I never really considered myself the outdoorsy type. Though I loved camping trips with my family as a child, by the time I reached high school, I much preferred the comfort of a movie theatre or a shopping mall. At 16, I signed up for an extracurricular activity that drove the point home: I am not built to survive the great outdoors. Even so, that trip to Algonquin Park with classmates created memories I will cherish for the rest of my life.
In grade 11, I joined the Duke of Edinburgh Award program, which helps kids learn outdoor survival skills. My best friend, Natasha, signed up with me, and we attended after-school meetings to prepare for a group camping trip in the late spring. We made lists of what to bring: head-to-toe mosquito netting, a proper hiking pack and sleeping bag, campfire-friendly dishes and GORP mix. We learned about bear safety strategies and spent a few hours steering a canoe in a local pool. But nothing could have prepared me for the challenges the adventure would bring.
Over the course of five days, we hiked, portaged and canoed our way to three different campsites. I wasn’t particularly skilled in any of these areas. I could hoist a canoe over my head (though Natasha remembers doing most of the heavy lifting), but I couldn’t steer one to save my life. One morning, as we headed out, our head camper, Lewis, announced that anyone who hadn’t yet steered the canoe would take a turn that day. It started off bad: I soaked my running shoes getting into the canoe. I wound up haplessly steering it into a marsh, far from the rest of the group. After about 10 minutes of going in circles, my canoe partner, a tolerant faculty member, ran out of patience and switched spots with me so we could catch up with everyone else.
Another day, we came to a beaver dam while paddling and had no choice but to climb out of our canoes, lift them up over the dam, and get back in to continue the journey. As I scrambled up a slippery rock at the side of the dam, I slid into the water up to my ankles, soaking the second of two pairs of shoes I’d brought.
Algonquin is home to wolves, moose and bears, and though we’d been warned about wildlife, I didn’t anticipate having to actually use any of the safety tips. But when I went to relieve myself one afternoon at a “thunder box” (wooden toilets that are completely exposed to the wilderness), I looked up to find a massive bull moose staring at me from a hill directly ahead. He was maybe 500 metres away and for a moment, I froze in fear. I was stunned by his majesty and terrified of his vast antlers.
Slowly and carefully, I walked backwards toward the campsite and informed the group of the huge creature that disrupted my bathroom break. One classmate offered to stand nearby with her back to me and sing loudly to “scare” the moose. Her head bobbed side to side as she covered her ears and belted out a Shania Twain song. (A truly Canadian moment.) The moose didn’t seem particularly fazed, but thankfully, he also didn’t come any closer.
By day three, all my footwear was damp, I was covered in bites, and muscles I didn’t know I had ached — and I was having a blast. My favourite teacher, Ms. Stone, started calling me Run (short for Run DMC), a nickname inspired by my black tracksuit and white bucket hat.
Despite the rugged conditions, we ate like royalty, feasting on Starbucks coffee and oatmeal, ravioli with mushrooms and olive oil, chicken fajitas and endless s’mores. We witnessed beautiful sights like a family of three deer drinking from a stream and sunsets that painted the sky shades of pink and purple.
One of the camping sites was on a cliff that overlooked Joe Lake. After a long day of travelling and setting up camp, we swam under the late afternoon sun as it sparkled on the water, giggling like little kids, delirious with glee and exhaustion. We shared stories around the campfire and stayed up too late, crowded into one tent telling silly jokes and laughing until we cried.
I had already had three part-time jobs by that point, but Algonquin showed me how capable I really was when it came to hard work. Sure, I couldn’t steer the canoe straight or manage to keep myself dry, but after that trip, I felt like I could conquer anything. I returned dirty, smelly, scarred from blackfly bites and filled with pride.
The trip wasn’t cheap — my parents paid a registration fee when I joined and then spent hundreds on camping gear. I’m grateful that they could do that, and I’m also grateful that the Toronto Star Fresh Air Fund provides grants to camp programs to subsidize fees for financially vulnerable children. All kids should get a chance to experience the great outdoors like I did and discover what they’re truly capable of.
