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.