In the summer of 2021, we carried on a tradition and followed old Nishnawbe trails to Hudson Bay, in Ontario’s far north. With 60 days of food, we travelled 1300km, crossed 5 major watersheds(10 if you count heights of land within the same drainage) and found our way on 8,000 year old trails from Armstrong, On, to Fort Severn. What we did matters little, nor was it new, we were travellers in the land where people have always travelled. Every day we listened to the story of the rivers, patient then rapid, gathering their worth from streams, finding pause in lakes, yet ever weaving like veins through the northern landscape. If we felt claustrophobic in smoke of nearby fires, or bitten by bugs, or worried by the tracks of polar bears, we found peace in the tradition we were apart of, a lifestyle where everything you need is what you have and each day is spent moving a little closer to where all journeys end; safely back at home. The few folks we met on the trip filled our cup with stories of their traditional lands. We talked of water and wind, fish and game, of rythym and the land, for this is what is important in the north, not time, or the future, but right now. Miigwech to those who shared their stories and their land. We may come and go from the north, but our spirit is forever in the early dawn, a pot of water soon to boil, the forest alive with sounds, wood smoke dancing is our midst, the water glimmering in our eyes, travelling. I know people love history, though I urge all to consider not the stories of ‘explorers’, nor the culture of those claim to be the first, for this has no place in the north. Never is there a wilderness when you’re in someone’s backyard, and never is there something to explore that isn’t traditional land. Look for the signs of use, listen to the stories, and you will find a land to connect with, not the ghosts of an industrious company. To those who left only trails in the moss, miigwech.

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