PARKING SPOTS: A Wilderness Conversation
By Avi Sirlin
Aaahh, now this is the life. We’re so lucky.
Lucky?
Well, we’re fortunate. From Toronto there aren’t a lot of places like this where you can easily go and really get away from it all.
We’re not away from it all, far as I can tell. Isn’t that a campfire over there, right across the lake? And down there, to the right, on that island?
Okay, we can see a couple of other campsites on an otherwise empty lake. But that’s nothing. It’s nine at night, the stars are about to come out and there’s not a sound other than the wind in the trees. In the city, there’s no place you can go where you get this much space, this much peace. And that’s the entire point: here in Algonquin’s interior, we’ve got all this serenity. I mean, look around you. What do you see?
Trees and Water?
Trees? No, man. Did you look around today while we were paddling in? You’ve got forest. Trees bursting with green buds. And the lake? It’s so big it takes a half-day to paddle but it’s small enough that once you start to know it’s shoreline, its rocks, its islands, there’s this intimacy.
Look, I’m not a total dick. I admit, the lake is stunning.
And tell me that’s it’s not one of the greatest ever secrets in southern Ontario, that there are these completely private sandy beaches at Algonquin Park camp sites like this. All ours, all day long.
Agreed. From mid-August to late-August. That’s ‘cause in May it’s still too cold for swimming. June you’ve got black flies. July is mosquitoes. Early August, there’s Germans, Americans and those noisy Dutch tourists. September and October, it’s too cold. November to April you’ve got ice.
It is what you make of it. I mean, look what we’ve got right now, sitting lakeside in the middle of May on a cool evening perfect for sleeping. Just listen to the waves lapping, feel the sand beneath our shoes, look out at the pristine lake ---
Pristine? The ranger warned us not to drink the water without boiling it!
Yeah, so there’s a little beaver or moose shit in the water. On these big lakes, it’s not an issue.
Not an issue unless we learn in a month or two there’s a powerful stench from our lower intestines that makes us social outcasts.
Okay, so we exercise a little caution about the water. It’s a small price to pay for what we get in exchange: magical wind ripples on the water, big sky where you can follow the arc of the sun, moon and stars, those loons over there disappearing with a dive then reappearing twenty meters away.
I notice you didn’t mention powerboats.
No, I didn’t. What’s your point?
The point is you’re making it out to be some natural nirvana but it’s the start of trout season and there were motorboats on the lake when we came in today.
Less than ten horsepower, that’s the rule.
Do five and ten horse motors not go ‘putt-putt’ for hours on end? Do they not spew exhaust or motor oil into the environment? Give me a choice between motor oil in a ‘natural’ lake and chlorine in a man-made pool, I’ll take chlorine, thank you.
You can still drink the water.
(Like I have some fricking choice.)
What’d you say?
Nothing.
Okay, forget it. Hey, you got some toilet paper?
Now? You’re going to the crapper now!?
Why not? It’s as good a time as any. I like it there. It’s comfortable, y’know? Just me and the woods.
Without light, you can’t see what’s out there at this hour. And there’s chipmunks and other critters running around. Plus, this time of year, without the leaves on the trees, you’re all out in the open, exposed.
Sounds like bliss to me. See you in a few minutes.
This walk is perfect. Everything is wide open at this time of year. The sun pours through and you see the shape of the land, the bare bones just starting to flesh out. Brilliant.
I’ll tell you what’s brilliant: Tim Horton’s. Crullers. Apple fritters. Sour cream glaze.
Look at all these old fallen leaves; nobody packing them into Home Depot yard waste bags like they’re some kind of blight. Just a natural decay, and we’ve got all these green shoots coming up everywhere bringing new life. A perfect balance.
From a distance, those old pale leaves kind of look like potato chips. And the green shoots? Chives. Mmmm, chips and dip. How lovely would that be? But chips get crushed and dip’s got to be refrigerated.
We can bring a crush-proof container of chips next time. And maybe we can get a dehydrated dip.
Exactly my fucking point!
It is?
Yeah, there’s so much that’s got to be meticulously planned on canoe camping trips. Where’s the convenience? Where’s the decadence? That’s what’s missing here.
You really feel that way?
A bit. I mean, there’s all this great stuff. But even that takes planning and a lot of time. The drive, the paddling, setting up camp, starting a fire with all that wet wood. See what I mean? Meanwhile with the logging and fishing and other campers you end up seeing, it’s not exactly unspoiled.
It boils down to the fact that this is what we’ve got. If we don’t use it, then some day, some dickhead at Queen’s Park is going to say, ‘Hey, why are we setting aside all that land when we’ve got people who want to build cottages, companies looking for timber or minerals, hunters looking for game.’ And they start selling it off piece by piece till one day, it’s no more than High Park.
I like High Park.
I like it too. But you don’t get this in High Park:
No, no you don’t. But at least you can get an ice cream there. And I wish I had an ice cream right now. I’d give up a lot for an ice cream right now.