of others on trail. I was shown kindess by stragners and in return shared bug spray, directions, and as many one liners as I could.
The Bruce Trail app kept me on track, but it was the scenery, wildlife, and people that kept me moving.
Did I talk to myself a lot? You bet. Did I cry? Indeed. Did I walk so long I released feelings I didn’t even know I had? Yeah, and then some.
Would I change a thing? No.
THE FINAL STEPS
From the very first step on my Bruce Trail journey, I imagined the finish. Like, really imagined it. I daydreamed about it on every single hike I did. I thought it would be quiet, emotional, and solitary.
Instead, I emerged from the edge of Bruce Peninsula National Park into the tourist-packed streets of Tobermory.
I approached the northern terminus to the sound of strangers cheering me on. Someone called out that it was “an amazing feat”, while another chimed in, telling me I should be proud.
A family waiting for a table at a local eatery, who had never even heard of the Bruce Trail, shed tears in my place when they learned I had done the trail to honour my mom. My mom who had passed five years to the day. I thought I’d be the one to cry, but it seems I’d left my tears scattered along the trail.
The Bruce Trail took me out of the empty space that grief can leave us in and helped me grow around it. It took ten thousand images of sadness, and replaced them with landscapes and moments I never want to forget.
The grief process isn’t linear, neither is the Bruce Trail. But I promise, if you take it one step at a time, you’ll get there.
Grieve into Nature – Stay Safe and Happy Hiking
minus – 09/28/2024
September 28th, 2024
