August 7 & 8

August 6
I decide to take August 6th off work to enjoy a leisurely long weekend. The following Monday is my husband’s birthday and the 15th is my eldest’s, Jacqueline’s 17th birthday. Jac wants to have a haircut/spa day and the 6th works for all of us. Jac, Livs and I descend upon the salon for a morning of pampering and intensive hair therapy. We finish things off with a light lunch on the patio at Cucci’s. My husband, Tim is invited to join us but due to work commitments, arrives in time for a slice of chocolate lava cake and a cool drink on the sun drenched patio.

En route home, we have to pass through downtown Oakville which results in another side trip to my favourite card shop and then some discount (yes! even in Oakville!) dress shopping for the girls. We finally pull up in the driveway at 2:00 with the goal to be out the door at 2:30 PM. We leave at 2:45 PM and embark on the "North on Trafalgar" route to the Bruce.

Somewhere just before Shelburne, my car begins making an alarming noise. Even over the blaring beat of Lady Gaga, I tune into the uncharacteristic sounds of my vehicle. To provide some background as to the extent of my attention to the "sounds of my car", as a young driver, my father, a very practical man , purchased a car for me for my 16th birthday. The caveat attached to the ten year old VW Bug car was that I had to rebuild the engine. In a stroke of generosity, Dad supplied assistance on the rebuild but I had to be there every step of the air cooled engine make over. "Always listen to your engine" was one of his rebuild mantras. And the Bug, in turn, with its regular breakdowns, stranding me numerous times, honed my skills in this regard.

So I know my "bad engine sounds" and I am worried. Still in my spa morning skirt and top, I take a side road and unfurl a towel on the ground. Without providing the entertainment portion to "Alejandro", I kneel down to take a look at the under carriage of the car. Despite the vision of a muffler throwing up a trail of sparks behind us, there is nothing dragging on the ground. There is a loose housing that is vibrating in the most precarious manner. I need to seek professional advice. I am afraid that our trip may be ruined.

Our side road dumps us one block from the central intersection in Shelburne. We are greeted by a cop on point duty. The traffic is wild for a community of this size. Later, we discover that it is the weekend of the Shelburne Fiddle Competition. I remember seeing a car dealership towards the outskirts of town so I head away from the lines of traffic to sanity. I see a Ford dealership on Hwy 24 and decide to take my chances at 4:30 PM on a beautiful Friday afternoon.

I park the car and get my foot in the door of the service office. The posted closing is 5 PM. In Oakville, the automotive service centres provide service much like Parisian waiters deal with the inconvenience of patrons. After a haughty evaluation of my moment in need, I may be provided with an appointment a week out. I am expecting the worst.

When I nervously ask where the closest Toyota dealership is, the lady behind the desk smiles at me and chirps that they don’t have one here. I explain my predicament. While the kind lady pats my hand and calls one of the men in who has miraculously just finished a job, I text my husband who tells me he is busy in a meeting and can fetch us later if required. The kind gentleman hoists my car up, graciously confirms my "bad sound" diagnosis and calms my nerves by tie wrapping my heat shield to get us through the weekend. It sounds worse than it is, he consoles. All between 4:30 PM and 4:45 PM. I am beyond thankful and am prepared to pay them what ever it takes to compensate these fine people for their trouble.

The kind lady evaluates the tie wrap and warns me that she has to charge me something. I say that I am totally prepared for that and have my Visa poised to pay the bill. "But," she reasons, "it wasn’t a big deal so just head off on your hiking trip." I look at her in disbelief and insist on paying something. "No," she says, "it is your lucky day." I insist on leaving some money for a round of coffee and donuts for the group - something. "No," she insists, "We will not take your money." In addition to this kindness, the folks at the dealership provide a route which bypasses the downtown mayhem and we are back on our way by 5 PM and pulling up into Wiarton by 6 PM. Thank you Trillium Lincoln Ford! Chivalry is not dead!

We grab fish and chips at an Indian trading post further North on Hwy #6. This was a spot recommended by Dave at Taylor Made. The fish is indeed tasty, deep fried in a batter that tastes like it has been combined with chopped pieces of fresh tarragon such that the tarragon becomes crispy flecks as well. There are a lot of chips included in the serving of which Olivia and I only have a few. Once we get through the fish, there is not much room for the chips. Later that night, maybe due to an atypical deep fried dinner, neither of us are feeling well.

We pull into Cape Chin Connection Country Inn (not sure about the inclusion of the word "connection") but we will call it "the Inn" for short. An experience at the Inn is like an encounter with a unique culture. There may be some very interesting attributes which you love but also there will be some traditions which you take into consideration and won’t miss when you leave that country or culture. Having said that the Inn is a local icon and revered as the upscale place to hangout for celebrations and a nice night out. When we arrive, the place is packed with no vacancy. It’s pretty much the only game in the Cape Chin area. It has been for sale for approximately 3 years and is currently listed for $575K. Contrary to our typical B&B experience, the Inn is an mini-hotel and serves breakfast, lunch and diiner and is licensed for liquor. Like learning any new culture, one gets to understand the "Do’s and Don’t’s" and I would stay there again.
When we walk in, the main and only entrance dumps you into the middle of the small, packed dining room. The conversation stops and everyone looks up from their meals to survey the intruders. There are couples, foursomes, a large family congregation with only a couple of feet between tables. The servers are busy. I look behind us to figure out if we have entered by the correct door. We pause to take in the situation and try to grab the eye of a waitress – which doesn’t work. We carefully make our way through the tables, proceeding on through the dining room to the base of some stairs. We find a waitress who tells us to wait there, she will be right with us.
We wait for a while and finally introduce ourselves. The lady says that they have been expecting us and show us our room. They give us a bright airy corner room flanked with windows on two sides, two beds a small desk and closet. We will share a washroom with what turns out to be one of our Leaders on the hike. It is inevitable that we will share accommodations with some of our fellow hikers. As we head further North, the options narrow and we will be bumping elbows in no time. This is not a bad thing as so far all of the people in our regular hiking group are good folks.
We proceed back to our car and start lugging our things upstairs – yes – through the dining room, trying not to knock food off of the diners’ plates. I approach the kitchen where Anne, the owner looking remarkably like my own Grandmother, levels me a look which thankfully I had never seen on my Grandma’s face. I stop in my tracks and ask if there is a place to store our water. She says no – they are not allowed outside food in their kitchen. I ask if there are any other separate guest fridges on the property. No, there is not. Topic is dropped.
After we finish unloading our luggage, we decide to take advantage of the hot tub. Though not a big fan of hot tubs, Olivia is pumped so I think what the heck. While we are pulling towels from the car, Walter arrives and unpacks his things. We discover that he is the single gentleman we will be sharing the bathroom with. Walter later recounts how he made the mistake of actually putting a foot in the kitchen before he was stopped in his tracks and ordered to step back. Customers were not allowed in the kitchen and he was shown the surveillance camera sign. He was given the same marching orders about storing his water as we were. Thankfully, it was to cool down to single digits in the evening and water left in the car was suitably cold by the morning.
Olivia’s best friend owns a hot tub so under her direction, we remove the cover and get things bubbling. I find hot tubs "chemically" but it was nice to rest our bones after our eventful trip up and slow down before heading to bed. By the time we head back in, Olivia wants a dessert which she spotted during our invasion of the dining room. The dining room closes at 8:00 PM. It is 8:00PM and ice cream is no longer available.
We sleep very soundly with our windows open as the night air dips to a refreshing 8 C.

August 7 – 15.2 km
Hot breakfast is served at 8:00PM sharp. There is a toaster and sweet buns on a sideboard as well as coffee which can be had in advance. When breakfast arrives it is delicious (eggs, texas toast and bacon/sausage, home made jams) but leaves us scrambling to get to the meeting place on time. Walter has bolted ahead of us and we arrive at 9:15 AM. We apologize to the group and promptly drive back whence we came to start at the beginning of the day’s hike.

The hiking is again perfect. After a boardwalk section through a swampy patch, we are making our way through a forest section when we encounter a snake in full rattle. The snake is camouflaged , tucked in by a stump. The sound is like a high pitch cicada and we can all here it loud and clear. We make a wide circle around the agitated fellow and continue on our way.
Shortly there after, we encounter the Toronto Chapter hiking in the opposite direction. We warn them about the snake and briefly share pleasantries before going our separate ways.
We walk past the driveway of the Inn, reminding us of its blissful convenience and head to Devil’s Monument.
Devil’s Monument is a spectacular land formation that reminds me of a giant interpretative rock sculpture of a DNA double helix. It is truly fascinating. We make our way down to the rocky shore where several other tourists have staked their claim. Nothing feels quite like perching your butt on a large flat rock that juts out into the water, peeling off your hiking shoes and wet socks and soaking your tired feet in the cool waters of Georgian Bay
On this day, the bays look particularly spectacular with the azure waters rimmed in Caribbean blues and greens for as far as the eye can see.
When we return to the B&B, we beat Walter to the shower and head downstairs to the spacious deck for cold drinks. We have made reservations for 6 PM when dining opens. We overhear an exasperated bride try to wrangle the details of their wedding dinner at the Inn. They will be taking over the entire Inn for their festivities. As I sit in the warmth and fresh air of the patio, I envision how beautiful the wedding will be. The wedding party will be dancing on this very deck to the strains of their live band. But there are some dinner details that are playing havoc with the execution. The couple leave, the details yet unestablished. I listen to the groom light into the bride in the parking lot "Where did you find this place?!" The exasperated bride tries to justify her selection. I can see her dream. I know why she has chosen this place. But they just need to learn the culture to make it happen.
John and Walter join Olivia and I on the deck. The Inn has an impressive selection of micro-brewery beers. They even offer my beverage of choice, apple cider. We decide to have dinner together. This poses an issue for the Inn. I ask maybe if they can put two tables close by so that we can talk across to one another. In the end, they concede in placing us in a back dining room where we can all sit together.
Dinner is a lively affair with topics ranging from micro-breweries, hikes, trips, computer programming and the list goes on. Olivia is on the verge of tears when initially ordering. She says she wants a grill cheese from the lunch menu. The waitress snaps that she has to order from the middle of the menu. Taken aback, Olivia views the offerings and asks for the catch of the day not really sure what that is. My dinner is very English, boiled potatoes with beef along with the traditional lack of tastiness. John and Walter chose braised ribs and say that their meal is exceptional. I envision how far a round of Martha Stewart Greek potatoes would gone – something with some zing with virtually no extra effort. I think that the area has been settled with English stock and this is what you get. Like my Grandmother, spaghetti is probably considered foreign food (not very tantalizing foreign food at that!).
There is a heavenly smell emanating from the kitchen but we can not have that. It is the lamb being prepared for the buffet dinner on Sunday night. Olivia asks for the ice cream again tonight. We can’t have that either. That is not what is the dessert for tonight. Instead she has to settle for an apple blossom – no ice cream.
We bid good night to our dinner mates and tuck into bed.

August 8 – 15.3 km
When I wake up, I look through the bathroom window and see what initially I take to be deer stalking in the mist in the field. As I cart items to the car, I realize that they are sandhill cranes. I should add that I dart to the car in between down pours of rain. The Inn concedes to get us rolling on breakfast 5 minutes early. We are still late connecting with the group.
We hike through the pouring rain all day. Don and Walter are all blustery that the weather had the nerve to actually rain. They are worried about people not having a good time. Several of us do not even bother with rain gear as submit ourselves to the grey sheets of warm rain. We have had such idyllic hiking weather up to this point, we are in no position to complain. Even Olivia does not complain.
Sandhill cranes are everywhere in the fields. We encounter another rattle snake on the road. There are rumours that the Trail has been closed due to an aggressive bear. Out come the bear bells but we never encounter a problem.

We are drenched entirely through. We progress through areas where the locals are not supportive of the Bruce Trail and its hikers. We warily eye passing vehicles that storm past in sections of the Trails that transpose onto dirt roads

It is still a great hiking day. By the time we

return to our cars, the women who have arrived before the men, are already stripping in the open air and slipping into dry clothes. We all head home, cleansed of our worries and embraced by the spirit of the Bruce.

July 17 & 18 - 14.0 km

July 16, 2010 -

We are improving at escaping the city on Friday evenings. Tonight, we leave at 3:00 PM sharp and drive up the scenic Trafalgar Rd route but make the mistake of turning left into Mount Forest. Mount Forest is hosting a festival and the streets are packed with revellers and beyond this tiny village there are numerous lane reductions as we snake our way North. It seems that rural two lane bridges all need to be upgraded this weekend and therefore downgraded to single lanes. We wait for the make shift traffic lights to allow our build-up of cars to pass through. But we make it through in far better time than the hiways 403/410 route and stop at Kettles outside of Markdale for dinner.

Kettles seems like one of these iconic stops, like Webers on Hwy 11, as every time we have passed on previous trips, the parking lot is full and the place, bustling. The sign out front provides options: if you can not get a seat, by golly, the Take Out is open. When we arrive, it is busy and we wait in a six person line for a table for two. The fish and chips are copious, good but not excellent. The pie is copious but OK. The pastry is grainy like my pastry – nothing special. Our impression is that Kettles stakes its reputation on American sized portions. To Olivia, however, it’s all good and there are no leftovers on her plate.

With bellies full, we are off and pull into Lion’s Head around 7:30 AM. We are staying at Taylor Made B&B. Barbara and Dave are our hosts. These people epitomize hospitality and the place is full reflecting their gregarious business sense. There are no cats but there are plenty of dogs on board with drift around much like Victorian children – seen but not heard. We are given a choice of a traditional Bavarian breakfast of meats, cheeses, breads or Dave’s famous waffles. We choose the Bavarian breakfast with a promise to Dave we will do the waffles on Sunday morning.
The B&B is a large renovated back split with generous use of blonde pine and neutral decoration. We share a bathroom which is not a huge deal. The other older mother daughter team we are sharing with do not "hog the bathroom". The other guests have en suites on their rooms. There is a small guest fridge freezer in which we place our water for the next day.

Olivia and I take an evening stroll down to the dock in Lion’s Head, along the path and out onto the wharf. It is a mellow cottage country evening and the brilliant stars, a reward for the zero light pollution mandate in the region, manifest in the dusky purple sky. We stop for ice cream at the corner store and then back to our room to prepare for the next day. There is no issue with scheduling a 7:45 AM breakfast – name it Barbara and Dave are happy to comply.



July 17, 7: 42 AM
When we come down we are told we are 3 minutes early. Dave and Barbara are perfectionists and want to make a good impression. The table is laden with a feast of meats, cheeses, yogurt, Barbara’s home made breads, jams and mueseli. Olivia immediately plugs into the mueseli and wants to make it at home. This is a change in palate for my daughter. Traditionally, she gravitates to the most disgusting sugar loaded cereal available or some close facsimile there of (e.g. if not available, a suitable alternative would have been toast laden with the New Zealand honey offered on the table). Happy in the change in diet, I say nothing but inwardly marvel at the transformation. Dave provides soft boiled eggs served with quaint little plastic egg spoons. The rest is family style dining where we pass the cheeses, meats and breads around the table. The other two couples who join us for breakfast in our time slot, are thirty-somethings out to explore the area or hike portions of the trail. Breakfast is delicious and we leave the table topped up on protein and carbs.

We meet our hiking group two blocks away at the Lion’s Head Beach area. There is a small farmers market that revs up at 9:00 PM. As tables are set up and the locals lay out their wares, I am regretful that we will not have the opportunity to graze through the offerings. If only it were starting a half-hour earlier!
Our group then moves cars to the main streets, roads with ample free parking and carpool to Burrows Bay.

We then embark on one of the most scenic and interesting hikes on the Peninsula trail. For those who want a summer weekend snippet of the best the area has to offer, I would recommend a B&B stay at Taylor Made, the farmers market and a hike around the Lion’s Head starting at Burrows Bay. The entire hike is one of the shortest hikes at 14 km and there are numerous scenic lookouts, potholes, and all the geological variety the area has to offer.




Olivia scores her Marlin Perkins moment when we encounter a 4-ft water snake downing a round goby. Of course, I know not what type of fish this is but Olivia announces to the group the name and its status of "invasive species" in Ontario. Surprised, I look at her to see if she is pulling our collective legs (as do a few other group members). "I took it in school", she tells the staring group. "We cover invasive species". I think good on the school system - not bad for Grade 6.














During our hike, we see rock climbers lined up like little ants on the edge of the escarpment. Below, we encounter a boat stranded on the rocks with a group of young people trying to drag it in the surf. John calls the local OPP at the harbour for assistance.





This is the good thing about carrying cell phones. But I also get a call from work for assistance on our way to the point. I am suddenly a pariah and this is not welcome from the group. Sotto voce comments are tossed about. As I continue to hike and talk at the same time, the cell service abruptly fades and finally, becomes non-existent. If you hike and need to be in constant contact with the outside world, this should be a consideration before taking on sections of the Bruce.




As we head back around the point, the cell service kicks in again and I am able to contact work to sort things out. Despite the group’s reaction, in a grander sense, I find the freedom from cell service liberating. My red neck streak is gratified to know that there are still places where technology has not penetrated Mother Nature.





We finish in Lion’s Head and after getting a lift to Burrows Bay to fetch our car (which is only a few km’s away – shorter than our actual hike), we are back to the B&B for a shower and freshening up. It is only 3 PM by the time we get back. The shower is momentarily busy but we chat with those milling about in the spacious, bright kitchen. Another guest has caught a salmon and wants to BBQ it for the group. Wine is poured. Our hosts want to get breakfast plans out of the way and Dave eagerly awaits orders for his famous waffles. Unfortunately, Barbara’s Bavarian breakfast has made such an impression and offers such a deluxe variety of options; we want a replay of our morning’s feast. Dejected, Dave is determined to make waffles anyway. Someone will eat them.
Of the several recommended options Dave provides, we have pizza at the Corner Store. The bar type seating is difficult for those of us with long legs and we end up sitting side ways. The food is nutritious and tasty. Olivia points out that she believes the pizza dough has been previously frozen but enjoys her meal regardless. We wander back to the B&B.
Dave’s 12 year old daughter arrives. The tweenies hook up and have a good chat. Olivia joins the hosts for a second dinner and goes for an evening walk with Barbara, Dave’s daughter and the dogs. Barbara says Olivia is crazy with energy, even after a day of hiking. I tend to agree. I, on the other hand refreshed and tired, curl up with my book and read in bed.
Another couple from our hike group has scored a night at Taylor Made. They marvel at our ability to secure two nights in a row. I tell them that I planned our stays several months in advance. They are more of the last minute club type of planners and found it was difficult to find places to stay.

July 18
We team up with another couple who is staying at the B&B and decide we

will follow one another to the end and car pool together. Again the morning spread is bountiful and Dave has his waffles on the table, which his daughter very much enjoys.
We start our hike right down by the beach in Lion’s Head and make our way along the shore. This includes a long stretch along Isthmus Bay Road which is strung with a sporadic line of "For Sale" signs. I wonder if the economy or the waterfront taxes are driving this sell off – or maybe both.



There is a great cave feature not far out of Lion’s Head.

We head in land through a cedar and then deciduous forest. Someone shouts from the front, "Rattle Snake. Pass it on." announcing our first encounter with the fabled Massasauga Rattler. I am expecting a curling, writhing, aggressive beast – head poised to strike as we approach the spot. It’s a pretty fat snake, is my first impression. And it is not even cagily hidden in a rock face where the unwary hiker could inadvertently disturb it. The snake is laying across the path like Burt Reynolds in his PlayGirl heyday - just lying there. I search the length of the body to locate the end so that I can get a visual on rattling tail, as I am not hearing anything. As well, the head is very small compared to the body – so small in fact, that one really has to focus on which end is which to determine which is the rattle end and which is the tiny triangular head end. Olivia comments on the small head as well. "THAT could bite you?" The group forms a circle around the snake albeit at a respectable distance. A hiker gently touches the snake with his pole. This is not in line with our hiker’s code and the person was not a "regular" with our group. The snake delivers a half-hearted semi-rattle, which I try to memorize so that I know what to listen for should we encounter a rattler again. It’s not enough to make a lasting impression. We decide that our first encounter was a non-event but are still very thankful for the sharp eyes of our trail leader who would have been the first to encounter the snake and throw up the warning for the group.




Not far along, we have a bear sighting but by the time the group balls up to prepare for the encounter and activate the bear bells, the critter is no where to be seen.
Again, the hiking weather is perfectly superb. We hike along Smokey Head, the cliffs rimming the Bay, the rocky expansive shores of Georgian Bay, back to our cars and then home. Today’s hike is closer to 16 km.


I would like to mention that the following weekend, during a jaunt to the Elvis festival in Collingwood, my curious husband decides we should take a road trip to Lion's Head. (OK I may have gone on a bit about how incredibly beautiful the little town is, nestled in a bay lined with spectacular cliffs.) We go to Marydale’s Café for lunch where I have one of the best pub fare meals of my life. I have a chicken BLT wrap – which is the most delicious bacony wrap experience going. We finish off with a piece pie, which is made on site. The pie is "The Best". Upon first bursting into the crust, I wonder if the chef has stumbled upon some unique hybrid crust, somewhere between phyllo and traditional pastry. The Chemical Engineer in me takes over and I have to have this recipe. I ask the waitress if the base is lard or shortening. She goes to a posted recipe on the wall and says that the cook posts the recipe right there. They all prep batches ahead of time – and the base is shortening. I imagine myself moving to Lion’s Head and taking up as a waitress at Marydale café to learn the art of the chef. But in reality, the disclosure of the shortening is a hint I can work with. I resolve to mine the recipes and ancient pastry manuscripts from my Grandmother. As my winter project, I will bake many shortening based piecrusts. I will bake pies like this.


Honestly, you have to visit Lion’s Head. I will be back to Marydale’s – you can count on it.