The Many Ups and Downs of Backpacking La Cloche Silhouette Trail

Eighteen years ago, during our first visit to Killarney, as I was chasing our eighteen-month-old son around the park, I stumbled upon the La Cloche Silhouette Trail sign. Looking at it, I wondered what it would take to walk 100 kilometres. What kind of gear do you need to bring? How much food? What about water? “Maybe one day…” was my last thought before my son pulled me in another direction.

It all started many years ago when I came across this sign during our very first trip to Killarney.

It took some time but that day finally arrived. Here we were – my husband and I – taking a selfie in front of that same sign a week after we’d taken one in front of an identical one at the other end of the trail. And while the signs looked the same, we certainly did not – a shade darker from all the sun, with an obvious stubble (my husband), greasy hair in a tight ponytail (me), noticeably smelly clothes (both of us). Our backpacks were lighter; our hearts filled to the brim with the incredible memories of the past week that included everything from extreme heat to an epic downpour, challenging climbs and descents, Killarney’s magnificent views, soul-nourishing tranquility of early mornings and seemingly endless evenings spent by the water with loons, sandhill cranes and beavers for company.

Here are some highlights from a backpacking trip that was years in the making.

Before and after: A week of backpacking, a lifetime of memories in between

Hiking the Grand Canyon: Journey to the Bottom and Back in Time

The Grand Canyon is the kind of place that cracks your heart open and stays with you long after you leave its craggy outlines behind. I remember the first time I saw it from the Bright Angel Point Lookout on the North Rim. It was right after the sunrise. We arrived the night before, set up our tent in the dark just as it was starting to rain so there was nothing to do but go to sleep after finishing our dinner in the car. Now that the dark and rain cleared up, I was in a hurry to see this famed natural wonder. After an uncomfortable shuffle along a 800-metre long trail, long enough to make me regret my choice of footwear – flip flops were considerably slowing down my progress, I finally got to the lookout and couldn’t help but inhale at the sight. A chasm gaped in front of me – the Earth cracked open, its innermost essence exposed.

My first ever view of the Grand Canyon from the Bright Angel Point Lookout on the North Rim back in 2016

Road Trip 2023: Goblins, Canyons and Sands of Time

Between visiting my brother in California, exploring new parks in Utah, trekking down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and hiking in Colorado – our 2023 road trip promised to be epic. Unfortunately, we had to cut it short so the mountains of Colorado remain untouched by our hiking boots. And even though my mountain soul was really looking forward to that part of our trip, the Rockies have been around for almost 80 million years so I figured they will still be there in a year or two when we make our way back to Colorado. Plus, our truncated trip already featured quite a few beautiful places and exciting adventures. We returned with thousands of pictures, even more great memories and loads of sand in different colours – from the red sands of Utah to the yellow ones of California – tucked away in our camping equipment and clothing. So here are a few highlights.

A Look Back at 2022: Searching for Light and Hope amidst Darkness and Grief

Warning: This post talks about war, which may be triggering for some people. I acknowledge that this may not be the type of content you would expect from a blog dedicated to camping. However, the war in Ukraine has had a profound impact on a lot of the people I know and love, on millions in my home country who live under constant threats of attacks and those who’ve fled in search of safety. And while my experience of it on the other side of the ocean is in no way comparable to that of people in Ukraine, the war has redefined every aspect of my life and its echo has been heard in every outdoor pursuit, every nature walk, and every camping trip. As I look back at the year filled with sadness and grief, this post is also about searching for light in nature, books, support offered by my friends, and bravery of people in my home country. It is about travelling back to Ukraine, rediscovering the land of my childhood and youth, and learning yet again that hope equals action. If you are looking for ways to help Ukraine and those displaced by the war, links to organizations you can support are provided at the end.   

Back in my hometown Chernivtsi

Walking in the winter wonderland: Yurt camping at Bruce Peninsula National Park

Winter often gets a bad rap and I can see why: cold, wind chill, snow storms, extra challenges of getting outside that come with slippery roads or impassable snow banks, short days and all-consuming darkness. We often talk about winter as something to get through, huddled at home waiting for the arrival of better days. What we fail to see as we binge through yet another Netflix show is winter’s magic at work: crisp, sparkling air that fills our bodies with vigour and joy, softness of a snowfall that erases the edges and transforms familiar scenes, a promise of newness that comes with a fresh snow cover, mesmerizing creations chiselled out of ice. This past weekend we headed in search of this magic to Bruce Peninsula, a place where Niagara Escarpment’s rugged limestone cliffs and turquoise waters of Georgian Bay work together to create a masterpiece of a landscape. With an extra touch of winter’s artistic genius, the scenes were truly spellbinding.

Starting 2022 on a cliffhanger: Celebrating New Year’s arrival at Les Refuges Perchés

January 1^st started with grey skies and a drizzle. As I drank my first coffee of the year on the balcony of our cabin perched on top of a cliff, I watched the opposite shore of Lac du Cordon drift in and out of sight. There was a certain, almost soothing rhythm to this game of hide-and-seek as the fog moved in repainting the hills across the white expanse of the lake grey to match the sky, then slowly dissipated only to roll back in again. It wasn’t the most promising start of the year as if nature mirrored the uncertainty and sadness of our pandemic reality. But then a flock of white-winged crossbills swooped in, pops of red and yellow against the greyness of the morning, and provided a much-needed reminder that beauty and joy can be found in the gloomiest of times.

Permanence of Change: Hiking at Boyne Valley

Today I realized it’s been almost two months since I posted anything on the blog. And sure, I could blame it on colder weather and fewer camping trips. But that, of course, is not the main reason. Connecting with nature, after all, doesn’t require days of paddling or backpacking. Nature can be experienced anywhere: during our weekly microadventures, a brief walk around the neighbourhood or even on my balcony in the middle of Toronto. This dry spell is not so much due to a lack of new locations but rather scarcity of new ideas. So here I am sitting in my bedroom, bathed in November’s late afternoon light, listening to a boisterous bickering of sparrows on my balcony, and attempting to tackle this writer’s block the way I would normally tackle a trail – by putting one foot in front of the other or, in this case, one word after another.

Today’s post is going to be about one my favourite microadventure destination – Boyne Valley Provincial Park. Our microadventure tradition started years ago, born out of recognition that we were more familiar with far away parks than places close to home. Since then, almost every Saturday, unless we were camping, we would pack snacks and drinks and head for a hike somewhere within an hour drive from Toronto. One by one, those stories made it onto these virtual pages, some places more than once. All but Boyne Valley.

The Poetry and Prose of Backpacking the Coastal Hiking Trail in Pukaskwa

“This trail has been described as challenging,” says the park ranger flipping through her orientation binder. We stifle a nervous laugh, still trying to embrace the enormity of what we are about to undertake – backpacking the entire 60-kilometre Coastal Hiking Trail in Pukaskwa National Park on the north shore of Lake Superior. There and back, plus a detour to Picture Rock Harbour – totalling 130 kilometres over nine days. A significant distance even on the flattest of terrains, let alone what has been rated as one of the most challenging trails in Canada.

The Coastal Hiking Trail in Pukakswa National Park is no walk in the park.

Celebrating my birthday in Killarney: a 45-year-long journey to Silver Peak

At 543 metres, Silver Peak isn’t the highest of mountains. Even the word “mountain” sounds like a bit of stretch. But it is the highest point in Killarney Provincial Park and offers breathtaking panoramic views of the La Cloche range, the closest we get to mountains here in Ontario.

Silver Peak is the highest point in Killarney and offers breathtaking views of La Cloche Mountains in Killarney.

Sunrise in the time of COVID: Part II

Last year, when the word ‘pandemic’ split our world into the before and after, I headed to Lake Ontario to watch the sunrise – my attempt to find an anchor, something to hold on to in the face of uncertainty. Last week, I found myself on the same spot at Humber Bay Park, next to an uprooted tree trunk, stripped and polished by water into a work of art – a foreground for many of my Lake Ontario pictures. A few of its roots and branches had gone missing since last year – a big triangular shape that had worked so well for framing the CN Tower was now gone. Other than that the scene looked no different from last year – the same fiery orange paint spilled along the edge of the sky in anticipation of the big star’s entry, the same comforting lull of the lake…

Same spot, two images a year apart