It’s been a mild autumn in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) this year. Two weeks into October and twenty-plus degree temperatures persist—it breaks my heart. Nevertheless, if I waited on the weather to begin my fall activities, I would miss out on weeks of exploration. In my first real autumn escapade of the year, on Canadian Thanksgiving, I decided to travel to Victoria Falls.
Leaving around 9:30AM, I begin to head north on Highway 400. The morning is neither cool nor hot, but pleasantly warm, leaving me comfortable in a dri-fit long sleeve and shorts worn over compression tights. My journey is pretty much a straight shot until I exit onto Canal Road. Heading east, I quickly recognize the first landmark from my research: Cooper’s Falls. Founded in 1864, these days Cooper’s Falls is little more than a jumble of farmhouses and cottages sprinkled along Cooper's Falls Road. The once-bustling lumber town slowly faded away after the closure of its sawmill in 1925. It is alleged that the death of William Cooper in a machinery accident—William being town founder Thomas Cooper’s son and owner of the sawmill—precipitated the mill's end. In my eyes, Cooper's Falls isn't a true ghost town. There's no abandoned town center like you would see in the movies, or even a distinctly separate branch of road cradling a scatter of boarded up houses. The town was never big enough for that. All that remains are a few empty, decaying buildings sitting near newer ones.
Passing Cooper’s Falls, I continue onto Black River Road. Aptly named, the road’s twisting path is mirrored by a dark, thick river. Occasionally flecked with the bright yellow of fallen leaves, the river's cherry-black surface gleams with a molasses-like lustre as it surges forward. The dull-coloured leaves in the GTA are an embarrassment compared to the deluge of red, orange, and yellow swirling through the air. These fiery gifts spiral against my windshield, the surrounding forest swallowing me up as I creep toward my destination.
The first thing you notice when you venture into remote territory is the air. Maybe it’s some sort of placebo effect, but every breath seems to taste pristine. As if never been inhaled by another human being. The savoury mustiness of rotting leaves and the smoky scent of far-off burning adds to the seasonal feast wafting in and out of my lungs. People always roll their eyes when I rave about the smell, taste, or texture of delicious forest air. It’s one of those things that's difficult to put into words. Something meant to be felt, not with the heart, but with the deepest chords of the soul. While the pothole-ridden, one-lane backroad slows my advance, it allows me the proper time to bask in the splendor of my surroundings. It feels as if I am entering a world apart from that I have left behind.
Nearing Victoria Falls, I angle my car into a small, unmarked parking area and decide to explore the forest trail at the lot's rear. The crunchy plod through leaf-strewn forest floors is soothing in a spiritual sense. It touches both the heart and the mind, penetrating like a sharp axe in green wood, like a shovel turning fertile soil in preparation for planting. Routinely assailed by time takers and perceived stressors, our hearts and minds are often clogged, suffocated by soil within us that has turned hard, dry, and clumpy. This soil is our curiosity, our spark, our vitality. The enjoyment of life that comes from within. And when this soil is left unattended, angst and ennui threaten to overwhelm us. Today on my hike—the intense isolation, the sharp smells, sounds, and tastes, the time unallocated—these sensory pacifiers are as detoxifying as the best juice cleanses claim to be. The result is a clear mind. Wet and mulchy inner soil that encourages a centered individual receptive to the nuances of everyday thought.
It has rained recently. Sections of the trail are flooded with water, filling in the path’s boundaries with almost geometrical exactness. The pools’ glassy, obsidian surfaces glitter in dappled light, their depths opaque to the human eye. While a bright day, the sun’s rays don’t float to the ground with their usual providence. A haze of clouds intermittently obscures their reach. This drove of clouds and the cool breeze that picks up every now and then is enough for me to divine rain. But given the lack of dark, ominous clouds, I think I have a few hours, if not the rest of the day, before I need to worry about any serious precipitation. About twenty-five minutes into the trail, I reach a fork at which both ends venture into a tangle of brush. What I assume are blackflies hover ominously overhead. Apprehensive of the small biting creatures that occupy such regions, I decide to turn back. Time to explore the falls.
The bridge spanning the falls is little more than a hunk of riveted metal perched atop natural rock and a single concrete support. That’s not to say it isn’t stable. The wooden planks covering its deck may look a bit flimsy for my liking, but the bridge seems to be structurally sound. I wouldn’t describe it as anachronistic either. It would look out of place in the southern reaches of the GTA, but here in the borderlands of the north, it fits. The calm, steady flow of the river transforms under the bridge into a swift, thundering current—descending into a burst of rapids like a stalking cougar deftly pouncing on its prey. Down the river, Canadian Shield rock juts out from the riverbed in a welcome sight. I cherish my beloved GTA forests, but they lack two of my favourite features: extreme changes in elevation and big rocks. There is a primal joy to be found in climbing a boulder or jumping from rock slab to rock slab as you work your way up a hill. To my delight, as I hike along the river, I find a profusion of rocks that I am able to bound up, on, and over.
Minutes or hours later, I perch on the edge of a rock outcropping beetling over a deep gorge. My enthusiasm for large rocks is rivalled only by my lust for high places. Inaccessible places that overlook vast landscapes. Places where I can sit and watch and think. Such spots are hard to find, and perhaps that's why I treasure them so. It's not often that you are able to survey an area in its entirety, gaining some measure of clarity as to what lies ahead.
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