by Hilary Jocelyn
I realize that a bucket list is supposed to be a list of the things you want to do before you die. Rest assured that I am not planning to “kick the bucket” anytime soon, but nonetheless, I do have some things that I want to do while I am living, breathing, and thriving in this wild, wicked-yet-wonderful world of ours. My ‘to-do’ list is full of inspiring things – like swimming in a bath-warm ocean, climbing ruthless, inaccessible mountains, speaking French like a francophone, and learning how to grow potatoes in burlap sack. And, at the very top, a desire to go across this country called Canada.
You see, I have been living in Canada for almost 40 years now and have never been much further west than Sault St Marie. I was tired of hearing about all these places, but never having seen them. Northern Ontario? The Prairies? The Rockies? The West Coast? Time to check ‘em out and to explore.
I had thought of getting behind the wheel of our car, and driving to the Pacific Ocean, but if truth be told, I knew that our 2013 car might well not crawl much further than Sudbury, and so that put an end to that idea. I then thought the long long bus ride would be highly inspirational, and would certainly give me the chance to meet lots of local folks traveling from one community to another, but then I discovered, disappointingly, that it no longer exists. Part of me was relieved, I have to say, as I did squirm slightly at the idea of sitting, oozing with insomnia, night after night, as we ploughed mile after mile, across this vast country’s landscape.
And then I thought of the good old train. As a Scot, trains are a standard form of transport and whirr across every nook and cranny of the country ( well, almost ). I discovered that indeed the Trans Canadian train leaves Toronto twice a week, and chugs all the way across the country, and so without further ado, I took the plunge and booked a seat. Well… technically what I booked was a bit more than just a seat … I booked a seat that transforms into a bunk at nightfall. I could easily cope with one night sitting up, propped by the window, but please, not four! Yes, you heard. The train takes four and a half days to get to the Pacific Ocean.
When I climbed on board the good old Via train in Toronto on an innocent Sunday Spring morning, I was full of bright-eyed anticipation. As we crawled along out of the city, I looked around at my temporary, mobile ‘chez moi’. The train was simple and comfy, but not overly luxurious, which suited my style just fine. It was clean, with large view-inspiring windows, and had a couple of common areas I could meander to, when my body asked me for some action and a change of scene. The other passengers seemed to be highly pleasant travel companions, and we soon created a brief and sporadic travelling community, awash with warmth and friendliness. Perhaps the train’s highlight though-, its ‘icing on the cake’, so to speak – was a place called ‘ the dome car,’ which was reached by a short clamber up a few stairs that led to a wide glass dome on the roof of the train, where we could sit and relax, while getting an almost 3600 view of the country and its landscape, as we sped by.
In truth, we didn’t really speed much, as the train tended to move quite slowly, with lots of pauses while we waited for freight trains that, for sure, had priority over passengers. What was the hurry? Its gentle rhythm helped my overactive mind to put on the brakes, and to shift from everyday worries, concerns, and brain planning to a more accepting window-framed view of life. It was a rare opportunity indeed, to just sit, to watch, to listen, and to be open to whatever landscape next appeared. Another huge, unexpected bonus for me, was that for much of the journey, we were unplugged, because many of the places we passed through were extremely remote and therefore had no internet access. While for some, this was a huge inconvenience, for me, it was another opportunity to live in the here and now, to ignore the digital ‘to do list’, to linger in my bubble of solitude, or to smile at, or converse with my fellow travelers. Who the heck needed Wi-Fi?
The train stopped along the way, and at some of the more officially designated stops, we were encouraged to disembark for an allotted length of time to stretch our legs. Every time this happened, I laced up my running shoes, and out I would go to take a jog around, taking great care that the train did not leave without me! So, I ran delightedly through places like Capreol, just north of Sudbury, Long Lac, and Sioux Lookout, breathing the Northern Ontario air into my soul, before clambering back on the train and chugging off again into the grin-inspiring unknown. I loved this first leg of the journey, and from the train window, I admired the beavers swimming playfully, saw numerous birds dashing from trees, and watched as the untamed rocky scenery strutted its glorious stuff in front of me.
Darkness fell, and I spent the night in my bunk, being rocked and stirred gently like the sugar in my tea, until the morning. When I awoke, we were, of course, still in Northern Ontario, but now it was the middle of winter again, with frozen ponds and heaps of snow lying curled up amid the now shrunken trees. The whole journey tasted of remote, of wild beauty, of vast landscape, and I loved it all, despite the reappearance of several feet of the white stuff.
Then, at the end of the second day we arrived in Winnipeg and I got off for a three-day exploration.
What a city! By the way, I am not your traditional tourist. I don’t read guidebooks. Instead, I read lamp posts and walls. You learn so much of what is going on in the city by reading what people have plastered on there. And so, I went to a wonderful Earth Day celebration I saw posted, that was First Nations led, supported by the Raging Grannies in their wild and wonderful hats, and interspersed with youth, calling out for Climate Action. Later, I wandered, I explored, I saw the sights. I walked along the Red River, past encampments of people who have no other place to call home. And then finally I got back on the train.
And again, the landscape changed. Flat. Wide. Open. Space. Wow! I absolutely delighted in the Prairies. For one thing, there was no snow! People had warned me with a yawn that they were endless, and oh so boring, but had not told me of their haunting beauty. The fact that you could look and look for miles. The fact that the landscape was so unique, as fields after fields of luscious, fertile ground spread out before me as we swooshed by. Grain elevators, like giant apartment buildings, hung on the occasional horizon as we passed slowly through small, rural communities, stopping occasionally, so I could try out my running shoes, and sample the Saskatchewan breeze.
The next day, I heard a whisper that the Rockies were a coming. That we would begin to see them very early the next morning. So, I set my alarm for the ungodly hour that dawn usually cracks open at, and went to look out of the dome car. At first, I thought it was a vision, something fantastical that had descended from the sky, but no, it was the real deal. These amazing mountains began as blots on the horizon, way far in the distance, and then grew larger and spikier until they were up close and personal. I can honestly say that as we made our first introductions, I was moved to tears, as I am truly passionate about mountains, and feel their power in the roots of my being.
Lost in wonder and awe, we crawled into Jasper where I jumped off the trusty train once more, this time with my modest backpack on my back, and said my final goodbyes, as from here on in I was busing it to the West Coast. Meeting me at the station was the friend of a dear friend, who had lived in Jasper for over 40 years, and who was now a municipal counsellor. Her home and much of her community had been hungrily gobbled up by the ravenous forest fires of last year. She kindly showed me the beauty and the devastating horror of this unique place, where there are looming mountains, turquoise lakes, but also burned-out forests and many, many destroyed buildings and homes- including her own. Her entire possessions and family history now lay unsalvageable in a blackened pile of ash and flattened rubble. This was the same for so many – not just in the well-known and prosperity-heeled town of Jasper but also in smaller, less prodigious communities all over the country, including many First Nations Communities.****
Imagine if this were to happen in Wakefield?
The next day, I jumped on a bus to Lake Louise, passing moose, elk, and a grizzly bear on the way, from the safety of the bus window. Not to mention the jagged, intimidating ice-covered mountains that looked like a giant mouthful of incisors and molars towering into the clouds.
I hiked my brains out for a few days when I got to the Lake Louise Hostel, although I did have to reduce my ambition just a little and submit to the power of the piercingly savage and unfamiliar mountains. Plus, it was avalanche season, and I didn’t know the terrain one little bit, and so I followed my common sense as well as my spirit of adventure, which turned out to be a breath-stopping blend of delicious hikes and views, and much-needed caution. Plus, there were Grisly Bears on the prowl.
Then came the last leg of my cross-country travel, and I took a twelve-hour bus journey through mountain passes and mind-blowing vistas all the way to my final destination – the city of Vancouver. Again, I practiced the art of lamppost and wall reading and ended up having a full and varied time as I explored the city, renting a bike so I could explore more fully. What a place of contrasts it was! Firstly, there’s the natural beauty of the mountains, and the gentle sea, beckoning over the bay. And then there’s the multitudes of sky-scraping luxury condos spurting up from the water’s edge. And then, there’s the neglected street after neglected street, of unhoused people, sleeping and dying in doorways.
The Pacific Ocean was my last port of call before I flew back home, and I had one more really vital thing to do, before I jumped on the plane back home. Ceremoniously and excitedly, I went to the nearby beach, and took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my leggings to my knees, and paddled and splashed in the balmy warmth of the west coast sea.
I had fulfilled my ambition, and my toes danced with delight.
Well Canada, I hope to be exploring more of your nooks and crannies sometime soon! But now back to the rest of my bucket list… Hmmm, how about trying to grow my potatoes in a burlap sack?
**** I would like to acknowledge the many communities right now that are being ravaged by the latest June 2025 wildfires, including the First Nation Communities of Kinonjeoshtegon, Pinaymootan, and Opaskwayak Cree Nation.
Wandering Wakefield 