Camping in Rugged Northern Ontario isn’t a Cup of Tea

Now that the warm weather is upon us, large numbers of people will again take to hiking and camping in the forests across Ontario. Many will choose Provincial Parks which offer everything from rugged wilderness to neatly kept camping lots equipped with running water and electricity.

However some years ago I was enthused by a bit of a different idea.

The idea of really getting away from it all in Ontario's far north. I had already done a great deal of camping in some relatively remote locations but had never considered anything like what I was proposing for this upcoming adventure. This, I was confident, would be the camping trip of a lifetime, (so far) and so I started preparing...

The area chosen could only be accessed by rail. After careful consideration I decided on the Obagamiga River, 40 km's North West of Hornepayne, Ontario.

This was true wilderness. I was heading into an area where the closest human settlement was 50 km's away to the east and in all other directions the closest towns were, in some cases well over 200 km's away. I would be almost as far north as it is from Toronto to Florida.

I read every survival book I could get my hands on, purchased freeze dried food and meticulously planned out my clothing, first aid kit, waterproof matches and other essentials. I knew the going would be rough so I worked out and jogged daily. I also felt that taking a gun wouldn't be a bad idea either.

I was issued a special permit to carry a .243 calibre rifle for my trip since the C.O. new I was well trained with firearms. The conservation officer who issued the permit noted I was going into the middle of nowhere and it was common sense to have it along, just in case.  He informed me that the berry crop had not been at all good that year and recommended I keep my wits about me when cooking, as the odd Black Bear may stroll in, looking for more than a few small scraps. It should be mentioned that a good number of record sized Black Bear have come from this area. I am talking about Black Bear pretty much the same weight and size as a Grizzly Bear,...and something I had no interest in messing with.

Personally, I don't think I'd be very palatable, but to a hungry bear annoyed by the intense summer heat, I might just look like filet mignon. I must admit I certainly felt more secure with a rifle, although I had absolutely no intention of using it. I was going there to view wildlife, not to kill it.

Only one problem remained. I didn't savour going alone. I called a good friend, but his idea of a vacation was hiding out in a hotel room with his girlfriend, utilizing room service and wading in a shallow body of water called Lake Hot Tub.  I then called a friend in Thunder Bay. He said "Sure, besides you shouldn't be out there by yourself." 

I arranged to meet John in Thunder Bay and from there we would travel northeast to Hornepayne.

When we arrived in Hornepayne we boarded a train heading further into the depths of northern Ontario. Through previous arrangement, the conductor agreed to stop the train about 15 miles east of the Obagamiga River where we collected our gear. When the conductor asked when we would be returning to meet the train, and we said "two weeks. No more than that." He replied saying "Okay, but remember this train only comes by on this line once a week, so if you miss it, you're in for a long wait until the next one comes along. If you don't show up we'll start to worry."

I assured him we'd be back to meet him. The conductor wished us luck and said goodbye.  As we stood and watched the train disappear, I was suddenly aware of the overwhelming silence. John and I looked at each other as if we were expecting something to happen. Nothing did. We looked for a moose trail to follow which would lead us to our first destination - a lake where we planned to camp overnight and then set out at first light towards the river.

We located the trail, hoisted our packs onto our backs and headed south. John and I arrived at our first camp spot without any problems except that our packs were over 80 pounds each and after a long, hot walk we were ready to collapse. Even being in excellent physical condition I realized this would require some getting used to.

We slept soundly that night and were packed up and off again early. While walking along a small beach we found massive wolf tracks in the sand and just beyond those, moose tracks everywhere. As we crested the top of a very large beaver dam, we noticed the ground looked dry on the far side of it, so I assumed it would be alright to climb down to the ground and continue on our way.

This was a big mistake. When I stepped onto the muskeg it seemed secure and turned out to be fine for about 15 feet.  Then I was abruptly swallowed to my waist and started sinking slowly.  My partner yelled, I yelled, he yelled, then I yelled some more!  However, throughout all  this yelling I was still sinking and I don't mind saying I was scared.

I ripped my hatchet off my belt and threw it to John who chopped a branch from a spruce tree. While waiting for it to be pushed out to me I laid my rifle across the top of the moss to try and prevent myself sinking further. It helped, but the weight of my pack was taking me down. I felt like I was being gobbled up in a giant vat of cold, damp oatmeal. John tossed me the end of the branch and hauled me out; shaken and wet, but no worse for wear. In a few minutes we were again on our way.

For two days we hiked west toward the river, stopping now and then to check aerial photos, compass direction, and topographical maps. Despite the hordes of mosquitoes vying for a spot on our necks or hands, we were enjoying ourselves. We had seen moose, fox, owls, hawks and late one night, heard some wolves howling, so John and I were both getting what we came for.

Upon reaching the Obagamiga River late on the fourth day we were elated to find a perfect little camping spot high on the river bank with an excellent breeze and few mosquitoes. We camped for several days, resting, fishing and swimming. A nearby lake supplied us with as much pike as we could eat, so we ate pike in every conceivable way.

During our last evening there, on about the 10th day, we hiked along the river's edge looking for moose, when we came upon bear tracks, pressed into the muddy bank. We observed delicate swirls of cloudy water spinning around in the centres of the prints. Realizing that a bear had been there only seconds before, we headed back to camp. With our packs tied high in trees, pans washed and fish parts burned in the fire, we weren't concerned. But late that night we awoke to scuffling noises outside our tent. Something told me we had a bear a few yards from us.

That's when John told me he had hung wet jeans caked with fish blood, on our makeshift clothesline. Let me tell you that was the longest night of my life, but within an hour the bear departed and didn't return, though we didn't know that at the time and I didn't let go of my rifle even when I fell back to sleep. The next morning John's pants were on the ground, one leg torn almost completely off.

Over the next few days we worked our way back north along the river, sometimes wading miles at a time through the shallows because the tangled masses of brush lining each shore were impenetrable. Since we were expected back at the rail line by a certain date, we were becoming concerned with the extra time that was requiring to navigate the river. If this kept up, we wouldn't meet the train. Time was no longer on our side and to complicate matters further, the river was becoming violent in spots with rapids, fast moving water and large boulders hidden just beneath the surface. You could easily slip and break a leg which meant serious trouble when many km's from proper medical attention.

That's when it happened. John had suddenly stopped talking. When I turned to look, he was gone. My heart raced! Somewhere in this boiling, frothing torrent my friend was drowning! I moved quickly back to where I had last seen him and there he was, pinned below the surface of the water by the weight of his pack. My adrenalin surged as I grabbed his shirt and the straps of the pack and lifted him up with all my strength. He was coughing and choking uncontrollably so I directed him to a nearby rock where he leaned to catch his breath.

That afternoon we made camp. We'd both had enough for one day. The next morning with much of John's stuff still soaking wet, we headed off towards the rail line knowing we must reach it before dark since the train would pick us up tomorrow. All that day we hiked and began making better time because the river had calmed considerably. As we rounded a corner of the Obagamiga, there on the right bank was an opening in the foliage. Another moose trail.

From then on, it was relatively easy hiking and we reached the railway tracks within two hours.

When picked up the next day we met some of the people we had said goodbye to when first starting this adventure.  As we sat chatting, enjoying our first cold drink in what felt like years, a woman and her husband asked "would you do it again? John and I said "You bet.."