People ask me about the title for this blog. “The Trail Back” isn’t just a metaphor. At least not when you understand that I won’t consider my recovery complete until I’ve spent two weeks and completed about two dozen portages in the Quetico Provincial Park.
From time to time, I get questions from folks who want to know what the title of my blog actually means. After all, on the face of it, “The Trail Back” is kind of a generic, feel-good title for a blog about physical recovery. I get that.
But for me, it means so much more.
Camping is my sport.
At my age, some people are golfers while others play tennis (or, more recently, pickleball). For those of us reaching retirement age – not something I readily admit – those seem to be sports of preference for most.
There are the occasional bikers and hikers. And for those of us who don’t like to admit we’re aging, you’ll even find the occasional boomer seriously working out in the gym.
That’s never been my style. And, quite frankly, I’m so bad at regular “sports” that I’ve never defined myself by any of them.
But I do enjoy camping and canoeing. Backpacking is fun, too. But the thing that separates me from many folks who enjoy going for a hike down a trail or a paddle down a river with a bunch of friends, is that I really enjoy the solitude and the beauty of those places hard-core campers refer to as “the Back Country.”
And you won’t find a more beautifully perfect spot than the Quetico Provincial Park in Ontario.
I have a history with the Quetico
Located adjacent to The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in Northern Minnesota, you’ll find a park consisting of nearly 5,000 square kilometers (over 1,800 square miles) of wilderness accessible only by paddle. The park is over 100 years old but its history stretches back much further.
Ancient Native American people lived in the region nearly 10,000 years ago (you can still see some of the rock art on Lake Agnes which depicts Indians in canoes from that period).
But my fascination with this place extends beyond the natural history and Native American history of the region. This is a place I’ve been before – as an adult and as a teenager. I’ve come with friends and fellow Scouters. These adventures are among my most cherished memories.
My first trip to The Quetico was with my dad, Tim. My last trip to the park was with my son. His namesake.
All of the trips have been memorable – and for all the right reasons.
Whether it was the shower we took in a waterfall or the bear we found in our campsite when we returned, I’m not sure. But that first trip to the Quetico was filled with adventure, laughs and memories.
Those memories flooded back to me on my most recent trip (with my son, Tim), when I was sitting on a rock one morning, listening to the loons sing as the haze burned off the lake and I realized we had stumbled across the same campsite I’d visited with my dad nearly thirty years before.
There’s a rhythm to it all. And your heart just kind of syncs up with it.
I feel whole and connected when I’m there. And I have to go back.
I will go back.
At least, that’s the plan. I’m not even sure where it came from, to be honest.
I remember laying in my bed the day after my accident. The trauma doctor and anesthesiologist were discussing my upcoming surgery. I was listening as best I could, given the pain killers. And then the orthopedic member of the trauma team, Dr. Myles Luszczyk mentioned something to the effect that after the surgery and healing process, we’d start working on rehabilitating my arm so I could get back to doing what I loved to do.
What was that “thing” I loved to do? Before I could think about it, I said I needed to be able to paddle and pick up a canoe because I was going back to The Quetico.
Once the doctors left, my wife said that my plans for a back country canoe trip were news to her. To be honest, they were news to me, too.
But after thinking about it some more, I thought they sounded like a grand plan and a great goal.
I’m glad you’re able to come along on this adventure with me.