Chapter 2: Headed for Home

It's early morning, and I'm heading east again. I'm enjoying the scenery that represents quintessential Ontario to me: road cut through rock, edged by forest, traversing large sloping hills, with breathtaking views of island-dotted lakes sporadically dominating the scene.

I'm cruising along, singing (as usual), when I crest a hill and spot him instantly. He is standing upon a distant rocky outcrop, his dark body perfectly outlined against the gray stone background. He stands still as a statue, looking in my direction. Even from afar, I can see that he is massive. I tap my brakes several times to let the single car behind me know I have spotted something and start gently reducing my speed. As soon as he perceives me slowing, he begins descending the hill. I grope for my phone, point it in his direction and hit record.

By the time I get to him, he is roadside. I gasp as he steps out onto the asphalt. His true size, fully perceivable only now, is gargantuan. Palpable energy pierces through me, and the whole world shifts into super slow motion. He lopes elegantly across in front of me. His coat is smooth, dark chocolate brown. His rack is covered in solf velvet and already enormous, even though it's early in the season. It is obvious that he is in his prime. There is no sense of gangliness in his gait; he is pure power and grace. He reaches the other side of the road quickly (yet a lifetime has passed), steps over the ditch in one stride, and begins ascending the steep slope with unbelievable ease. My foot stays firmly on the brake as I watch him climb. I am captivated. He reaches the top, pauses, and looks back briefly before slowly disappearing into the treeline like a ghost.

I stop for a coffee break about an hour later. As soon as I put my vehicle into park, I excitedly grab my phone. I'm unsure what I will have to work with since I hadn't even glanced down while filming, but I am very hopeful. As I watch the video, my heart sinks. I must have missed the record button the first time, only hitting it when I meant to stop recording. So what I got instead of this ethereal being was a shaky video of my passenger seat, complete with the audio of me cackling joyfully at witnessing the most beautiful moose I've ever seen.

My disappointment lingers, and I can focus on little else but him for the rest of the day. I know what you're thinking: it was just a moose! But this wasn't just a moose. I have seen many moose, and they are always striking. Their sheer size and ability to vanish into the thick bush without a trace have always amazed me. But this was something else entirely. The energy that emanated from this animal paralyzed me and left me in an altered state for the better part of a day. He was no ordinary moose; he was otherworldly.

This occurred only two days after I came face to face with a black bear. And when I say face to face, I mean face to face; we almost kissed. He, too, was an extraordinary example of his species. Both animals were the epitome of health, and I can't believe my luck in such a short period of time. This trip is proving to be one of great opportunity and good fortune, and it feels like nature herself is blessing me. Perhaps I wasn't called on this trip as a writing retreat; perhaps I am here for animal medicine.

I spend that night lakeside under the cover of trees in a beautiful campground. As I was packing up to hit the road the next morning, I noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn and see the unmistakable striped face of a chipmunk peeking out at me from behind a tire. I was hoping this would happen, and I am prepared. I rush to my front passenger seat and reach into my food bin, pulling out a tin of almonds, the last few of which I've saved for exactly this purpose.

I've always loved chipmunks and squirrels. They bring such joy and light-heartedness to life, and no matter where one lives, urban or rural, you can usually find some of these comical creatures to befriend. In a typical scenario, it takes time to earn their trust, but in campgrounds, they are accustomed to humans and, therefore, extra courageous and friendly. This one is a mom with two offspring in a burrow right beside my site. I spend the next hour giving her nuts and observing the littles as they shoot in and out of the burrow with sight-defying speed.

A little later in the morning, I am sitting in my car sipping coffee and editing chipmunk videos when I realize it is Father's Day. My mind instantly flashes to one of my favourite photos of my dad. The only visible part of him is his hand as he reaches towards a chipmunk, who is reaching back, accepting the tasty treat being offered.

The photo was taken in Banff, Alberta. My dad had always wanted to see the Rockies, and in 2009, he realized his dream of seeing the mountains. He was blessed with many animal encounters while he was there. Sadly, I didn't experience this with him because I didn't go on the trip. It was field season, the busiest time of year for me as a biologist, so I couldn't take the time off work. He passed away the next summer. The pain of not being on that trip with my parents and brother still lives in my heart and is my biggest regret in life to date. I have since made a vow to never again let work dictate my life in such a way.

It wasn't just Father's Day that I felt my dad's presence around me on this trip. He popped into my mind out of nowhere one day as I was still heading west. Instantly knowing he was with me, I began chatting at him. I asked him to keep me safe and bless my trip. After a few seconds, I passed a road sign with the word "Dad" on it. I smiled. Maybe thirty seconds later, I saw a Labatt Blue box on the side of the road, his favourite beer. I laughed out loud.

It is very common for me to experience wonderous things when I am in nature. Whenever I am wandering the woods, strolling the shore, or just driving along a scenic area, some form of magic always creeps in. Whether it's healing energy, messages, clarity, calmness, or some inexplicable certainty that everything will be alright, the mystery of nature is always present. But sometimes, she also brings challenges.

On day nineteen of my trip, a heatwave hits. It's massive, and I cannot escape it. Let me preface this by saying that I am NOT built for heat. Anything above 25 degrees Celsius is uncomfortable for me, and I'm highly prone to burning and heatstroke. Summer has always been a bit of an oppressive time for me, with sunscreen application, wardrobe choices, and shade availability eternally running in the back of my mind. For this reason, I choose to camp in the shoulder season, typically early June and late September, when temperatures remain relatively cool. I am toting a winter coat and a makeshift stove on this trip, but thankfully, I also packed a swimsuit.

The first night is manageable, as the temperature hasn't yet reached its full potential. Night two is unbearable in the confined space of my car. I am on the move now, spending only one night at each location, so my office tent is not set up. The air is breathless, heavy, and humid as hell. I lay in my bed, sweltering. By morning, I'm bested. I retreat to a campground with a pool. Despite sunscreen, a hat, a coverup and a massive umbrella, I still manage to burn. I depart poolside just long enough to venture to Canadian Tire to buy a battery-powered mini fan. Between the fan and spritzing myself with water, I am able to sleep. After three days, the heat mercifully passes as I continue east.

I spend several nights with friends in various parts of New Brunswick before undertaking the last jaunt of my journey home. Twenty-five days after departure, I arrive back on the Island to, you'll never guess, rain and hordes of mosquitoes. It rains for two days and I spend them doing laundry, cleaning gear and editing this blog. Luckily, fair weather is in the forecast, and I know exactly how I will spend it. My feet hit salt water again tomorrow, and all will be well in my world.