Jason Livingston
Words by Jason Livingston
Famous hunter and conservationist, Steven Rinella, once proposed the notion of varying grades of fun. The lowest grade of fun comes from experiences like roller coasters where there is no sacrifice, just instant gratification. These moments are awash with excitement that fades afterward, vanishing from memory. The highest grade of fun is found in experiences plagued by challenge and hardship, the kind that makes you say “I will never do that again in my life!” After the fact, the experience sticks with you like a bowl of Grandma’s oatmeal, and you are left with an insatiable longing to have yet another go at it.
After two days of solo exploration along a hydro cut north of Sudbury, we had experienced that high grade fun. Now, encamped at the north end of the cut, my two kids slept and my mother was turning in for the night. I sat and contemplated what to do with the remaining two days left to us after completing our journey ahead of schedule. The next morning, breakfast was on and the sky was bright. I then explained my idea for a double-or-nothing addition to our trip.
Last year, I had taken my father on an expedition to reach the abandoned Jerome Mine. We had spent the first two days of that journey tracking along a hydro cut to the east of the one we’d just completed. My plan was to run that route south instead of taking the highways back to Sudbury. We had enough food and a short detour west to the Watershed Truck Stop would see us refueled. While there, we would make use of their cell reception to communicate the change of plans back to my wife. Since the route was previously plotted using Gaia GPS software and uploaded to my account’s online map, she would have all the new trip details.
Jason Livingston
The inky black water crossing was the most challenging part of the trip.
All in agreement, we packed up and headed out. Shortly after 11:00am, we were back on the logging roads, tires aired down to ease the bumps and prevent the washboard ripples from scrambling our brains. The road twisted and writhed along creating blind corners everywhere. The passage of large logging trucks was accompanied by storms of dust that could knock visibility down to 50 feet or less. We trailed one such dust cloud, using its consistency to match pace and prevent a sudden run-in with the rig ahead.
Around noon, we stumbled upon an amazing lake with clear water and a smooth, sandy bottom. Making full use of the discovery, we waded in to cool off before sitting down to a picnic lunch. It’s these unscripted moments that make overlanding so fulfilling.
Moving on, we began to encounter washouts caused by the year’s rough weather. Those who travel the logging roads often highlight dangerous washouts or hidden holes using saplings and sticks adorned with flagging tape. Paying attention to these markers can save a wheel or even a vehicle.
Still riding the wave of confidence from our earlier northbound run, spirits were high. It was sunny and there was much to see. Our path criss-crossed the hydro cut, providing views of open country adorned with ferns and rock outcroppings.
Jason Livingston
Checking the depth of the large water crossing.
By mid-afternoon, we came upon the site of an unfinished culvert installation. We had been forced to go around this obstacle the previous year, but the bypass had since succumbed to nature. A year’s worth of water running through the culvert had submerged it, leaving a deep, truck-swallowing hole under the water’s surface. Some ambitious individuals had cut down brush along the edges of the hole to create a makeshift floating bridge over the swampy ground. From the size of the construction, it was clear that they had been riding ATV's.
Everyone piled out to take a look and my mother and I discussed our options. If we turned back and took the highway route, we wouldn’t be able to reach Sudbury on schedule. If we attempted to drive the obstacle and got stuck or slid into the hole, we could be walking. After careful consideration of the risks, we decided to go for it.
I tossed a large rock into the wet mud and watched it instantly disappear – not a good sign. For the next half hour, I tossed rocks and used my pull saw to cut brush to lay down. The 4Runner was a far cry from the weight of an ATV. My goal was to get far enough around the obstacle to have a straight shot at a recovery while not slipping into the hole.
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Jason Livingston
Obstacles such as these were becoming the norm.
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Jason Livingston
Obstacles such as these were becoming the norm.
From the far side, the kids grew silent as I eased the truck onto the makeshift bridge. I could hear branches breaking under the weight, but they were holding. Rounding the bend, the rear wheels broke through, sinking into the soft mud and towards the hole. I hammered the pedal hard and, in a storm of flying debris, the 4Runner launched out of the mire to land on solid ground.
Relieved, everyone strapped back in and went to nearby Trailer Lake to retire for the day. Having been there before, I knew it wouldn’t disappoint. The lake was warm as we bobbed around with pool noodles before my daughter, Evaine, set up camp for the evening meal.
The sun began to set and the sky was awash with colour. Tomorrow would bring a new day and mark the end of this adventure. The remainder of our travels would be on the hydro cut access trail, and while more technical than the logging roads we had left behind, I was confident. The only challenging obstacle left would be a deep water crossing near journey’s end. Last year, it was just shy of three feet deep and was the reason I chose to install a snorkel before heading north this year.
Dawn greeted us with slate gray skies clouding everything in shadow and the pit-pat of rain on the tents signaled a soggy day ahead. I was determined that we would finish this journey in style. As we began to pack up after breakfast, the rain escalated from a drizzle to a full downpour. Soaked to the bone, my mind was on one thing – the water crossing.
Jason Livingston
Relaxing at camp.
Northern Ontario is covered with dense forest growth, but has a foundation of unyielding rock. It doesn’t drain well or absorb moisture. That deep water crossing would be getting deeper and we needed to get moving or we could be trapped on the wrong side.
Time was against us so we forged ahead at a steady pace, taking in the beautiful scenery from our windows as we drove. The weather had given the stunning terrain an ominous, malevolent cast. For the next two hours, we jostled and bounced over large rocks and through more puddles as we followed the trail ahead.
Finally, at the bottom of a steep hill, we came upon the water crossing. The inky black water before us gave no indication of its depth. To the side, my mother watched as I surveyed the scene. “We are going to have to walk it,” I commented. She gave me an incredulous look. The notion of wading through an unknown body of water in the rain with bugs everywhere seemed like pure lunacy.
I stripped my jeans off and waded across in my underwear. I could hear my mother laughing as I reacted to the waist deep water. Then it was her turn. Fully clothed, she crossed with some measure of dignity while holding an umbrella.
Jason Livingston
Enjoying such scenery as this made the challenges all worthwhile.
I then set up my camera gear. Whether this was to be a successful crossing or the demise of my truck, I wanted some proof of the event. Having made the return trip through the water to take my place behind the wheel, it was time to find out if that snorkel worked.
I eased the 4Runner into the water, watching as the bow wave climbed up the bumper, then the headlights, and then washed over the hood to the windshield. This was deeper than any crossing I had ever attempted, but we were fully committed. We pushed forward, our passage accompanied by the burbling sounds of the submerged exhaust and before long, we were working our way out the far side.
I quickly squirmed back into my pants (so my kids would stop giggling), then pushed forward to complete the last section of trail before hitting pavement. As we traveled, we talked about all of the challenges and adventures we had faced on this trip. In four days, we had covered more than 750 km (466 mi), over half of which had been in four-wheel drive. There had been challenging obstacles, terrifying moments, truck damage, storms and countless of relentless bugs, but each memory was highlighted by victory that would be etched in our minds forever.
Remote solo trips take a lot of work and planning. They are filled with the unexpected and often require you to be at your best when circumstances are at their worst. When you choose to go toe-to-toe with the wilderness, you will truly see who you are and what you are made of reflected in the experience.