Lesser-known provincial park lets you experience Ontario's outback in total solitude
Canada is a wild country. I want to detach from the matrix and reconnect to something real, so I head north. And yet, whenever I've said, 'I'm going up north for the weekend,' I've still been very much in the south.
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Ontario's true north is a Texas-sized wilderness. The opportunities for exploring its backcountry are endless. So where should I go? If I set a protractor on a map, measured a line from Toronto to say, Woodland Caribou Provincial Park, spun it around and measured the same distance south, I'd be floating in the Gulf of Mexico. Woodland Caribou is a boreal forest high above the maple line and part of the largest contiguous forest in the world. With two childhood friends on a guys' trip, we fly to the North.
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There are no roads. No slogging through cottage-country traffic — just a hop, skip and a jump to Red Lake for our northern exposure. We board a single-engine propeller-driven plane and shortly disembark at the dock of the fully outfitted eco-lodge within the interior. It's a raw environment, unspoiled, untouched, and seemingly undiscovered. No cell reception here.
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There is a difference between feeling remote and actually being remote. Amidst absolute quiet, we survey the lake, explore the trails, and are immediately aware that no one else is here. We are totally alone. Woodland Caribou receives fewer visitors in one year than Algonquin Provincial Park does in one day. This park is still used by Anishinaabe communities for trapping and hunting. We have more chance of seeing a moose than another human being.
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After hammering a totemic symbol into the ground, we hike into the thicket. White lichen blankets the ground. 'This is caribou food,' our guide tells us, as he removes an axe from his pack to chop a fallen tree obstructing our path. We learn what is edible and what is not, for our zero-mile diet, and forage for cranberries, chanterelles, Labrador tea, mint, whole-grain wild rice and even chaga. These wooden slabs formed over decades around a tree's wounds are the life force of a birch tree and a highly potent nutraceutical tea. We steep it overnight, and in the morning, literally drink in the environment. One cupful tastes like our walk in the woods.
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Breathing the exhilarating fresh air, we feel rugged and yet, like City Slickers, are comically out of our element. Alternating between splashing through the brisk water along the beach, and decompressing inside a wood-fired Finnish sauna, we're rejuvenated and carefree. On the porch grill, we're cooking moose for dinner. Our guide has marinated it in Pepsi. Why? 'Because it'll eat through anything,' he says. Drizzling a reduction of our foraged-berries and Canadian whisky, we indulge in the most mouth-watering, succulent steaks.
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There's a cozy fire inside, but we head outside to build a campfire and warm to its hypnotic glow. Sparks that crackle and pop lead our eyes up to the cosmic chandelier above. What begins as a nebulous flicker along the horizon gradually engulfs the whole night sky into fluid draping waves of the aurora borealis. We gaze up in wonder, amazement, and silence. So close, it feels like we can almost reach up and touch it. Paddling out into the lake, enveloped in the green light, we run our fingers through its reflection off the water.
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Calgary Herald
a day ago
- Calgary Herald
Lesser-known provincial park lets you experience Ontario's outback in total solitude
Canada is a wild country. I want to detach from the matrix and reconnect to something real, so I head north. And yet, whenever I've said, 'I'm going up north for the weekend,' I've still been very much in the south. Article content Article content Ontario's true north is a Texas-sized wilderness. The opportunities for exploring its backcountry are endless. So where should I go? If I set a protractor on a map, measured a line from Toronto to say, Woodland Caribou Provincial Park, spun it around and measured the same distance south, I'd be floating in the Gulf of Mexico. Woodland Caribou is a boreal forest high above the maple line and part of the largest contiguous forest in the world. With two childhood friends on a guys' trip, we fly to the North. Article content Article content There are no roads. No slogging through cottage-country traffic — just a hop, skip and a jump to Red Lake for our northern exposure. We board a single-engine propeller-driven plane and shortly disembark at the dock of the fully outfitted eco-lodge within the interior. It's a raw environment, unspoiled, untouched, and seemingly undiscovered. No cell reception here. Article content There is a difference between feeling remote and actually being remote. Amidst absolute quiet, we survey the lake, explore the trails, and are immediately aware that no one else is here. We are totally alone. Woodland Caribou receives fewer visitors in one year than Algonquin Provincial Park does in one day. This park is still used by Anishinaabe communities for trapping and hunting. We have more chance of seeing a moose than another human being. Article content Article content Article content Article content After hammering a totemic symbol into the ground, we hike into the thicket. White lichen blankets the ground. 'This is caribou food,' our guide tells us, as he removes an axe from his pack to chop a fallen tree obstructing our path. We learn what is edible and what is not, for our zero-mile diet, and forage for cranberries, chanterelles, Labrador tea, mint, whole-grain wild rice and even chaga. These wooden slabs formed over decades around a tree's wounds are the life force of a birch tree and a highly potent nutraceutical tea. We steep it overnight, and in the morning, literally drink in the environment. One cupful tastes like our walk in the woods. Article content Article content Breathing the exhilarating fresh air, we feel rugged and yet, like City Slickers, are comically out of our element. Alternating between splashing through the brisk water along the beach, and decompressing inside a wood-fired Finnish sauna, we're rejuvenated and carefree. On the porch grill, we're cooking moose for dinner. Our guide has marinated it in Pepsi. Why? 'Because it'll eat through anything,' he says. Drizzling a reduction of our foraged-berries and Canadian whisky, we indulge in the most mouth-watering, succulent steaks. Article content Article content Article content There's a cozy fire inside, but we head outside to build a campfire and warm to its hypnotic glow. Sparks that crackle and pop lead our eyes up to the cosmic chandelier above. What begins as a nebulous flicker along the horizon gradually engulfs the whole night sky into fluid draping waves of the aurora borealis. We gaze up in wonder, amazement, and silence. So close, it feels like we can almost reach up and touch it. Paddling out into the lake, enveloped in the green light, we run our fingers through its reflection off the water.
Vancouver Sun
a day ago
- Vancouver Sun
Lesser-known provincial park lets you experience Ontario's outback in total solitude
By Adam Waxman Canada is a wild country. I want to detach from the matrix and reconnect to something real, so I head north. And yet, whenever I've said, 'I'm going up north for the weekend,' I've still been very much in the south. Ontario's true north is a Texas-sized wilderness. The opportunities for exploring its backcountry are endless. So where should I go? If I set a protractor on a map, measured a line from Toronto to say, Woodland Caribou Provincial Park , spun it around and measured the same distance south, I'd be floating in the Gulf of Mexico. Woodland Caribou is a boreal forest high above the maple line and part of the largest contiguous forest in the world. With two childhood friends on a guys' trip, we fly to the North. There are no roads. No slogging through cottage-country traffic — just a hop, skip and a jump to Red Lake for our northern exposure. We board a single-engine propeller-driven plane and shortly disembark at the dock of the fully outfitted eco-lodge within the interior. It's a raw environment, unspoiled, untouched, and seemingly undiscovered. No cell reception here. Plan your next getaway with Travel Time, featuring travel deals, destinations and gear. By signing up you consent to receive the above newsletter from Postmedia Network Inc. A welcome email is on its way. If you don't see it, please check your junk folder. The next issue of Travel Time will soon be in your inbox. Please try again Interested in more newsletters? Browse here. There is a difference between feeling remote and actually being remote. Amidst absolute quiet, we survey the lake, explore the trails, and are immediately aware that no one else is here. We are totally alone. Woodland Caribou receives fewer visitors in one year than Algonquin Provincial Park does in one day. This park is still used by Anishinaabe communities for trapping and hunting. We have more chance of seeing a moose than another human being. After hammering a totemic symbol into the ground, we hike into the thicket. White lichen blankets the ground. 'This is caribou food,' our guide tells us, as he removes an axe from his pack to chop a fallen tree obstructing our path. We learn what is edible and what is not, for our zero-mile diet, and forage for cranberries, chanterelles, Labrador tea, mint, whole-grain wild rice and even chaga. These wooden slabs formed over decades around a tree's wounds are the life force of a birch tree and a highly potent nutraceutical tea. We steep it overnight, and in the morning, literally drink in the environment. One cupful tastes like our walk in the woods. Breathing the exhilarating fresh air, we feel rugged and yet, like City Slickers , are comically out of our element. Alternating between splashing through the brisk water along the beach, and decompressing inside a wood-fired Finnish sauna, we're rejuvenated and carefree. On the porch grill, we're cooking moose for dinner. Our guide has marinated it in Pepsi. Why? 'Because it'll eat through anything,' he says. Drizzling a reduction of our foraged-berries and Canadian whisky, we indulge in the most mouth-watering, succulent steaks. There's a cozy fire inside, but we head outside to build a campfire and warm to its hypnotic glow. Sparks that crackle and pop lead our eyes up to the cosmic chandelier above. What begins as a nebulous flicker along the horizon gradually engulfs the whole night sky into fluid draping waves of the aurora borealis. We gaze up in wonder, amazement, and silence. So close, it feels like we can almost reach up and touch it. Paddling out into the lake, enveloped in the green light, we run our fingers through its reflection off the water. In the early morning sun, we rise to the whistle of a coffee pot and the beckoning aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip banana bread, fluffy pancakes, and sizzling bacon — fuel for a morning of paddling and portaging as we search for Ojibwe pictographs and fish. Fishing in Olive Lake is like hailing a cab in rush hour. You know they're out there; you just have to find the right spot. Once you do, let the meter run, because it's a buyer's market and you're the only fare in town. This is a haven for walleye, northern pike, and lake trout. Within minutes I catch two thick walleyes. The lake sparkles as we leisurely paddle to a campsite where our guide teaches me how to filet the fish right there on the rocks, while the others start a fire to cook them for our lunch. Water rushes up between our toes as we sit on the shore, enjoying our walleye with freshly baked bannock and a wooden platter of cheese, fruit, and charcuterie. This is the life. We have everything we need to experience the North Country in a most comfortable way. There are no guarantees of animal sightings, but that's not a bad thing. I would rather see the iconic Woodland Caribou on a Canadian quarter than disturb one in his own native habitat. Our aim is to experience our pristine resources while leaving them pristine; to appreciate their awesome quality while respecting their fragility. There's such a natural feeling of connection here to which we easily gravitate and feel replenished. We acclimate organically to a liberating solitude that is just not possible in the more populated parks of the south. On a neighbouring lake, we lay back in our canoes and slowly drift along placid water beneath rocky crags in silence and the warm caress of the sun. My friend smiles as he sighs and says, 'I can't remember the last time I enjoyed doing nothing.' This post appeared first on DINE and Destinations Magazine .
Winnipeg Free Press
4 days ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Yay for T-Bay!
Peering out our Thunder Bay waterfront hotel window, I exclaimed, 'There's a big guy sleeping out here! No. Maybe he's dead!' Margie rushed to see, imploring 'Where?' I pointed to Lake Superior's famous landform — The Sleeping Giant. photos by Gord Mackintosh / Free Press Even perfect sunrises don't awaken the Sleeping Giant. 'I fell for that!?' she growled. We drove from Winnipeg to Thunder Bay this April. After many kilometres of moose pasture east of Dryden — we counted 22 moose 'Night Danger' signs — the Nor'Wester Mountains rise ahead. The flat-topped range impresses with myriad shapes and sheer cliffs. To Prairie drivers, it's the Rockies in half the time. Kakabeka Falls then stuns. To Prairie drivers, it's Niagara Falls in one-third the time. Upstream spruce bogs infuse its roaring golden waters. In April, enjoy the bonus of ice-packed canyon walls — and no park fees. After May 9, walk in backwards. Wait — that might not go well here. Thunder Bay's Current River rushes violently. To witness kilometre-long rapids, carefully follow Cascades Conservation Area's Yellow Trail. You've wrongly meandered onto the Green Trail if the rapids' rumbling becomes fainter — duh, Gord. Downstream, Trowbridge Falls surges. Unlike mid-July camping memories of lazing in these rapids, spring runoff would sweep me and my koozie down to Boulevard Lake's beach. Below Boulevard's dam, glittering cascades enthrall. Folks fish from urban rivers. Off Central Avenue, I asked a fisher casting in the McIntyre River, 'Whatcha fishin' for? Old rubbers?' The surprising reply: 'Steelhead trout.' I told Margie, 'They fish those with magnets.' Golden waters roar at Kakabeka Falls. Thunder Bay lies on the world's biggest freshwater lake. Despite grand vistas with spectacular sunrises, Superior's lakefront has been crowded with trains, grain elevators and industry. Even the ol' Sea-Vue Motel backs onto Maki's Diesel Repair. But now behold lakeside marinas, walkways, public art. A waterfront art gallery opens soon. Moreover, the new eight-storey Delta hopefully signals the arrival of modern, full-service, shoreline hotels. Room numbers ending in 01, 02 or 04 offer 'Superior' views. Drive east to reflect at the Terry Fox Monument and vista. Westward, pay $10 for the drive-up view from Mount McKay. The Best Western Nor'Wester provides mountain views from even-numbered suites. Better yet, dine with a panorama at The Neebing Roadhouse. The McIntyre River brings steelhead trout into the city. Try yummy Neebing Firebombs. Then cruise into the mountain-framed Slate River Valley for Thunder Oak Cheese Farm curds. Exclaim, 'No whey!' Thunder Bay offers three unusual regional dishes: Finnish pancakes, Coney burgers and Persians. Among Finn pancake eateries, we chose, yes, Kangas Sauna. With 18 sauna rooms for rent, the restaurant section attracts chatty folks, including a snoopy couple arguing about what's best: pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream, or with syrup and bacon. But it's not as if we were yelling. Our friendly server delivered a pun, likely unwittingly. Seeing my almost-devoured layer of four crepe-like pancakes, she asked, 'You gonna Finnish it some more?' Coney burgers mean toppings of meat chili, mustard and onions. Among several joints, we adored these darlings at Westfort's Coney Island and the misnamed McKellar Confectionery. There, gregarious owner George Kelos reminded me that meat chili burgers migrated from this city to Winnipeg where, with more toppings added by the Scouras brothers, Manitoba's iconic Fat Boy emerged. Persians are fried dough with subtly baked-in cinnamon covered in pink frosting. At Holland Bakery, a fellow seeking Persians at 10:30 a.m. was told, 'Sold out!' He replied, 'Ya gotta be quick with Persians!' At The Persian Man, I asked owner Danny Nucci, 'What's your frosting recipe? Raspberry or strawberry and what?' Danny merrily replied, 'If I tell you, I have to kill you.' I said, 'See ya!' A pal later deduced, 'It tastes pinky.' Mount McKay, or Animiki-wajiw (Thunder Mountain), looms over Thunder Bay. I joyously devoured The Sweet North Bakery's Persian frosting-stuffed cruffin (a croissant-muffin mix), licked Merla Mae's Persian ice cream, and sipped Dawson Trail Brewery's Persian-inspired ale. Seeing Sleeping Giant Brewing's huge beer bottle display, I asked, 'How many bottles of beer on the wall?' Staff wisecracked, 'No idea. You might wanna count 'em!' We couldn't spare the afternoon, but thankfully bought its Beaver Duck Session IPA. A beaver duck is a beaver donning a duck hat with handy straps. Thunder Bay delivers more bewilderment. Many street names change while you're driving — one eight times. Winnipeg Avenue boasts four separate sections. And at several major crossroads, street name signs are missing. That's when Margie asked, 'What's this 'Map' function on our dashboard?' The Holiday Inn Motel is unrelated to the lodging chain. Don't expect nips at The Sal. Plus, Thunder Bay 'nips' are gravy-covered burgers. 'Socials' are 'shags.' 'Backpacks' are 'pack sacks.' 'Cottages' are 'camps.' For shopping, local vendors cram Country Market on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and Goods and Co. from Wednesday to Sunday. And Fort William First Nation sells gas up to 27 cents a litre cheaper. K&A Variety has 32 pumps! Inside, cashiers bark out pump numbers. Yell, 'Bingo!' To get there, navigate the super-skinny James Street Swing Bridge. Margie almost touched its sides. This must be a dream for local auto shops. Hey — should they have names like Half-Way Motors? Mid City Collision? Gore Motors? GORD MACKINTOSH / FREE PRESS Likely a half-hour's supply of Persians at The Persian Man. And then there's Dusty's Car Care. As for the Sleeping Giant, Delta staff assured, 'Someday, maybe he'll wake up!' Don't miss it. gordmackintosh9@
