My Three Days in M. Night ShyamalanLand…Part Two

Zzzzz.
Bzzzzzzz…zzzzzzz.

Is there something in my ear?
Why is my face so hot? It’s boiling…like burning.
Where am I!?!?
I wake up fast, like I owe someone money…and I find myself in front of a lake, in that red muskoka chair I fell asleep in and the incredibly hot late day sun is burning, burning it’s way through my skull, it seems.
And the bugs…I am being over taken by bugs of every shape, size, colour, and velocity. Fast and stinging, slow and running into your face and then the virtually millions of hovering, annoying mosquitos of the suck-all-your-blood-while-you-are-sleeping-off-a-huge-backpack-hike variety.
Ah yes, Canadian summer.
BUT my first in Algonquin, so I reach in my track pant pocket for the Deep Woods Off…

…please don’t try to school me on the Deep Woods Off, please, I’ve had eczema my whole life, and as a result, have experienced itchy skin in a way that is biblical…
…the only things that make keep me from mass allergic pandemonium in the forest, are hydrocortisone, allergy meds and Deep Woods Off…

…so, I happily reach for my Deep Woods Off and spray myself like I am exterminating a house.

The buzzing dies down, the lake ripples in front of me, I choke a bit on the lingering effects of the Deep Woods Off and I remember that I’m at a Lodge in the middle of the Algonquin Provincial Park.

I mean…it’s everything I hoped it would be:

My family had NOWHERE close to the money needed to send me to Camp Wanakita when I was growing up, like ALL the rest of my school friends…but now, I AM LIVING CAMP WANAKITA, AS AN ADULT…with choices!! With no one telling me what to do and when to do it…and no shared bedroom with eight to ten other hygienically-varied, possibly mean, LET’S FACE IT, PROBABLY MEAN girls.
And my room…well, it’s clean but it’s rustic, y’all.
REALLY rustic.
And I love it, really…but it’s…yes…rustic.
Are you ready?

I know.
BUT I am so digging it.
Ten years ago, it would have sent me screaming…but I have begun to really appreciate novelty, you know?
And THIS is the room I would have WISHED for at Camp Wanakita, right?
It’s just big enough for me and my pack…which I promptly UNpack.
You can never quite take the VIRGO out of the girl, even in a rustic setting, and who would want to?!

The big lodge is two floors. The top floor is filled with single rooms.
My room is on the main floor with the shared bathroom and shower…something that is challenging my COVID senses…but after a bit of asking, I find out that everyone at the lodge is double vaxxed, so I breathe a little easier.
A little.
It almost seems normal.
As well as a few bedrooms, the bathrooms and the showers, on the main floor is a grand room with couches and chairs, and four long dining tables.
Kitchy art and objects cover the wall.
It looks like your Grampa’s fishing cabin on steroids.

After the hot sun/bug nap and before dinner, I sat on the porch reading a magazine on my IPAD.
Yes.
I brought my IPAD.
AND I filled it with movies and TV shows JUST in case this time went horribly awry.
Again, VIRGO.
Yes. It was in my monster back pack. I stand by my decisions.
AND one of the reasons I decided to come to this lodge, was the communal aspect of it all.
You may or may not believe this…but I am fairly shy.
I really suck at meeting new people…and with the nightly fire, the mess hall meals and no entertainment but other humans, I thought it might be good for me to try my hand at interacting in a new atmosphere.
To endeavour to get BETTER at meeting new humans, who are not in my business or world.
I may have picked a better time in history, but we work with what we have, right?

So, as I read on the porch, one of the guests came up the steps and introduced himself and asked about my trip in.
I kept it short and left out the wrong/hard right hand turn.
I would save it for a later time…a time when I wasn’t exhausted and a bit bewildered that all of this actually happened, in all of two days.
The booking, the pack, the packing, the drive and the wrong/hard right hand turn…ALL in two days.
It was a lot, people.

At dinner, we all sat at different tables…distanced.
There were six other people at the lodge, and they were all in twos, so I was seated at my own table, feeling eerily like I was back in the high school caf, pretending to read my IPAD, while I questioned my solo life choices.

The gentleman I’d talked to on the porch was calling out

He: Jennifer!! Jennifer!!!

When I looked up he was smiling at me.

Me: Oh! Me? Do you think my name is Jennifer?

He: Oh! Is it not? I’m sorry…do you want to come sit with us?

He had a lovely British accent, good timing and there was a young girl sitting across from him, who I correctly assumed was his daughter.

I gratefully picked up my cutlery and glass, and when I got up, my sweat pants stuck like glue paper to the varnish on the old wooden chair I’d been sitting on.
So, I had the choice of dropping my cutlery and saving my virtue OR holding onto my cutlery and showing the room that I had eschewed underwear.
I chose the first.
As my artfully mismatched silverwear hit the wooden floor, and I grabbed for my OLD NAVY, tie-dye sweat pants, all six people in the room, plus the two staff in the kitchen in the room stopped what they were doing to watch me grab for my dignity…which I think I managed…but barely.

Me: Wow. What’s on these chairs, huh? It’s like panty remover…

And I laughed, nervously.
Clearly not my best work…but I was tired and a bit fussed, so I gave myself a humour pass.
Apparently, so did they.
Not even a chuckle.
Huh.

After everything started moving again, I sat at the table with James and Ashley…who told me their names as I picked up what was left of my dignity, and sat down with them…names which I have promptly changed for this story.
We had a lovely dinner…though,  I felt like I was on a first date of some kind.
Not a romantic date and not because they made me feel uncomfortable…quite the opposite, actually…but meeting new people as a solo traveller can be….vulnerable…so, it was a weird first dinner date all the same…probably just on my side.
James and Ashley were at the lodge as a part of a package with a nearby horse farm that took them riding them Algonquin paths every day for about four hours.
Delightful sounding, right?
I knew there were horses allowed on the paths, because I’d walked around and through many a horse apple on my 90 minute hiking extravaganza.
That’s what it’s called right? Horse apple? Horse apple…cow pie…such dressed up names for shit. The animal shit PR person really understood the assignment, as the kids say.
Ashley told a story about one of the horses that had tussled with it’s rider, on that day’s outting.
After a beat, I told them about how my ex husband had been thrown off a horse into some bushes once, which was as terrifying then, as it was funny now, in retrospect.
I waited for a laugh…and got none.
They smiled politely…but no laugh.
What the fuck.
What if my shit doesn’t land here? What if everyone in my life is just ironically humouring me?
That prospect was too dire to think about for a long period time.

After the wonderful dinner…it was really good…and then a lovely bonfire, I felt just done it, and said my good night. I brushed my teeth and went back to my little room.
Crawling into my bed, I tested it’s springier-ness…not bad…and after ten minutes of a Denzel Washington movie, I fell hard, into a sleep that lasted the WHOLE NIGHT.

I REPEAT, A SLEEP THAT LASTED THE WHOLE NIGHT.
FOR A 52 YEAR OLD WOMAN? THAT IS A FUCKING MIRACLE.

The fact that I had to walk with a 53 litre pack on my back for 90 minutes for this situation to happen, was NOT lost on me.

The next morning, I was as excited as Christmas, so I got up early…NOT my usual jam…grabbed my Theraband and went down to the dock to stretch…because I can’t mess around with my joints, people…and with all the hiking, I had to make sure I was limber.
I walked the short road to the glass-calm lake, with mist rising off of it…and the view…the morning…the forest…the everything…it was…you guys…it was fucking magic.
I had the whole lake to myself, for a spell.

After a while, I heard the clip clop of horse feet and when I turned, I watched five beautiful, riderless horses walk up the hill to the lodge, all in a row.
It was like Lord of the Fucking Rings…I am not sure why, exactly…but that is what came to mind.

Of course, I scrambled up the short road to pet the horses, as one does…and they were sweet, and friendly, and I met every one of them, and said Hello.
To me? They are like really big dogs…and I love dogs. It is well known.
After they departed for the day, with their riders, I walked back down to the dock and spent a good hour meditating and considering my day.
I was tired but I wanted to hike.
At breakfast, when I asked Logan…the young man who had picked me up in the ATV, who was also the sous chef, water vehicle manager and tour guide, among other duties…about the hikes, he got me a map and pointed out the most clear and best groomed path.
It was 11kms to a look out.

Surely not.

Me: I’m still pretty burnt after my hike yesterday…isn’t there medium one…like, a 5 to 8km one?

He: Not really…you can go 2 to 4km on this one…and turn back…but you miss the lookout…which is sort of the whole point, right?

He shrugged his shoulders in a way 19 year old way, that meant everything and nothing.
How very dare he tell me what the point is.
But he’s right, goddamn it.
You wanna hike TO somewhere, yes? It’s more fun that way.

After the previous days fuckery, I asked him to take me through the hike a couple more times with the map, then I got ready…feeling my tired legs protesting, wondering what the fuck I was doing.
Two of the guests had already left and were taking the same path, so I would probably pass them on the way.
After I got myself ready, donning an inspirationally colourful pair of hiking socks to look down at while I navigated the path, I crossed the beautiful waterfall dam to the trail head, adjusting my lime green nylon day pack on my back, which held bug spray (of course), SPF, my puffer, my phone, my water bottle, my pack lunch from the lodge (they make a pack lunch for you every day for your travels), a small baggie with two emergency Advil, my small first aid kit, and thought AGAIN that I might be way too tired for this hike…but I continued to put one foot in front of the other…just like the song says.
I REALLY don’t like being beaten by a trail. I do NOT.

The Joyful, Wise and Grown Up Part Of Me: Sharron, you don’t have to push yourself. You can stop whenever you want.

The Not To Be Fucked With Part Of Me: No. You should go to sleep, Joyful, Wise and Grown Up…I’m about to do something.

One foot in front of the other.

It’s hot.
Again.
And because it’s before noon, the bugs are still raving from the night before, like tweakers, so I take off my head scarf, put on my hat, cover myself with MORE Deep Woods Off, and start fanning the scarf back and forth in time, over my shoulders like a horse hair fly swatter.
THIS is not my first bug rodeo.

I’m sure it’s not a surprise to any of you…but it’s a slog…mucky from the previous day’s rain, and a bit mangled from horse hooves and not well marked…so every time I turned a corner at a fork, I looked back and memorized the junction.
While I waved away bugs and stepped gingerly along the mucky path, I considered bringing little ribbons with me in the future, to mark my path if it was sketchy. And this one was…but I had my map, and the memory of Logan telling me the path over and over again.
I’m still a tad nervous about getting lost…but I think, if you are wise, you should be.
I have too many scary stories in my head about people getting turned around in the woods…and it’s not hard to imagine how, after walking paths for a few years.
The bugs continue to be terrible…and I find myself a bit miserable and tired…and after about 45 minutes, I see the couple who left before me basically running towards me.
They tell me that I am half way to the look out..god help me…but that the bugs are terrible up ahead.
They yell this as they run by, not stopping for literally a moment.
As I watch them move quickly away, I seriously consider bailing and going back to the lodge.
Well.
Sharron.
What are you gonna do?
Well, I have NEVER been beaten by a path…I keep saying it…but it’s true.
I am nothing if not competitive.
AND I came here to hike, goddamn it!
I wipe my face and neck, put on more bug spray, and put one ear bud in, pick some Chaka Kahn…and start REALLY going for it.

Along the way I get a bunch of scrapes from wild rose bushes, I almost lose a shoe in a mud bog, I slip on horse shit…and drink so much water that I have to pee so badly at one point, that I squat near the outside of the path to do my business, in order to not get poison ivy or ticks near or against my lady bits, risking the eyes of strangers…who, thankfully, never show because who is nuts enough to be out in this heat? Besides me?
After 45 more minutes, I begin to wonder if there is an end or if this is my purgatory…I come up a big hill and see this near the top:

Wait, I know those guys..
We met this morning.
And I hear…

He: Jennifer!! IS THAT YOU!?!?!

While my jokes may not be landing…this dude’s sure are.
I laugh out loud. Like for reals.

Me: BARELY!!!

I come over a little rise and see James, Ashley and their trail guide, Grace.
And the view…the view…it was totally worth the bog and the journey.

I know my face is beat red from the heat and exertion…and my shirt is stuck to me like Saran Wrap…and I must look so done in, that James offers me a rock to sit on…then decides I need shade more…but in true NEW Sharron fashion, I pick my own rock and shade.
Badass.
I sit and ponder the view…and hear my phone start to bing.
My head shoots towards the horse riding party and James says,

He: Oh yes. There’s reception. Three bloody bars, even.

He doesn’t actually say bloody, but it seemed implied.

I Facetime Ari and Patricia. To let them know I am alive. And show them the view.

When the group leaves, I stay.
I drink the juice box from my packed lunch and eat the cereal bar as I quietly enjoy the view…and the breeze…and the lack of bugs…and the euphoria of having made it.

I know how trite this will sound…but it’s the honest truth…it was totally worth the walk.

The first half of most hikes are hard, I find…for me anyhow.
While I walk, jump, climb, hang on for dear life, sink, splash, flip and lean, I am fighting a lifetime of demons that tell me that hiking is not for me…that I don’t have the strength (I really do), the stamina (I have this, too), the skin (hydrocortisone, allergy meds and Deep Woods Off), the size (I am me) or the upbringing (fuck that) to hike…whatever that means…and I kindly remind myself over and over, that I’m already a hiker.
I have nothing to prove.
It’s not as much of an inner struggle as when I started…but on tired days, or particularly hard hikes, it’s there.

But what happens on every hike…EVERY HIKE…after I reach the middle, or the first destination, or the halfway mark, and have my snack…I always have a snack… my body lightens, my feet are so sure, and I am in it to win it.
I have crested the hump of my own making.
And suddenly, I’m 100% happy.
No hyperbole. That is one of the reasons I like hiking so much.
And this day is no different.
After I pack back up, and stow my garbage, pull my day pack back on, and start the walk back…I am on fire.
The bugs are gone.
The sun is lower.
There is a breeze…and I put on my music…in one ear…I am bear aware, after all…and I stride…I jump…I balance…I duck…and I move onward.

When I reach the end…after taking one wrong turn and back tracking a bit…I come up the hill towards the lodge, sweating to the bone…I see James, Ashley and Grace grooming their horses and they look shocked.
James says,

He: My god, did you run? How did you get back so fast.

Me: What? No. I was moving fast…because I saw some bear scat and started to belt out Lady Gaga for the last 30 minutes to scare them away..but no, I did not run.

Ashley chimed in

She: WOW. We were cantering almost the whole way and just got back…how did you do that? 

Me: Well, I have no idea.

And I don’t.
I assumed THEY took a wrong turn…but I followed their tracks almost the whole way, except for when I had to back track.
THAT is part of the magic of the second half of the hike, and who am I to question it, really?

I changed into my swimsuit as fast as my sticky body would let me, made my way back down to the lake, and dove in.
Heaven.
Fucking heaven.
I swam to the middle…the VERY middle of the lake, where the water was warm on top and freezing on the bottom and floated on my back for what seemed like hours.
100% happy.

Later that night, as we sat around and chatted after another wonderful dinner, together almost like normal, but still far apart, Ashley, who is 12 years old, asked me if I was scared to swim that far into the lake and…and…

She: …Aren’t you afraid to be out there on your own, Sharron? In the forest?

I really thought about it before I answered, because I didn’t want to bullshit her.

Me: The water is safe…it’s just a lake…there are fish and bugs and reeds and such…but they are harmless and I’m a good swimmer AND there is NOTHING like swimming in a lake. And the forest? Well, I used to be afraid, when I started hiking..but I’m not anymore…I have a real respect for the forest, because it can be dangerous…but I’m not afraid, no…not anymore. I really like an adventure…the second half of the adventure is the best, though.

Ashley looked like that was good enough for her.
She looked at her dad and smiled.
It was the smile of a girl who also liked adventure, meeting a woman who should be someone’s Mom, Aunt, or heaven help us, someone’s Grandmother…who dug doing things on her own.
At least that is what I saw on my side. I don’t want to really speak for her.

The second half IS indeed the best, I am finding, in a lot of things.
Not to put too fine of a point on it, but the greatest example of this theory for me is displayed in my life.
My life has been interesting up until now, but in many ways, I was surviving and not thriving.
Now? Thriving is my goal and my destination…my look out.
Always.

Soon after, I said good night to everyone, and went to my tiny room…and thought about the Maya Angelou quote from an interview with Bill Moyers that I’ve been meditating on for a few weeks…I read it first in Brene Brown’s BRAVING THE WILDERNESS…

MAYA ANGELOU: You only are free when you realize you belong no place — you belong every place — no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great…
BILL MOYERS: Do you belong anywhere?
MAYA ANGELOU: I haven’t yet.
BILL MOYERS: Do you belong to anyone?
MAYA ANGELOU: More and more… I belong to myself. I’m very proud of that. I am very concerned about how I look at Maya. I like Maya very much

And in the darkness of that little room, I whispered to myself…

Me: To me. I belong to me.

And I smiled. To myself. In the dark.

That is the end of PART TWO.
WOW. THIS IS A LOT LONGER THEN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE.
Thanks for reading along.
There is one more part, I think. The next day…was heaven, again.

Namaste.

August 21st, 2021 – S.M.
Muskoka, ON

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