COVID-19 has made everything more of a challenge and if you’re someone who likes to get out and explore the world, you’ve probably particularly felt the sting of a glut of travel cancelations. However, never to be deterred by a global pandemic, we adventurers simply must find new ways of trekking out and new places to explore. For me, this would come in the form of a week off where I would venture out into Ontario’s beautiful back country to reconnect with nature and get out of my 500 sqft apartment for longer than a trip to the grocery store.

For those who don’t know, Ontario opened its provincial parks to back country hiking and paddling back at the start of June. While communal facilities in standard campgrounds have the potential to be disease vectors, the beauty of the back country is that one has nothing but space and a whole lot of nature. I recently took advantage of this with a pair of trips into the woods, propelled by our good friends at Hyundai and Lincoln.

Far Together

A two-day camping trip should not be a major ordeal, however, when you give two OCD-laden planners who have been cooped up in their homes for nearly four months access to a spreadsheet and the objective of organizing a camping trip…things can get a bit out of hand. You learn a lot about a person by how they travel, and even more so by how they plan to travel. Meals were planned, tents aired out, permits obtained, and of course, wheels procured. Hyundai Canada was gracious enough to let us hop into their 2020 Hyundai Venue – a millennial mobile if I ever saw one – and live out our Canadian-beer-commercial-esque dreams.

As we put the GTA in our rear-view and hit the highway, I began to play with all the bells and whistles. As someone who drives relatively infrequently, I always enjoy seeing what new features are the latest of fads to be jammed into cars. That said, of all the thoughts I had about the Venue, perhaps my most prominent (and potentially even greatest compliment) was that it was precisely enough. It was comfortable, had lots of space for gear, handled well, gave just enough umph when I needed to pass someone, and was surprisingly light on gas. Our round-trip to the Kawarthas cost me less than $40 in gas, and that’s even after prices at the tank had broke $1/L again. The only negative thing I have to say about the venture, I weirdly also enjoyed at times; I was quoted as saying that the suspension felt like a waterbed while I drove, but in a strange and wonderful way… I kinda dug it.

Our little Venue – coined “Betsy” for the trip – got us to the Kawarthas boat launch, but the real adventure was about to begin. Having recently purchased an inflatable canoe, I was about to test its limits on a two-day portaging trip that would see us touch five different lakes. This may have been ambitious, but our hours-long trek into the deep back country was constantly rewarded with sunshine, clear air, and constant natural beauty. We paddled and portaged over and over until finally we came upon our little grotto in the middle of nowhere on Shark Lake.

The next two days were a blur of building fires, long swims in the hot sun, cooking gourmet dirtbag food (ask me for my backcountry ballpark hotdog recipe), hikes over the never ending Canadian shield, and a constant struggle to avoid being eaten alive by mosquitos and flies. Camping (particularly back country where one has to have everything on their person) can be a bit intimidating to the uninitiated, however, the one saving grace I’ve always found from being in the bush is that if you happen to forget something, everything will still find a way to be perfect.

We packed up and navigated the long return trip back to the Venue. Our newly found expert knowledge of the lakes and portages made the return far faster, easier, and more enjoyable. And just like that, we were back at the boat launch, as though two days had been simply consumed by the depth of the Ontario back country. As we deflated the canoe and packed up, the largest snapping turtle I’ve ever seen stopped by to bid us farewell. We then hopped into the Venue and, somewhat somberly and quietly, drove back towards the city.

However… I hadn’t had enough yet.

Fast Alone

This second trip was not planned, it emerged. While driving back from the Kawarthas, I realized that two days was simply not enough. Thus, my calm arrival home was quickly upended by a flurry of washing, watering gardens, repacking, and a modicum of planning. If the first trip was organized in days or weeks, this one would come together in minutes. I frantically grabbed one of the first sites I could book in Algonquin, stuffed an assortment of random things into a backpack, grabbed my guitar to keep me from going crazy in the bush, and was out the door.

My editor Jay informed me that I would be doing this next trip in slightly more high-society style. I would be taking out the recently launched 2020 Lincoln Nautilus; a rare foray into luxury for a dirtbag farm boy like me trying to fake it in the city. However, though I’ve always thought myself a somewhat simple man, I can definitely appreciate nice things… and this vehicle was nice.

We’ll avoid talking about the price tag, however, everything else about this SUV was designed to make you feel special. The auto-adjusting of the cockpit as the engine roared to life, the wireless charging station hiding where I naturally placed my phone, the infinitely adjustable seats that made my hours of driving without stop feel like riding on a cloud; these were just a few of the little details that made the experience of driving this car a joy. Of course, the driving part was great fun too… and boy did I drive it. Having the opportunity to navigate numerous winding country roads, I felt as though I were in a car commercial myself, coasting towards corners and then accelerating through each bend with childhood glee. Alternatively, when I grew tired of taking on the road, the Nautilus’ adaptive cruise and lane-assist made it such that I don’t even feel I can truly claim that I drove the whole time – the car definitely shared a good amount of that burden. So, whether as a luxurious ride to glide me mindlessly from A to B or as an over sized play-thing to let my inner child zoom through winding roads… the Nautilus ticked a lot of boxes.

After making short work of the three hour drive to Algonquin, I assessed the situation from the dock. While blowing up the canoe again, I realized that the guitar was going to make for a slightly awkward journey, I’d forgotten a can opener to open half of my food, and I’d neglected to notice the thundershowers forecast over my leaky tent. However, as a testament to the ease and simplicity of camping, everything was still perfect.

I paddled out through Cache lake and onto Lake Tanamakoon, serenading my guitar with solo a cappella versions of the 90s rock songs of my youth. I stopped multiple times along the two-hour paddle to marvel at the sheer beauty of the vista around me; undulating Canadian shield being swallowed whole by pockets of lake in all directions. As I paddled out into the open waters of lake Tanamakoon, I spied a quaint little island near the inlet that would become my home for the next couple of days. I docked Betsy and began to setup my newfound life in the serene middle of nowhere.

Part of the reason that I love camping is precisely because it isn’t entirely relaxing. Pitching the tent, gathering wood, striking a fire, figuring how the heck to bash open tins of food with a hatchet… each of these little tasks serve as a worthy distraction to focus the anxious mind on while letting your broader self reconvene with nature and let the city in your mind drift away. Your job out in the woods is essentially to stay alive and I’ve always found a sort of calming beauty to this subdued, simplistic, singular focus.

But like all beautiful moments, life in the woods gradually gave way to the pull of home. My temporary woodland home was dismantled, life packed into my noble inflatable kayak, and return journey paddled. I savoured the last moments of my time on the water, and let the Nautilus do most of the work on the drive home. Forays into the woods like this are always incredible for the soul, but the hardest part is always coming back