A Journey to the Hills of Headwater (Part 2)

I wake up at 06:00. I’m far from home, exhausted from yesterday’s marathon-length hike, and I’m still more than 25 kilometers from my destination. Still, Nathan and I get up, eat breakfast, and head out early in the morning. Failure is not an option—we’re determined to reach our destination. We don’t want to get stranded in the middle of a desolate country road, and, more importantly, we want to prove to ourselves that we’re capable of completing the journey. Jole, the proprietor at the Erin Country Inn, generously drives us back to downtown Erin, eliminating a very hilly five kilometers from our trip.

We start walking east along Wellington Road 124; the road’s anonymous name is suitable. 124 features a fairly bland mixture of fields and rolling hills; it lacks uniqueness, such as the tranquil farmland of McLaughlin, the Badland topography of Olde Base Line, or the thick forests of Mississauga. I like walking down empty country roads, but I was expecting something a bit more scenic in the Headwater region.

Within an hour we reach Cataract, a tiny hamlet located along the Credit River. The community was founded in 1818 when gold prospectors made the long trip to the Headwater region. No such metals were found; the village supported a salt-mining operation for a few years and was eventually abandoned. However, Cataract was resettled in 1858 when entrepreneur Richard Church built a mill and made this small, isolated village a self-sustaining community (source: Ontario plaque in the village). Aside from the lavish Cataract Inn, I doubt that the hamlet today looks much different than it did 150 years ago. There are a few dozen residential homes located along the winding main street, cutting through the vast Caledon forest.

We turn onto a small dirt trail that extends south from Cataract Road and enter Forks of the Credit Provincial Park. Although the park is a nice tourist attraction today (frankly, it’s the only reason we went out of our way to see the village), it was even more crucial to Cataract in the past. The remnants of Church’s mill, the economic backbone of the village in the late 19^th century, is located somewhere inside. Unfortunately, Nathan and I are unable to find the mill but take a break under the wooden bridge. We watch the water descend over a small waterfall and turn into rapids, cutting through the jagged rocks. We’re almost at the 50 kilometer mark of the trip; we still have nearly 20 kilometers to go before the last bus leaves Orangeville.

After exiting the park, we continue east towards Caledon Village, a small town located 10 km south of Orangeville. We see a few small stores and a church; the most interesting part of the town is Eddie Shack’s donut store. Shack was a gritty defensive forward on the Leafs’ 1960s dynasty. He played in 1,121 NHL games, recorded 1,588 PIM, and won four Stanley Cups in his 17-year career. Eventually, Shack established a franchise of donut & coffee shops that, at its peak, consisted of 10-15 locations across Ontario. Around the same time, his teammate Tim Horton also created a franchise. Shack’s business failed; he eventually sold his stake in the enterprise; Horton’s, of course, remains a national icon. Indeed, the store in Caledon Village is the last remnant of the once-proud franchise. Interestingly, this location is a mix between a coffee shop and convenience store – the cooked meals are surprisingly good and the coffee smells delicious but the unorganized racks of a candy, chocolate bars and soft drinks detract from the otherwise pleasant atmosphere. Maybe Shack’s franchise failed because it didn’t have a consistent vision. Then again, maybe it was inevitable – perhaps a third-line grinder had no chance against a six-time all-star Hall of Fame defenseman.

The road to Orangeville is long and barren. In fact, we’ve made it back to Hurontario Street, after our long detour west through Belfountain and Erin. Hurontario is still a highway with a narrow dirt shoulder, like it was many kilometers south. Fortunately, traffic is light this far north. There are a few homes located along the road, though they are quite far apart. The landscape alternates between lush green meadows and thick forests. We see mountains in the distance; Hurtontario’s ascent is steep, but Nathan and I are glad we don’t have to walk up the even more curvy, hilly roads to the west. En route we pass the sixty kilometer mark; we complete this entire stretch while hiking through a light, chilly rainstorm. We’re so close to our goal that I no longer feel my painful right knee, or my sleep deprivation—I just focus on the next step and never stop.

After two hours of walking in the rain, we arrive at the southeastern edge of Orangeville (Hurontario & Broadway). A large Canadian flag flies proudly in the sky, planted in a tract of marshland. Hurontario, known as Highway 10 here, runs northwest to Owen Sound; Broadway, the main street in the downtown core, extends west to Arthur. This intersection features a hospital and several large plazas. Nathan and I rest at a large McDonald’s, waiting for the storm to die down. My knees no longer hurt—they’re already too badly damaged. It will take me a few weeks to recover.

Eventually, we head west along Broadway and enjoy Orangeville’s small but unique downtown strip. This area was heavily re-constructed in 2006; the designers were clearly trying to create a historic image. Despite having a reasonable mix of modern amenities, Broadway’s design is reminiscent of what a small town might have looked many decades ago. There are several historic buildings along Broadway including the Town Hall. Even new business, both local shops and international franchises, are primarily located in old, concrete buildings. Cement islands, featuring plants, statues and even small ponds, divide the two sides of the street. Broadway, combining modern amenities with an interesting, historical visual design, is one of the most interesting downtown cores I’ve seen.

Turning onto First Street, we continue to the north edge of the city. We pass through Rotary Park and the city’s second major commercial area at First & Fifth—neither are distinctive. After a short detour, we stop at the eastern edge of the city, and get a good view of Island Lake and the conservation area. Finally, we arrive at our anti-climactic final stop, Orangeville Mall. The building is nearly empty (despite the fact that it’s only 18:00) and it looks no different than any other small shopping centre. It's strangely appropriate, though, that the mall's population is as sparse as that of the Headwater region. After a sixty-six kilometer hike, we sit and wait for the bus home.

The customer at the coffee shop in Belfountain was right—Orangeville wasn’t an especially interesting destination. Indeed, it wasn't the destination, or even the journey, that made this trip successful. The journey to the Hills of Headwater was a triumph because, despite facing challenging terrain and inclement weather, we never gave up. The destination and journey, while often interesting, are ultimately secondary on these long walks. The challenge is always the primary motivation.

A Journey to the Hills of Headwater (Part 1)

Last week, Nathan and I embarked on our longest and most challenging hike to date. We traveled through the GTA’s historic Hills of Headwater region, a vast rural area featuring some of Ontario’s most striking and varied scenery. The locale, covering over 2,000 km^2 from Brampton to Orangeville and beyond, is so-named because it includes the source of four major river systems, and features stunning, hilly terrain. Considering the length of the walk (66 kilometers) and the challenging topography, this was our greatest athletic accomplishment to date. It took us nearly six weeks to plan, and even that didn’t eliminate some last-minute panics (i.e., scrambling to make alternate arrangements the night before the walk, when we learned that both restaurants in Belfountain were closed).

Our trip begins late at night; we walk to the nearest Go station at 4 a.m. and take the bus to historic downtown Brampton. After loading up on supplies, we transfer to Brampton transit Route 24 and head towards the extreme northern edge of city. The local bus quickly takes us through the downtown core, an industrial park, and a quiet residential area. At 07:30, we exit the bus and stand at the corner of Hurontario & Collingwood. Looking south, we see heavy traffic and large retail complexes; looking north, we see an open road, empty fields, and tall trees. Our adventure awaits us.

The first few kilometers of the walk are fairly dull. Hurontario, the arterial route that connects Brampton and Orangeville, is essentially a highway out here. Although the scenery is pleasant, we’re concerned about the heavy traffic from morning commuters. Only a narrow gravel shoulder separates us from rush hour traffic. At the first opportunity we turn onto a quiet side road. Although we’re just a few kilometers away from Brampton, the area is desolate and rural. The houses are spread far apart across vast tracts of farmland. The roads are narrow and cracked; as we pass through the hinterland, guard dogs bark at us while cows stare and chew cud.

After passing under a railroad bridge, we arrive at Boston Mills, a tiny community 10 km north of Brampton. Although a few houses are located along Chinguacousy Road, most are on a side street running alongside the Credit River. Boston Mills features a large grave yard, but we can’t find any stores or community centres. We decide not to spend much time in the village, and there doesn’t appear to be much to see. Nathan and I continue along, in search of something more interesting.

Within an hour, we arrive at the Cheltenham Badlands. The surreal environment is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before; the tract of land consists of large, bright red hills with dramatic summits and basins. This unique geography is unprecedented in the GTA; in fact, the massive red hills almost look like they’re from Mars. At the Badlands’ peak, I see Olde Base Line Road curve and twist through the forest, into the distance; in the valley, I look up and find myself surrounded by a sea of red. There are a few white stripes on the rocks that follow their way up and down along the shifting topography.

The Badlands were formed approximately 100 years ago when the area was de-forested. Soft, red Queenston shale quickly eroded as it was exposed to rain, carving striking peaks and valleys into the land. Although the area is quite small (no more than a few hundred square meters), it takes a long time to explore given the shifts in elevation. The Badlands are surrounded by a forest on all sides; a single tree that has somehow managed to survive in the harsh shale stands tall.

Continuing onward, we pass through forests, farmland and streams. At this point, we’re deep inside the Headwater region. The roads are curvy and hilly, and the communities are increasingly sparse. We quickly pass through The Grange; a road sign indicates that the pioneer Baptist community has been in decline for nearly eighty years. There appears to be a church, a graveyard, and an equestrian side road; in other words, the sign seems to be accurate.

After an hour of walking through amiable landscapes (hills and fields), the road descends and twists through a thick forested area. Once we pass through the wooded area, the path curves north, runs past the ruins of an old farmhouse, and leads to the quaint, pleasant hamlet of Belfountain. Despite its small size and minimal amenities, Belfountain is fairly interesting. The community is located along the Credit River, near a provincial park, and the people are quite friendly. We find a church, community centre and rustic general store near the village's main intersection. We stop at The Shed, a small coffee house, to get supplies. I tell one of the patrons that we’re walking to Orangeville; he says he hopes we enjoy the journey, because Orangeville is a disappointing destination. (The manager tells me to recommend the café to my friends—so feel free to stop by and get a bagel and coffee for a reasonable price if you’re ever in the middle of Caledon region). We rest for nearly an hour, thinking about how far we’ve already walked, and how much farther we must go.

After resting, we travel to the small provincial park located on the outskirts of the hamlet. The Credit River runs through the park; the water is still and placid until it descends into a large waterfall. The decayed remnants of an old stone jail are located nearby. We take the bridge over the falls and walk through the dense, dark forest for a few minutes. We’d like to stay longer but know that we must make it to Erin, our final stop, fairly soon—we don’t want to be stuck hiking down a dark, barren country road at night.

Our next destination is Erin, one of the larger communities in the Wellington region. However, the walk is long and tiring. The scenery isn’t bad, but the forests and farmland are all starting to look the same; the hilly roads are starting to take their toll on my knees. (Nathan and I are amused by a few road signs along the way. Erin features Irish four-leaf clovers on all of their signs, and there are all sorts of political connotations to the intersection of Bush & Churchill). After an hour we arrive in Erin, a small town with a population of a few thousand. Erin is the largest community between Brampton and Orangeville and thus has a solid number of amenities—there are branches of large, international franchises combined with several family-owned small businesses along the main street. The Credit River runs from Belfoutain to Erin and flows alongside the main street of the latter community. Unfortunately we’re unable to find Centre 2000, a community centre that features a school, movie theatre, and other town activities. I remember being slightly disappointed that Erin wasn’t more distinctive—though perhaps that assessment is unfair given that I missed the chance to see the heart of their community.

At the northern edge of Erin, we turn west onto Sideroad 17 and head towards the Erin Country Inn, where I had reserved a double room. The roads, cutting through thick forests, are very hilly and our pace has slowed considerably. My right knee is quite painful; still, I have no choice but to continue onwards. We walk the last hour in total silence, simply unable to spend energy talking. Eventually, we arrive at the Inn, a large, beautifully decorated private home with several guest bedrooms, a large den, and a fancy kitchen. Jole, the proprietor, gives us a quick tour and orders dinner for us. I’m relieved that I can rest my knee, at least until the morning. Although I have many options regarding how I can spend my evening (sit on the balcony and watch the sun set over the forest; watch the Penguins play the Flyers on a big-screen TV; play music on the piano), I’m so tired I fall asleep within minutes of our arrival, missing dinner. I sleep until 06:00 the next morning, when my adventure continues.