Backcountry soul October 10, 2025

They say nature heals, but I think it also reveals. After one of the most challenging years of my personal life, I found myself once again drawn to the backcountry of Killarney Provincial Park in Ontario. I’ve come to call it my soul place. Each return feels like a homecoming, and each solo trip deeper into the park is both a reckoning and a release.

Water is the thread that carries me. I paddle glassy lakes at dawn, glide through creeks lined with cardinal flowers and cattails, and rest beside wetlands alive with frogs, turtles and herons. I’ve watched stars mirrored in still water and felt wind whip across lakes that tested both my paddling skills and my vocabulary.

Going alone into the backcountry as a woman sometimes still raises eyebrows. But for me, it’s not about proving anything. It’s about remembering who I am beneath the noise. I paddle into the quiet. Out there, I’m not a caregiver or a problem-solver. I’m just a paddler, a dehydrated food enthusiast and a silent observer of beavers who seem mildly annoyed by my presence.

These trips are hard. The portages are long, the bugs can be relentless and the weather unpredictable. Occasionally, an unexpected visitor crosses my path, like a ruffed grouse with a vendetta against my feet. But that’s the point. Doing something challenging forces my mind to quiet. I become attuned to the sounds of the forest and the flow of the water. I feel grounded, capable and calm. I face what’s heavy, and in doing so I lighten the load. Killarney’s lands and waters hold me in a way few places can. And each time I leave, I carry a little more peace home with me.