Camp

There is a subtle and pleasant odor when the door to camp swings open. After months of being unoccupied it takes on a fragrance that's hard to describe: perhaps a blend of spruce and fir resins mingled with raw wood. Whatever it is, it is uniquely northern and a special delight after a long day on the road.

Our camp sits on a rise above the Michipicoten River, a once great voyageur route connecting a trading post on Lake Superior with another on Hudson Bay and numerous outposts beyond. The route is now interrupted by a series of hydroelectric dams. Locally there is one upstream and two down from camp. Their presence contributes to Ontario’s clean energy portfolio and creates an eight mile reservoir littered with the remains of forest once occupying the site. Deep channels mark the original flow of the river while shallow flats filled with stumps and forest remnants offer prime habitat for an array of gamefish. The same dams have interrupted spawning runs of salmon from the big lake, and constant water fluctuations courtesy of Ontario Hydro can influence behavior and reproduction of reservoir fish, so there are trade offs. But unlike rivers dammed in agricultural regions of the south, the great Canadian Shield and it’s forested watershed is a grand filtration system, so the river runs muskeg stained but relatively clean regardless of the volume of water carried.

Originally the camp had a 20’x 24’ footprint broken into two bedrooms and a combination kitchen and living area. We added eight feet to its length providing additional storage and a small shower area. The kitchen includes a propane cook stove, a sink with drain, some counter space and a propane refrigerator. Lighting is via propane fixtures. Water is carried in buckets from the river or collected from rainfall on the front deck. A small airtight stove provides exceptional heat and keeps us toasty warm even at -40.  The shower consists only of a stall and drain. A modified steel garden sprayer is filled with water and heated on the cook stove to the perfect temp, then pumped to provide pressurized hot water. Furnishings are comfortable and space more than adequate. There is no running water, no electricity, no internet or cell service. A portable radio picks up three stations, one broadcasting in French. All considered, time at camp is time spent simply, where smaller is better, and less is more.

About 100’ from the cabin is an eroding bluff rising some 20’ above the river and offering a grand view. With a fire pit and chairs, it's a place we've prepared many meals and enjoyed hours watching the river pass. From the bluff we've seen river otters, beavers, mink, muskrats, ruffed grouse, an assortment of waterfowl, loons, Sandhill cranes, geese, eagles, a variety of songbirds and a black bear. It is our go to place whenever we have time unoccupied.

We are at the southern edge of Canada’s great boreal forest, a 1000 km wide expanse covering 270 million hectares and extending from Labrador and Newfoundland on the east to the Yukon and Alaska on the west. It's the largest intact forest on earth, with about three million square km still undisturbed by roads or any related development. It is an enormous carbon-storing, water- and air- filtering, climate- and wildlife-essential tract of wilderness.  That reality spawns a reverence when we visit, an awareness that we are within a rare and sacred space, as close to being untouched and untainted by man as perhaps anyplace on earth. That's not to say it hasn't been logged, or mined, or regrettably stripped and dredged for its thick and toxic oil sands, but it is ill suited for agriculture, and taken as a whole has kept its character and remained largely unchanged for thousands of years.

For all it’s pristine expanse, the forest can be incredibly quiet, an eerie stillness unbroken by chirp or peep or hum, a silence that can extend for minutes on end.  A reservoir of wildlife, seemingly lifeless. But there is a confidence in knowing that life abounds. It's the land of moose and timber wolves, lynx, black bears, and pine martens, all of which we've seen, but few frequently.  Here, prime habitat extends in all directions for miles, and with dense cover virtually everywhere, opportunities for sightings are few, or so goes my reasoning.

Fishing ranks high on our list whenever we visit.  The groceries we carry in allows for meals of fish so there is a self imposed need to get on the river. In the Michipicoten, northern pike rule.  They are the disdain of most Canadians who righteously prefer walleye or speckled trout, but to wayward Hoosiers pike are most satisfactory. They look angry and behave likewise. They'll strike hard at a metal spoon repeatedly and run deep and shake relentlessly when a hook is set. Generally they fall in the two foot category, small by pike standards, but at three to five pounds, each fish provides two meals. The meat is white and flakey and makes delectable table fare.

There are thousands of camps across Canada. On our section of river there are six in the eight-mile stretch between dams, but seldom is more than one occupied at a time. The result is we rarely see another person on the river.  Yet, we have developed fine friendships with fellow camp owners of the region. They are an attentive group, quick to notice when our gate is open, so visitors are expected and always welcomed.  Getting local news and a foreign perspective on US politics makes for engrossing conversation, and camp owners are of kindred spirit. We make time to spend on the great Canadian Shield, breathing in its conifers, reveling in its stillness, embracing the simple, so we have inherent common interests and enjoy each other's company.

There is a misled sense of independence and self sufficiency in the north. Willingly deprived of many modern conveniences and enraptured by the lure of the land we might be tempted to think we could prolong our stay indefinitely, supporting ourselves with grit and woods lore and a determined spirit. But the truth is we rely on crucial ties to the outside for groceries, gasoline, propane, chain saws, and essential hardware. Remote locations require more energy intensive transportation than does city life, so for the sake of the planet perhaps we should stay home.

But we all need a spiritual reboot on occasion, a chance to review our goals and priorities, to consider the world and our place in it, to refocus and refresh. At our camp on the Michipicoten River, living simply amid the deafening stillness of the largest uninterrupted forest on the planet, we find we can do just that.

A modest shack
In the woods, deep,
With a river running through
And memories to keep.

We are outsiders,
Transient visitors at best,
There to embrace the ancient land
And in its solitude, rest.