We camped at the golf course in Mortlach last night. It was cold. I broke the half-zipper on my ultra-light, high-tech sleeping bag, which didn’t help. I’m not sure if the manufacturer traded robustness for weight, or if the bag was designed for a slim-hipped youth rather than a man of my carriage. And I could’ve used a winter hat–against the draft through the opening of my bivouac sack–never forget a warm hat for cold nights. I slept poorly, and the half dozen freight trains that passed on the main CP line 100 metres away didn’t help. I’ll be tired today, but that means I’ll sleep better tonight.
A group of us are walking the Frenchmen’s Trail. It’s the route settlers from Quebec took, from he railway station in Mortlach to heir homesteads near Gravelbourg. The walk is organized by Hugh Henry, who put together last year’s walk on the Battleford Trail. These walks are a way to experience the history of this place in a visceral way, with our bodies. And it’s fun to walk with other people. The walk to Wood Mountain was isolated in comparison. Solo walks are that way.
Yesterday we toured the museum in Mortlach, and then we drove out to look at a couple of archaeological sites. We at dinner together in town. The restaurant, Franklyn’s, apparently makes real English fish and chips with mushy peas, and I’d like to return to give that a try.
We’re still getting ready for the day. There’s breakfast in town, but Matthew brought bagels from Montreal, and that’s a rare treat. Today’s walk is 25 kilometres, and I’m looking forward to it.
Later: It’s lunch time. We’re 10 kilometres in, and so far all is well, although the shoes I’m trying out instead of my heavy and hot (and therefore sweaty) boots could be more supportive. There’s been a lot of harvest-related traffic on the road, although of course I didn’t think to take a picture of one of the combines.
Later: After walking some 25 kilometres, we arrived at our campsite: an abandoned farmyard. Everyone is tired. I’ve been wearing different shoes and insoles, and my feet are exhausted. But it was quite a day of walking: through Nature Conservancy pastures and along the original path of the Frenchmen’s Trail. Usually we walk on grid roads that roughly parallel the route of the trail, because much of its path has been cultivated and is on private land, so to walk in the ruts of the trail itself is unusual and special.
Now it’s time to cook some supper and rest my feet.
P.S. There was no cell service last night, so I’m posting this blog this morning.
Good to see you are at it again, Ken. Your efforts are inspiring us to get out of a warm bed on a cold Canberra morning and walk around Lake Ginninderra. I find your photos of the path stretching ever onwards to be very evocative. I’ve only been back from the camino Leventé for two months but the sap is rising again. I’ve been playing around with the photos so that has an effect too. It’s good to see you are enjoying the company of your friends from last years walk. I hope the feet and shoes are okay today. Walk on, my friend.
I’d love to see more of your photos from the Levante. Maybe I’ll treat myself to another Spanish adventure when I finish this degree…..
Ah, there you are! As I walked in the smoke this morning I was wondering where your posts were, and I assumed that wifi was the issue. Nice to see you out there walking with your group from last year. Yes, the difference between solo and group walking is so different. Each with it’s pros and cons. Have fun and I’ll be interested to see what you have to say about your new shoes after the walk. A big change for you!
Geoff
I’ve found the perfect pair, I think. Oboz. No Gore-Tex. So cool on my feet—I just wish they made a similar boot…..
Looks like a great walk! Camping on a golf course sounds a little risky – were you woken up by duffers shanking shots off your tent?
No duffers, just trains!
Thanks for the word and photo renderings, Ken. There is something so ‘clean’ and uncluttered about the photos… the images divided pristinely into two: earth from sky… the prominent features of such a walk; and I like the abiding sense of comraderie herein captured too. The small yet vexing tribulations of a broken zipper, no tent-touque and questionable footwear are interesting too… but only ‘as experiences once removed’ since I know these are so-not-fun when happening to you; how they seem to taint everything! Would have liked to be with you all and so I must happily settle for this proxy. Much appreciated. Richard.
It’s been lovely despite the small vexations. The rest stop at the spring was a highlight. We all wish you were walking with us. Next time, I hope.