Ottawa to the Soo!

Day two, July 1.
Distance travelled, 840kms
Wildlife spotted:  nothing... hmmm...

Up, showered, left motel early.  Due to the cheapness of the motel there was no coffee, so we were banging on the door of the Tim Horton's at 6am on Canada Day, begging for coffee.  The staff took pity and sold us bagels too.

Driving through the Ottawa Valley, I was again struck by how similar to the southern part of Ireland it is.  Roloing hills with grazing cattle, lots of hedgerows and little farmhouses off the road.  The only difference is that here the hay is already cut, dried and shining golden under the sun.

We got to North Bay by lunchtime, and the gradual change in the landscape became more pronounced.  Lake Nipissing golinted in the distance.  Manitoulin, home of the Great Spirit, was an old emerald sewn onto a bolt of grey-blue silk.

We were headed towards Sudbury and the air smelt as bad as the approach to Saruman's tower.  My lips were dry and my head hurt.  The rock became more pronounced and the trees more fragile, clinging to the earth rather than rooted in it.

There were cars parked along the highway and we couldn't figure out what people were doing on a hot Canada Day -swimming, fishing? - until we saw a family emerge with billy cans of blueberries.

Happy Canada Day - let's celebrate by going into the woods and working our fingers to the bone foraging. 

After a while, the road turned away from Sudbury and towards Lake Huron.  The escarpment receded a little and now and then we caught a glimpse of the lake.  As we drove through the many First Nation reserves along the shore I thought about the Huron people in Quebec, who had originated from here.  After getting their asses kicked by the Iroquois, they followed some crazy French Jesuit all the way to the St. Lawrence river to start a new life.  Sometime in the 1600s I think.  They settled happily along the river, until more French people came and pushed them back into the mountains.

I wonder if the French Jesuit hadn't started the argument with the Iroquois in the first place...

I must read Brian Moore's novel, Blackrobe, again.

By 5pm it was very hot and we were tired.  We lucked out with a great campsite by a lake, in a private site owned by German couple.

Hot food.
Glass of wine
Bed.

Slept through the fireworks, but not the strange noises coming from the RV near us.  Somebody was either having an awesome time with a lady, or an asthma attack.  It was difficult to determine which.