Jason Livingston
After many interesting encounters, we had emerged successful
Words by Jason Livingston
A friend once said to me, “When you go on an adventure, you can’t lose. Either you end up having a good time or you end up with a good story.” As I stared out of my rooftop tent at the mist-covered landscape, illuminated by the sporadic sheet lightning playing across the black skies overhead, I realized that we were already into a good story.
Ever since my trip to Jerome Mine in Northern Ontario last year, the remote lakes and rugged hills of the North seemed to be calling me back. When I told my wife I wanted to return for a four-day solo trip, exploring 175 km (109 mi) of hydro cut trail and logging roads north of Sudbury, she just shook her head and reminded me that I needed to update my life insurance policy.
This was the biggest solo journey I had attempted and there was plenty of room for failure. As if travelling solo didn’t pose enough challenge, my wife insisted I take my eight-year-old daughter, Evaine, as well as my five-year-old my son, Killian. This was to be his second adventure into the North.
My mother, whose age shall not be disclosed, was acting as co-pilot. She grew up in the northern parts of Ontario and after listening to my father rail on about the overland adventure we did together the previous year, she was keen to tag along. Our team was more akin to a group of lost tourists than seasoned overlanders. So, if something happened to me, there was no way back to civilization for the others.
Now, sheltered in the tent with my son, I watched as swelling spread across my right hand, cutting off circulation to my first and middle finger. I had prepared extensively for this trip, but nothing in my medical kit would suppress the allergic reaction caused by the deer fly bites I received. Fear began to set in as I thought about what would happen if the reaction became anaphylactic.
That morning, we had set out from Oastler Lake Provincial Park near Parry Sound. To improve the scenery, we opted to travel north via Old Nippissing Road, the original north-south trunk line from a time before Highway 69 and Highway 11 existed. It runs 120 km (75 mi) and was dotted with remnants of abandoned towns, cemeteries, and beautiful winding corridors of trees. By 5:00 pm on August 5th, we reached the logging roads outside of Val Therese, ready to take on the wilderness.
1 of 2
Jason Livingston
Our 4x4 during the trip.
2 of 2
Jason Livingston
The hydro cut presented many challenges throughout our journey.
The logging roads were active and presented no camping spots, forcing us to push on to the hydro cut in hopes of finding a secluded place to set up. The North is sometimes not easily conquered. From our first drop into the hydro cut, we were faced with obstacles. The head of the trail was washed out, creating a severely off-camber right-hand turn that could roll a truck. Some creative road building brought us through at the cost of some mild bumper damage and a torn-off mud flap.
From there, it was all downhill, unless it was uphill. There were no flat spots anywhere. The trail was either 20 degrees up or down, and hemmed in on both sides with the densest, most unyielding forest growth I have seen. With the light beginning to fade, we despaired of finding anywhere to make camp. That is when the terrain took a turn for the worse. Rock obstacles appeared on the steep slopes. They were the size of basketballs at first and then became larger. Rock ledges also began to appear, thrust upwards from the trail's hilly surface, indifferent to our plight. There was nowhere to turn around and nowhere to stop as light dwindled. We were forced to push on, having to trust in the capability of the truck and my driving skills while absent a spotter.
A pillar of calmness, my mother sat in the passenger seat. An occasional furtive glance was the only indication of any tension she might have felt as this was her first foray into off-roading. As dusk set in, we lucked out. On one of the ridges, a powerline tower offered enough of a flat base to squeeze in the truck and a tent. Having faced the swarms of deer flies below, we rushed to set up camp while the hilltop breeze held most of them at bay. By now, my hand was beginning to swell.
There was no supper that night. We were simply four exhausted souls seeking shelter from a pending storm and the onslaught of more bugs. The panic brought on by the allergic reaction that I was experiencing had everyone on edge. Thankfully, my mother’s quiet steadiness had brought a measure of peace to the chaos.
Morning broke with hazy skies and four bedraggled explorers emerged into the world once more. The swelling in my hand had receded enough for partial use – a good sign. After breakfast, I looked at the map to re-focus before going back on the trail. With the crazy night behind us, we were determined to see victory over this immutable wilderness. After 10 km (6 mi), we reached McGrindle Lake where the trail became impassible. Fortunately, we were able to backtrack to catch a main logging road that we’d crossed over. From there, we went east to connect with an access road leading to remote cottages and McKee’s Camp, situated midway up the hydro cut. I had intended to catch this road farther north where it tied into the hydro cut trail, but as with any remote travel, plans often change whether you want them to or not.
Travel was now steady through the dense forest, broken only by the occasional swamp or lake to the side. By noon, we had reached the tiny railway village of Laforest and travelled to a spot overlooking Edna Lake. The railway tracks could be seen from our lofty perch as we ate, snaking along the edge of the lake. Before setting off, we were met by a local from McKee’s Camp. Having spotted the 4Runner while driving by, he wanted to take a closer look. His eyes grew large as I shared our plans to push past the camp and run the hydro cut north, all the way to Highway 560. “The trail is passable, but there are two very steep hills covered with large rocks,” he said. “The ATV’s run it. Your truck might make it, but people don’t drive there.” We thanked him and pushed on north bound.
“There would be absolutely no way to turn around, to reverse the truck out, or even get out a window without aid from a hatchet or saw. We would be stuck.”
1 of 3
Jason Livingston
Relaxing at camp.
2 of 3
Jason Livingston
Taking a break along one of the trails.
3 of 3
Jason Livingston
Rocks, rocks and….more rocks.
Beyond McKee’s Camp, the terrain remained hilly and the rutted road gave way to a trail again with the view of the bright afternoon sky now limited to a ribbon above us. Shortly after, we came across two men portaging a canoe along the hydro cut. Completely surprised to see a truck in the middle of nowhere, they grinned and waved. Killian leaned out the window to give them each a high-five as we passed.
The North had not quite yet accepted our presence though. The further we travelled, the tighter the trees became until we could barely see the sun at all. It was like driving through a tunnel, green and alive. Before long, it was scraping mirrors regularly on both sides. A sudden upturn in the trail indicated that we had reached the first of the two hills we’d been dreading. I glanced over as the inclinometer pitched to near 35 degrees. At the end of the tunnel of trees, the sky could be seen like a bullet’s view from the chamber of a gun.
There was no room to pick a line or even open the doors to walk the trail. We were at the mercy of the truck’s capabilities. Motor straining in the heat, we reached the summit and drove down the other side only to find ourselves being propelled upwards for a second time. Slow, but steady, the 4Runner plodded along, overcoming obstacle after obstacle to the cheers of the kids in the back and the excited hammering of my fist on the dash as we fought back against the wilderness. Robin wore a triumphant smile, soaking in every moment. The months spent building my truck were paying off.
Like a python, the trail continued to constrict as if trying to crush the life out of a persistent nuisance. Before long, the elation we had been feeling began to waver as claustrophobia set in. Pin striping was now a constant thing and both mirrors had been snapped back against the sides of the truck, damaging one of them in the process. There was a very real possibility that we would run out of road. There would be absolutely no way to turn around, to reverse the truck out, or even get out a window without aid from a hatchet or saw. We would be stuck.
1 of 2
Jason Livingston
While challenging, the hydro cut also presented natural beauty.
2 of 2
Jason Livingston
We weren’t the only ones along the trail.
Just when it looked like we would be forced to give up and admit defeat, the trail dumped us into a huge bowl, clear-cut of large growth and criss-crossed with fresh logging roads. We had stumbled into a central hub for an active logging operation. We all sighed in relief as we surveyed the space and the sky.
With the fresh logging roads was a fresh issue. The hydro cut trail was completely gone and none of the roads spread out before us were on the maps. Taking our best guess, we chose one and moved out, enjoying the freedom of the open space after our close encounter with the forest.
Having guessed correctly, we made the top end of the hydro cut by evening. The search for a camp spot was on. We finally settled on a sandy clearing just off one of the logging roads. It offered a bug-free space with plenty of flat ground and open sky. In short order, camp was set up and the kids sat in raptured attention as my mother told wild stories of her family’s adventures as she grew up in Northern Ontario. Thanks to trips like this, the kids would have their own stories to tell.
Overcoming every obstacle that the wilderness of the hydro cut had thrown at us, we had emerged successful. It was a sensational feeling to taste victory after such hardship and challenge. The bypass we had used, combined with the new logging roads, had sped us to the end of the hydro cut in only two days. We still had two more before being expected to meet up with my wife in Sudbury. As the evening light faded and thoughts drifted towards sleep and dreams of wild adventures, a plan was already beginning to form in my mind.