Backwaters: Exploring Canada's Ancient Canoe Routes
By Conor Mihell
Bullwinkle is going nowhere fast. Powering our canoe upstream, deeper into the Algoma Headwaters of northern Ontario, we come around a bend and encounter a leggy, cartoonish ungulate wading knee-deep in the river. The young bull moose is cooling down, escaping the incessant mosquitoes and delaying our passage—evidently with little regard for our presence. So we take a break, too. This moment captures the magic of a summer of wilderness canoeing; moose-caused traffic jams on wild rivers are but one highlight of a season exploring some of Canada’s most obscure routes.
"One look at the map reveals why Canada is the birthplace of the canoe. Using birchbark, cedar and spruce, Indigenous peoples crafted the perfect vessel for a rugged landscape scribed with waterways and dotted with lakes."
One look at the map reveals why Canada is the birthplace of the canoe. Using birchbark, cedar and spruce, Indigenous peoples crafted the perfect vessel for a rugged landscape scribed with waterways and dotted with lakes. Canoes are lightweight and easily carried (aka portaged) between bodies of water and around rapids and waterfalls. At the same time, they hold backpacks worth of gear and supplies and are at once nimble and seaworthy—yet also can be easily brought ashore when conditions get rough. It’s no surprise canoeing is the quintessential activity at many of Canada’s national and provincial parks. However, there are far more adventurous routes to follow off the beaten track.
In Ontario, the provincial government still keeps an inventory of hundreds of canoe routes. Popular destinations like Algonquin, Quetico, and Killarney provincial parks are well documented and traveled, with a competitive reservation system for backcountry camping. Lesser known are the scores of rivers and lakes sprawling across more obscure protected areas and public lands, such as my favorite Ranger Lake Loop north of my hometown of Sault Ste. Marie.
I first discovered this forgotten 60-mile circuit as a teenager, committing to memory the brief description provided in a government pamphlet dating back to the 1980s. Before the days of cutbacks, the government once assumed the immense responsibility of documenting and maintaining dozens of such routes. I dreamt of towering old-growth pine, wilderness campsites and unmolested fish and wildlife, as the route was described in the old tabloid. It took me decades to finally make the trip for the first time. Traveling in early spring, I encountered partially ice-covered lakes and portage trails choked with blowdowns. Since then, this “lost” canoe route has become an annual springtime pilgrimage, always alone. My folding saw and axe get good workouts in cutting my way through, but each year the job becomes easier. There’s a distinct sense of pride and ownership as the custodian of campsites and portage trails. Each lake and every bend in the river has its own memories.
"We felt like explorers, sussing out the overgrown portages first trampled by generations of Indigenous travelers and reveling in the wild places we camped each night, relishing the joy of having made the journey by canoe."
This past spring, I shared my secret canoe route with my partner, Kate. Besides patiently waiting for the aimless bull, we enjoyed another close encounter with a cow moose and newborn twins. We’re both avid birders, and we woke early on cool, misty mornings, heralded by chorusing songbirds, including rare species like Canada warblers, olive-sided flycatchers and rusty blackbirds. Favorite campsites were found just as I left them the previous year, and just as comforting—and better yet with someone to share it.
We didn’t plan it, but this humble journey set the tone for a summer of seeking out other ancient canoe routes when rampant wildfires derailed our initial plan of a subarctic expedition. We paddled in places like Temagami, Algoma and the Lake Superior highlands—the heartlands of Canadian canoe country, on routes where moose, wolves, bear and songbirds far outnumber human travelers. Canoe destinations like Minnesota’s Boundary Waters, Maine’s Allagash and New York’s Adirondacks are wondrous on their own—but they’re also overrun. It’s reassuring to know that for those willing to expend a bit more effort, backwater alternatives remain so easily accessible. We felt like explorers, sussing out the overgrown portages first trampled by generations of Indigenous travelers and reveling in the wild places we camped each night, relishing the joy of having made the journey by canoe.
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