My Three Days in M. Night ShyamalanLand – Part One

Last Tuesday, all of a sudden, I found myself with 7 days off in a row…in the glorious, humid, weird, almost normal but definitely NOT normal dog days of summer 2021.
The two projects I’m on moved my work days for this week to another week altogether…moved both of them…and I found myself with some unexpected free time
In the olden days…not before-the-pandemic olden days, but before-I-was-single-again olden days…

SIDEBAR: That’s still so weird to say…single…it sounds like I’m a character not unlike Mary Richards from the Mary Tyler Moore Show.
Single.
Single again. Stylishly solo. By choice.
Well, maybe not by choice, at the time…but eventually, and not without a lot of work, BY happy and relieved.
AND come to think of it…I LOVE THAT.
I LOVE MAYBE BEING LIKE MARY RICHARDS…who Mary Tyler Moore played on the Mary Tyler Moore Show.
To be clear, The Mary Tyler Moore Show was the title, but she played a character named, Mary Richards, which is kinda confusing now that I think about it.
Either way, Mary Richards was fucking awesome.
Well fuck, I’m totally like Mary Richards!! Surprise, Sharron!!
She was the OG single career gal, who shucked the convention of the time.
She loved and embraced her solo life…she was…dare I say it? Ecstatically Alone.
With Cloris Leachman, playing a character named Phylis, as a landlord.
Cloris Leachman, who once told me, while backstage at Showboat, that Mary Tyler Moore used to make sure she got all the best lighting.
(Weeping emoji)
Well, it WAS called the MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW.
END of Sidebar.

…but in the olden days, the before-I-was-single-again olden days, if any free time suddenly came up in the summer, there was no one in my life who was really interested in hiking, biking or any kind of adventuring, really, that would probably end with dirty socks, legs, possibly face and definitely sweaty pits.
So, back then, I would not venture much farther than the excitement of a beach…which I STILL love, don’t get me wrong.
But a REAL honest to god adventure, like the ones I dreamed about when I was little…well, there was just no way…and, for some reason, I didn’t even REALLY try to go, even by myself.
Which I hate in retrospect and am trying to fix and/or amend in now-tropspect.

So, there I was, last Tuesday, sitting on the couch in my still new-to-me home in the city, with some time to fill.
A solo gal…a Mary-Richards-after-the-fact…with a desire to do something radical, because life is short, humans.
It’s a strange new concept that was clear and not new in my creative life, but was not clear and IS new in my life life:

NO one is gonna make the decision to do something awesome FOR me, BUT me.
YOU gotta do the deciding, Sharron.

I opened up Air B and B on my IPAD…and in the search feature, I finally typed in:

ALGONQUIN.

I lifted my fingers off the little keyboard, the same one I am typing on now, and my stomach tingled.
Well, that seemed like as good a place to start as any.
I’ve been trying to get there for years. Yeah, I’ve never been.
Way back in the olden, olden days, I actually got my sister interested in going with me, for two years running, but the first summer we booked a site, I got cast in The Music Man movie for Disney and had to cancel.
Two years later, we booked a site and I got Hairspray: the Movie, and had to cancel …again.
My sister hypothesized that if I wanted to end up in a really cool movie musical, all I had to do was book a camp site.
As happy as I was for the work, for the very cool and interesting work, I was a bit devastated that I wasn’t getting my adventure.
Like really bummed…much the chagrin of my agent.

As I sat in my condo years later, with the city skyline fading into the actual sunset, I scrolled through Air B and B offerings for Algonquin.
There were A LOT of cottages for $1700/a night.
Rooms inside people’s houses…which has never been something I fancy.
Then I saw

ALGONQUIN LODGE IN THE HEART OF ALGONQUIN PARK.

What now?
I clicked it, and read the description.

The lodge is a communal experience, with COVID protocols in place, it offers canoes, paddle boats, a private lake to use and swim on, hiking trails galore, horseback riding and guided hikes if interested, all meals included…in a rustic, camp-style setting…powered by a waterfall.

I read it again…and then at the end saw something my over excited eyes missed the first time.
You have to hike in and out…about 2.3km…which means you had to carry whatever you needed for your stay, on your back.
I tucked my hands under my ass, to get them as far from the BOOK IT button as possible.

ME: Okay, Sharron, while it sounds awesome, you don’t have a pack that size, and though you hike a lot, you’ve never hiked any stretch with that much weight on your back.
Though you’ve started to train for such a reality, are you ready for this?

The description said it was a 20-25 minute hike…but I know that estimation is in wilderness person minutes…just like when someone who hikes big trails all the time tells you a path is “not too hilly”…you KNOW it’s hilly, and be prepared to have to take a sit every once in a while.

Then another part of me, a way NEWER part of me…you know what? Let me put that ANOTHER way…a recently uncovered and newly practiced part of me said

The Joyful, Wise and Grown Up Part Of Me: Sharron, you can go as slow as you fucking want. You can take an hour to get there, if you want to go. You don’t have to go at anyone else’s speed. Go. Just fucking go. Life is weird…you may never have the chance again.

I know that sounds fatalist but ever since COVID, and before even THAT, ever since I decided to skip the last Prince concert that rolled through Toronto, and then he passed away, I am a bit more LIFE IS SHORT than I was before. Which is a good thing, in my books.

I put three nights into the search bar.
That sounded doable, right? If I was going to hike in, I better make the trip worth it…or at least give myself a couple days to get over the hike in, before I had to hike out.
The cost was calculated, the days were clear for me to book, and then the BOOK IT button loomed in front of me like an alive thing.
Just do it. Fucking do it.

Me: What if you get half way there and have to turn back…which you would never do, Sharron, because defeat-by-trail has never been an option.
Do it.
You know you want to.

Click.
Booked.

Holy fuck.
It was then that I went to the website, something I really should have done before I got all fucking excited and football-coach-self-motivated about booking, and read the description on the site…which added these words:

Since we are so far in the Algonquin Park forest that there are no phone lines, no internet service, and even cell phones don’t work you are guaranteed that “work” can’t get hold of you.

I mean.
Then I started to laugh. To laugh and laugh…it was kind of a maniacal thing, to be honest…but it was laughter all the same.
No one loves their phone more than me. You many THINK you love your phone…but I LOOOOOVVVVEEEEE my phone. I love being connected. LOVVVVVVVVEEEE.
I FaceTimed my friend Patricia, ON MY BELOVED PHONE, who told me this sounded like an EXCELLENT IDEA. EXCELLENT.
I FaceTimed my friend Ari, who looked a bit more sceptical, and then agreed with Patricia that this sounded like an interesting, if not totally excellent idea.

He: Oooh, you know our friend who met their future husband on a tour of the Nile? Maybe this will be like that!?

Me: I don’t want to find a husband. I don’t want to find anyone, really. I want to adventure, ARI!

He: Okay, you do you, Boo. But you never know…keep your options open, right? Sounds interesting. DO it!! Do it. Just do it. Also, when you write about it…you have to call it “My Three Days in M. Night ShyamalanLand”

Me: Well…that’s a good title.

I got up first thing the next morning, and went to the mothership, the place I could spend hours, and MUCH money on pursuits that are way outside of anything I ever want to do…like rock climbing….the MEC on Queen Street…to buy ANOTHER pack to add to my collection…but this pack, would be special.
A preoccupied gentleman named Philip, who looked at me and seemed doubtful of my outdoor intentions from the cute outfit I was wearing but I might have been projecting, asked me how he could help me.

Me: I am going into Algonquin for four days, three nights, BUT not to sleep in a tent…but to stay at a lodge that I have to hike into. (Pauses to really let it sink in on both sides of the conversation) Though I hike a lot, I haven’t ever carried a big pack…this will be my first big pack…and I am a bit nervous…and excited…and nervous. And I am a big girl, obviously, and I want it to fit like a glove…and not be a man’s pack…Can you help me, Philip?

Philip, the MEC pack expert looked me up and down like an object, not of desire but of measurements, and proclaimed

He: I have the perfect pack for you. Follow me.

Philip found a pack, removed it from the pack wall, and took me through the entire thing like he was selling me a Lamborghini.
He pointed out and told me about each compartment, each tie, each clasp, each hook, each toggle, the rain cover, and then? He put it on me, over my cute outfit, and showed me how to affix it to my form.
It fit like a fucking glove, filled with the weights he’d added to it, so I would know what it felt like full.
And I felt like I did the first time I pushed away from the beach on my kayak, just a week before.
Excited. Exhilarated. I almost cried.
Adventure is mine. MINE!!!
If I could have worn it out of the store…oh wait, I DID!!!
Filled with some new hiking socks and a $29 metal fork/spoon that I bought in the impulse section while waiting to cash out.
Girl.
But are you really at MEC if you don’t buy something expensive that you can probably get from your own home? Or Shoppers?

As I left, Philip told me he expected a full report about the lodge and the experience…and meant it. I love outdoor enthusiasts. They don’t fuck around.

I went home, and instead of watching the YOUTUBE on packing for three days in a back pack, I decided to put my expert packing abilities (self proclaimed) to the test.

Me: The minimum, Sharron. Only pack the minimum. With lots of socks, underwear and bras.

So, this is what I ended up with.

And then it went in the pack like this.

 

And then I had a minor panic attack…which I have no picture of.

Who the fuck was I kidding? Yes, that book is titled Radical Acceptance. So…

The Joyful, Wise and Grown Up Part Of Me: You can do this, Sharron.
You can do this.
You aren’t hiking the Camino…yet.
It’s a 20-25, possibly 45 minute with stops, hike. You can do this. There is no rush. You have nothing to prove. It may not be fun but it will be…informational.

The next morning, I hauled my pack down to my car, wrestled it in the back seat and went on my mostly merry and slightly trepidation filled way.
I have to say here, finding the physical balance (as well as the spiritual balance) of the pack on your back is something of a thing…but the pack is good…it’s good on me, if heavy and a bit awkward, at the start.
As I drove closer and closer to my destination, I fretted more and more about the hike in.

It was VERY hot.
VERY.

And it would be buggy, I’m sure.
And when I finally arrived at the parking lot, about 30 minutes after I lost service on my phone, I drove by a sign that pronounced, ECO LODGE, with an arrow pointing down a dirt road. An open dirt road, not in the shade.
FUCCCCK.
There was a shed where you could stow your luggage and for $10, they would come and get it, and haul it up…but that was not an option for me…the pack was all part of the journey.
I wanted to carry it…I just wanted it NOT to be hell.
AND I didn’t know if that equation existed, really.

The sign on the shed mentioned the hike, and at the end, it stated that the lodge was at the TOP OF THE HILL.
Of course, of course it was.

I got out of the car, covered myself in SPF and then, after getting back in and sitting back in my car for ten more minutes to let it dry a bit in the air conditioning, I took a breath and said, “JUST DO IT, MATTHEWS” out loud.
I got out again, covered myself in bug spray, and I pulled on my pack, affixing it the way Philip showed me.
I took this picture:

…and when I stared back at it later, I realized that it looked like Reese Witherspoon’s pack in the movie, WILD. The other hikers in that movie called her pack THE MONSTER.
Yeah.
Okay.
Huh.

Also, when I took this picture, I looked at it quickly, due to bugs, and thought, in passing, that it looked like one of those pictures that the news puts up and says, “This is the last picture taken of her…she’s never been found…”

I walked gingerly to the sign, figured out my balance, turned right, and started walking.
Slow but sure…but walking still.
20 minutes.
25 minutes.
30 minutes.
35 minutes.

It was around this time that I started to doubt the sign I turned right at.
This was also around the time I started to REALLY feel hot, buggy and uncomfortable with my new pack.
I’d timed how long I’d been hiking, because that is something I ALWAYS I do, as a part of a little hiking memory cocktail, make sure I’m aware of my surroundings, the time and the distance I’ve travelled, just in case I get lost.
Which I have done, let’s just be honest, here.
This seemed pretty straight forward walk, follow the signs, follow the arrows.
After the first 35 minutes had passed, I walked by a WELCOME TO ALGONQUIN PARK sign and was, yes, following a number of arrows, but not one further sign pronounced the Eco Lodge This Way.
I gave myself 45 minutes.
AT the 45 minute mark, I stopped, pulled the phone out of my hiking pants side pocket (don’t buy hiking pants without them, human) and it blessedly seemed I had reception, something I had not had for most of the walk.
So, I called the number on the Lodge’s website.

Me: Yeah, this is Sharron Matthews. I am booked to arrive today. I have been hiking for 45 minutes, and I am pretty sure that I have gone the wrong way…which seems weird, because I followed your sign.

He: THIS is impossible. Did you park by the shed?

Me: Yes. But…

He: (cuts me off) Well, there is no way you could be lost…but you must be because you have reception.

Me: It is totally possible…because it seems like I am.

He: It says on the shed to follow the road…

Me: …to the sign…I read it.

He: Well, this is impossible.

I tell him about the sign and the arrows and the Meat Shoppe I’d passed (that was the name of it…straight and to the point…I love the country) as he kept stating incredulously that he could not believe I got lost. THIS is the moment I start to get angry…and feel bug juice/SPF sweat run into my eyes and down my arms, as mosquitoes hum around my face.

Me: WELL, HERE WE ARE. BUT WHERE AM I, is the question. I am lost. UG. I am lost.

He: Well, hmmm….I think you should turn around and head back to your car…and then read the sign again…

I bluster in sounds, not words…

He: And then go up the road right beside the sign…it’s about twenty minutes up the road.

Me: You know I’ve gone about 45 minutes. So, I have to go 45 minutes BACK. And I am wearing a 53 litre pack…in this heat…and then I have to hike 20, well, let’s be honest, 25 to 35 more minutes…up? Well, I will do my best.

And because I can think of nothing else to say in my boiling brain…I pretend that I’ve lost my connection and hang up.
I should not have…I should have continued the conversation…but I was very tired and quite frustrated.
Did I read the sign wrong?…no, no, it pointed to the right.
THIS IS THE FUCKING SIGN!! I TOOK A PICTURE OF IT AT THE BEGINNING, FOR FUN POSTERITY…and it ended up being evidence!!

Why wouldn’t I follow that?

Did I read the shed wrong, in my excitement to get started?
Possibly. Possibly.
Then I get mad at myself, hands flapping madly around my face to rid myself for a couple seconds of the bloodthirsty bugs, AND I just stop…and breathe…then I tell myself to calm down.

The Joyful, Wise and Grown Up Part Of Me: Okay, Sharron. Let’s count our wins here, before you wreck your first dream adventure.
Remember when I was afraid that I would not be able to hike with the pack for 20 minutes?
Well, at least I know I can do that. Right?
Breathe.
You can do this.

So, I turn around and start walking because what else can you do? Move forward.

As I walk, and feel the pack, the heat and the situation in general, I begin to controllably ramp up to level fourty two angry on a scale of one to ten. And the newly unearthed and practiced part blissfully emerges again to tell remind me to find the humour, find the peace, find the love, or at the VERY FUCKING LEAST MY DETERMINATION, in this shit show walk.

The Joyful, Wise and Grown Up Part Of Me: You really like and look forward to hiking, right?…so hike, girl. Hike. Try to stay positive. And take breaks. You will get there. You can even stop at your fucking car, take off the pack for a while and sit in the AIRCON and get your shit together, before you start again, right?

Okay.
Okay. O-fucking-Kay.
Though, I was afraid that if I took the pack off, it would be like taking off a pair of high heels, after the first act and not being able to shove your feel back in for the second.
And I was also afraid that once I was in my car, that I would lock the door, start it up and drive to the Algonquin Hilton…there must be one of those, right?

I walk for about 30 minutes, and I’ve now been wearing and walking in this pack for 90 minutes…and in the distance I see dirt being kicked up on the rocky logging road I am presently trudging down, and hear the buzzing of a motor.
As it gets closer, my instincts tell me that this is for me.
My mind races, and roll back my phone conversation, realizing, that I gave the person on the phone enough information to let them know where I was.
As the ATV gets closer…yes, it’s an ATV…I pretend not to see it.
I don’t really know why I do this…but I do.
Then, as it gets closest, I move to get out of it’s way…and slip into a ditch.
I repeat, I slip into a ditch.
Which just…it just…I just start laughing…because I don’t actually fall, but I go over on my ankle…not fatally…but just enough that I probably look like a proper mess of a 52 year old woman.
Which makes me laugh.
The driver, who is wearing a helmet that covers his features, yells out

He: Are you Sharron? Are you okay?

Me (from between fits of laughter): Yes…yes, I am both. Who are you?

He: They sent me for you. Put your pack in the back…we are going on a ride…which is actually kind of cool. Do you need some water?…I brought you some water…they told me you sounded…stressed.

Me: (Laughs and laughs as I struggle to remove pack and throw it in the back) I have my own water…oh my god…I think I have never been happier to see anyone in my life. I don’t even care if you are a murderer, driving me to my death.

Which makes him guffaw.
When I get closer, I estimate he is around 19, so it’s a laughter without borders, if you know what I mean.

And I jump in the ATV, put on the offered helmet…and strap myself in…and OUT LOUD thank the sweet baby jesus.
He tells me along the way how relieved he was that I wasn’t furious…and further admits that someone moved the sign and it was pointing the wrong way…and apologizes profusely.
I feel gratified that it wasn’t bad judgement on my part, and really? I don’t even care anymore, now that I am in the fucking ATV.
He compliments me on my pack and tells me how impressed he is that I hiked that far in the heat and still have my good humour.

He: I actually take people along that path all the time, and it’s a hard hike.

I just laugh again.
Because WHAT the fuck are you going to do? Be mad at something that already happened and cannot be changed? And wreck your dream adventure?
No.
Fuck that.
And I don’t actually feel mad anymore. I feel. I feel. Happy. I just do. No questions asked.

The drive IS awesome.
The air blows across my face and, let’s be honest, it’s a vroom-vroom fun ATV situation.
The view is amazing.
The forest is gorgeous.
AND?! It’s ALL UPHILL.

BIG wins sometimes hide as loses, right?
Perception is everything.

When the lodge comes into view…my stomach tingles, again.

My pal Mickey and I, while floating on water floaties (mine a flamingo and his an ice cream sandwich) on Crowe Lake about a month ago, mused how we wished we could go to a camp for adults…with swimming, canoeing, hiking, camp fires, and all the fixings…but did those exist in Canada? Did they?
It turns out they do…and this was EXACTLY that.

End of Part One…because this is way too long already…this is a picture of me when I got there…I promptly fell asleep in this chair 10 minutes after I took this.

Namaste, Bunnies and Kitties.
August 22nd, 2021- S.M
Muskoka, ON.

 

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