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.