Day 21 (Sept 3)

This is what a very fine morning looks like, in a very fine pine forest. Can't say "dawn" since we figured it best to sleep in, as the sun's angle no doubt betrays. By some inexplicable early-morning logic this makes sense: because the rain is gone and it's such a perfect morning, we ought to stay blissfully tucked away for an hour or so. To avoid overstimulation by suspect happiness, I guess, and honestly weather-based happiness is a tricky little devil, and very fleet of foot.

The pleasantries end soon enough with an abrupt exit onto the road, softened a bit by the discovery there of a stray ziplock full of little foods. How can this chocolate not yet be melted? Its owner must be peeing just around the next tree, or..? This trail is a little short on "trail magic" so we can't help adopting someone's orphans, random as they may be. We'll give you a good home, little fellas! But yards away there's a clue: A crop of blackberries so thick and juicy that perhaps some hiker with more tongue than brain may have cast off his city food like a faith-healed cripple hurls his crutch. Maybe.

And now for five miles of road walk where the trail conference has been unable to negotiate a better route. All part of the game, it seems, when you sign onto one of these underdog trails. There can be some undocumented delights along the way though... on this leg we chance on a self-service produce stand:

As well-vittled as we are with the recent infusion, it's irresistible to pick up a travel-size tomato and a wiggly pepper for $1.25. And of course we're always happy to rid ourselves of a bill and a coin; that stuff's heavy and you can't eat it.

...These roadside joys notwithstanding, we're still a little stung by our inability to have a proper town day in Franklinville, due to its lodginglessness. The fine weather and full battery charge lead to a certain lazy boldness in smartphone usage, and voila, looks like there's a pretty cool cabin on Airbnb not far offtrail! Too far to make it to today, though, or even tomorrow. And on the next day it's already booked. Curse you, information, and all you stand for!...

...or... we could hike like mad for the rest of today, and tomorrow too, and maybe somehow make it anyway! (This is what actually needing a shower feels like. If you're not willing to carry 30 pounds for 40 miles to get to your shower, you probably don't need a shower at all.)

Having more stench than sense, we embark on what seems like a reasonable plan: hiking about 10 extra miles today to a campsite that otherwise we'd never have considered within range, with an equally ambitious trek for tomorrow. And hey, we're truckin', let's go ahead and make a binding reservation, what could go wrong?

Ah, the unthinkable, the trail re-route! Will it be longer, shorter, steeper, slower...? Complete change from the route on the map, so we have no choice but to follow the blazes and hope for the best. With a tickle of dread we realize that it's going over private land nowhere near our planned destination campsite. And not some giant unsung tract of private land either, but basically a neglected creek frontage between suburban developments. Suburbs of what, we can't say, but POSTED, NO TRESPASSING, KEEP OUT, VIOLATORS WILL BE VIOLATED etc, quite literally the warning signs are all there. Somehow the Finger Lakes Trail Conference has (very recently, apparently) negotiated an easement for hiking through these parcels, but clearly it does not extend to camping. And as dusk settles it's clear that there's no way we can reach campable territory before dark, so we will not be able to comply with these no-doubt-well-meant landowner preferences. ("Night-hiking" really is a thing, some people really do it and maybe even like it... suffice it to say, not to our tastes.)

It's one thing to violate state or county regulations, quite another to knowingly flout the fragile agreements under which the trail is established on private land. Well, we're subtle campers, really, impeccably fastidious, with no fire or even a camp stove, just a tiny grey tent. Erected at dusk and gone at dawn, there's no reason to think anyone will be the wiser. But Deb is nervous.

Day 20 (Sept 2)

Great success with the slanty tarp-roof thing - a pretty dry tent and fly. Might try varying the height and angle, but overall quite pleased.

Hitting the trail in the morning sun, dry and happy for our first trip through town, Franklinville. We have to walk a fair bit of highway to get there, but since the road's taking us into civilization instead of just between chunks of forest it doesn't seem so silly. Except when a Mennonite buggy zooms past us, which makes us feel very slow indeed. I wonder why those guys are dressed like me.

A town visit during a through-hike is a fun thing. At the Maplehaven restaurant, we get a delicious hot second breakfast and also order some food to go. They're kind enough to let us leave our packs here, and our cell phone charging, while we scour the rest of the town for our various needs.

The Family Dollar next door has a great selection of easy foods, batteries, and toiletries. Franklinville also has a tavern, liquor store, grocery store, many varieties of restaurant, and even the through-hiker's holy grail, a laundromat. We haven't laundered our duds since St. Catherines, and were there a hotel here we'd happily spend the night and start out tomorrow clean and fresh, but no luck, and no Airbnb stuff either. With another evening of heavy rain predicted, we need to get back into the woods and get our tarp-tent contraption up tout de suite. So it's a quick run of shopping and farewell to Franklinville.

The trail out of town is very tough to follow, thick brambles and ankle-deep mud that's quickly calf-deep if you take a wrong step. Our reward is a slow ascent to higher ground with a serene pine forest, and nourishing beef on weck from the Maplehaven.

 The tarp's up just in time, and the rain comes pounding.

Day 19 (Sept 1)

During our short time on the Conservation Trail, we've seen the character of the trail vary widely. One mile is the most pleasant sort of hiking: a ridge along a lush creek with expertly crafted steps and bridges, a soft path through a rare nineteenth-century pine grove, or a long-abandoned orchard whose resilient fruits delight and sustain us. The next mile we're slipping down a steep ravine, navigating the huge muddy ruts of logging operations, or wandering through desiccated, rocky corn rows, all with blazing so poor that we never know if we missed a turn a quarter-mile back.

Our final leg of Conservation Trail is blocked altogether, maybe due to a landowner dispute? No telling. We're rerouted on what's dubbed the "Nature Trail Loop." Well, that sounds nice. The Nature Trail Loop goes like this:
 - Cross barbed-wire fence into active farmland with no stile. Wonder if the blaze is wrong because it makes no sense.
 - Cross other end of barbed-wire fence on rickety stile that snaps under my weight (around 16 or 17 stone with the pack.)
 - Carefully tread along a tiny strip of thorny brambles between a deep mud gully and an electric fence. Wonder if the blazes are wrong because it makes no sense.
 - Wander through a swampy pasture with no blazes, hoping it's the right direction.
 - Walk on train tracks for about a mile, not a rail trail, just some old tracks whose ties are slimy and slippery. Deb is not amused.

Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely grateful to the farmer and railroad who've made this alternate route possible, and to the volunteers who do their best to maintain these trails under adverse and ever-changing conditions. But maybe "Farm and Rail Hazards Loop" would be a better name than "Nature Trail Loop."

Enough snark and grouse though -- we're leaving the Conservation Trail today and joining up with the main Finger Lakes Trail, and we'll see how that goes. The FLT heads east toward the Catskills and will eventually allow us to connect with the Long Path and head south into NYC. That's pretty far, but at least we're once again heading in the correct direction.

First impression is good -- there's nice blazage and signage and a brand-new register box. The last time I tried to sign into one of the register boxes on the Conservation Trail it was so old and rotten that it fell off the tree and broke at my feet. This one is in fine, sturdy shape, but inside it's got little mice peering at me. Sorry guys! I'll just move along...

The FLT does feel a little realer though, and more genuinely oriented towards through-hikers. It offers a lot of shelters and camp sites. Look, here's one already!

I'm quite fond of these things. Deb is generally reluctant to stay in them because other hikers can arrive, sometimes on the late side, and she's shy. No really, she is. But we've hardly seen a soul on this trip, and we're getting more rain tonight, so it seems like a good spot to bed down.

Just as we unroll the sleeping bags, a group of hikers arrive. Real hikers, like us! Sort of. They're only out for a few days, so naturally they have a lot more stuff, and a lot of great-looking food, and in fact even the jerky they're feeding their dog looks better than what we found at the Buffalo CVS. They seem like really nice folks, but it looks like they have a full night of elaborate campfire cooking and whisky drinking planned. We could attempt to insinuate ourselves into this, but opt instead to yield the shelter, pretending we'd only stopped there for a siesta (they don't really buy it but they're not exactly begging us to stay), and camp a few miles ahead.

On the way, we encounter another re-route that differs from the maps. But it's not bad, it's good! The trail's been rerouted off of a long road walk and and instead now goes through private land along a little stream. Along the way, nicely crafted bridges and benches, delicious apple trees, and a grove of memorial saplings decorate the brand new trail. Hopefully this jaunt will be a pleasant and shady treat for many years to come. Thanks, landowner!

No more shelters to be had, but the next section of the trail takes us through a state forest preserve, where the camping regulations are very generous. (Basically, you can camp anywhere that's at least 150 feet from trails, roads, or water.) But what about that leaky tent in the rain? Heck, been wanting to try one of these tarp rig things for a while:

Here's hoping!

Day 18 (Aug 31)

A fireworks show of thunder and lightening and the epic battle of pain versus painkiller make for a night of crazy dreams. In the morning, we tally up wins and losses.

Winning: the human eye. It has finally ejected the tree branch that I've been carrying around, and though it still throbs in torment with every photon, I can feel the corner turned. Good thing; we'd almost been at the point of running back to Buffalo for a doctor.

Losing: the tent. I swear it used to be waterproof. We put the fly on and everything, but water is sneaking in from the top seam and from every side. Darn that mousy cabin.

Another loss: My rain jacket, in that I seem to have left it hanging in the closet at the Hotel Lafayette. Double-darn. Deb crafts a replacement from our best trash bag:

Just in time for a full day of heavy rain. We are wet, wetter, quite sodden. We trudge the muddy trail and race along the rainslick road portions, hoping to dry out at the next shelter on the map... surprise, says a helpful poster on a tree, the shelter and miles of trail around it no longer exist. A reroute is suggested, which we'll deal with tomorrow. Nothing to do tonight but suck it up, put up the wet tent, and put our wet selves inside, and fantasize about the warm, dry days that must surely lie ahead.

Day 17 (Aug 30)

A night of crusty weeping ends with the searing pain of dawn's first glow. I've always been "sensitive to questions" but having to don the shades before the sun's even over the horizon is a new one.

Camp and fast broken, we're back on the trail. Inevitably, the mind dwells on the many differences between hiking here in New York State versus the Niagara Escarpment in Ontario. One very visceral change is the water situation -- lots of very fine creeks and streams for us to drink from, though we still use the filter pump of course.

Sap line limbo!

(Canada's got its share of sugar maples of course, but here our interaction with them is pretty intimate.)

Forecast calls for heavy rain tonight, but luckily there's a cabin right along our route that through-hikers are allowed to use. We arrive in good time, but Deb does not like it!

A cute building, but it doesn't look like hikers have been here for years, and in the meantime it has served as an outhouse to a hundred thousand mice. The floor is millimeters thick with droppings and the air is unbreathably stinky. There's no way to salvage this cabin without a hazmat crew and a pressure washer, so we're just going to have to put up the tent, rain or no.

Meanwhile, the eye is still giving me nasty stabs of pain. There must be a little piece of tree still in there. Deb says it looks like an angry nugget of blood and fire. She feeds me a soothing dose of opioid and convinces me to splash a lot of fresh New York State water in my face. Maybe it's getting better? Heavy rains all night.

Day 16 (Aug 29)

A glorious Buffalo morning. Then consternation again as we discover that the bus to East Aurora doesn't run until 4pm... of course, it's an outbound commuter route. Rather than further dallying downtown we decide to ask an affable cabbie named Picardo, who carts us down there for a fare that all parties find agreeable. Better still, he drops us off right at the trailhead, saving a few miles' highway walking.

Ahh... that's more like it: A trail. In the woods. Nice.

The Conservation Trail is a major spur maintained by the Finger Lakes Trail Conference that stretches from near the western end of the Finger Lakes Trail north to the Buffalo area (and all the way to Niagara Falls, they'd have us believe, though I'd beg to differ.) It gives us our first taste of what the next phase of our hike through western New York State will look like. And we like the taste: the weather is fine, the trail is good, and we're happy hiking along the beautiful Hunters Creek ravine. It's very good to be back in the woods.

Sadly we're spit back out on the road before too long... the FLT and its spur are cobbled together from bits of state land, county land, land trust preserves, and generous private landowners who allow the trail through their forests and fields. (Not unlike the Bruce Trail, but even more so.) Connecting theses are bits of bike trail, old railroad right-of-way, forest service roads, and in a pinch, regular automobile roads, even short bits of highway. Road walk always looks intimidating on the map. Dodging traffic can be scary; rarely there's the good fortune of a sidewalk. But at least it offers some nice views that we don't often get in the "green tunnel." A classic barn:

At one home we pass some summer squash, free for the taking:

The provider of this squash, a spry retiree, emerges from his garage and eyes us with curiosity, and we speak about our journey. Strangely, he's heard of the Bruce Trail but never of the Conservation Trail, even though it runs literally right in front of his house. He asks worriedly if we had to go through the "black section" of Buffalo... Um, yeah, it was all very colorful. Thanks for the squash. Back slowly away...

Returning to the woods after a couple miles, I have the misfortune of impaling my right eye on a young tree branch. Ouch. I can still see out of that side so I guess the eyeball's still there, but wow, that hurts.

Here's a much older, gentler tree:

On the positive side, we are approaching an official Conservation Trail "bivouac area", i.e., a place we're allowed to camp, thanks to the generosity of an unknown landowner. Thanks, landowner! There's even a picnic table for us to use. After a delicious dinner of CVS jerky with a side of summer squash, we tuck in for the night, and I try my best to weep my troubles away.

Day 15 (Aug 28)

Breakfast at the Red Coach Inn is pretty good. The dining room has a nice view of the Niagara River rapids above the falls. Plus they let me use the computer at their reception desk for a bit, and they even have a mini sewing kit for us. It's getting harder to find those at hotels these days. So this place is all right, I guess.

From Niagara Falls, NY we head out of town on the Conservation Trail, which here is a broad bike/hike path that follows the Niagara River upstream from the falls toward Grand Island. The rapids here are intense. Don't fall in! (Not without a barrel, anyway.)

Further upstream, the river widens and relaxes a bit, and the path includes some nice fishing spots. The bustle of Niagara Falls behind us, nothing remains but the highway to our left and the river to our right. The trail is sunny and peaceful, empty except for a few cyclists.

Next up is Grand Island, which sits in the middle of the Niagara River northwest of Buffalo. The trail is supposed to follow the pedestrian path on the northbound side of the bridge, but...

Some kind of work being done... so we have to wiggle around to the southbound side, no problem, we're game.

The bridge is unnervingly high and windy. Below, motorboats with construction works zip back and forth. A porta-potty is carefully lowered by crane onto a flat-bottomed boat. Delicate work.

On the south end we expect to reconnect with the blazed trail. (The Conservation Trail is blazed with orange paint, unlike the Bruce Trail and most other major trails -- like the Appalacian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Finger Lakes Trail -- which use white.) But instead we're discharged into the parking area for the construction crew, with no way to get to the trail on the other side of the highway. Annoying, but we can roll with the punches, right? So it's about a half mile hike along the shoulder of the Niagara Thruway until we reach the next trail crossing.

Actually it's a little harrowing, especially walking out on the exit ramp with confused drivers speeding past. A great relief to finally see our orange blazes again, which lead us to a pleasant bike trail down the west side of Grand Island, with lovely river views... until...

"BIKE ROUTE - END" Crap. And no sign of our orange blazes anywhere. Now what?

A careful re-reading of the map suggests that we walk on the grass strip next to the road. This grass sports a very prominent "NO PEDESTRIANS" sign. At this point the trail is re-christened "Consternation Trail."

Our plans for Grand Island are already a little iffy... There's no lodging or camping anywhere near the trail. Our best hope is to make it to the state park at the south end of the island (which sadly has no campground) and stealth-camp somewhere in the greenery. But we're honestly a little fed up with the shabby way this trail is treating us, and we fear the prospects ahead -- sauntering for days down the bike paths of Tonawanda and Getzville with no lodging or legal camping -- will continue to irritate. So we opt to cut out as much of of the Consternation Trail as we can, by grabbing a bus to Buffalo. We'll stock up on supplies there and see a bit of the real city that we'd miss if we stuck to the trail. Tomorrow we'll head out to East Aurora, as far as the Buffalo transit system will take us, and pick up the trail there. Hopefully it will be a real trail, where we can legally walk and camp, and feel a little less absurd.

We need change for the bus, but the only business open on the deserted end of the island is this general store:

All they really sell is candy. So we eat candy, and ride straight to downtown Buffalo to the hotel that happens to be closest to the bus route to East Aurora, Hotel Lafayette.

This place is crazy cool. It was designed by America's first female architect, Louise Bethune, in honor of the 1901 Pan-Am Exposition World's Fair, and at the time was the grandest hotel in the city. As Buffalo declined, the hotel suffered and was eventually abandoned as a going concern. At one point it was used as a homeless shelter. Now it's been restored and re-opened, and it's quite delightful. Wish I had pictures of the lobby with its gorgeous murals, but here's our room:

We had a nice meal at a nearby brewery, including Buffalo's specialty, beef on weck. But shopping in downtown Buffalo is a bit of a challenge. We finally find a CVS that stocks some trailworthy foods, hopefully enough to get us to the next decent grocery store somewhere down the trail. Goodnight, Buffalo! 

Day 14 (Aug 27)

Our final ascent back up the Niagara Escarpment, from Queenston to Queenston Heights Park again. Not a bold uphill charge this time, but a winding bike/hike path, the Niagara River Recreation Trail, which follows the Escarpment up the Niagara River toward the falls, along the sheer cliffs above with occasional views of the tumultuous rapids and whirlpools below. Across the river, New York State, USA.

Other nice sights as we head upriver are the Royal Botanical Gardens and the Niagara Falls heliport, busy with tourist sightseeing flights around the falls. Too loud, says Deb, inherently obnoxious bordering on apocalyptic.

We leave the trail at Victoria Avenue, the main drag of the city of Niagara Falls. Marching past scores of hotels and attractions, we make straight for the pedestrian border crossing at the Rainbow Bridge. 

It costs us 50 cents each to leave Canada this way, via an unmanned turnstile. The view of the falls from the bridge is worth the price.

We're prepared for a bit of scrutiny at the border control office on the American side. After all, we flew into Toronto with one-way tickets weeks ago and now we're showing up at the pedestrian crossing carrying huge packs stuffed with who-knows-what Canadian (or Cuban!) smugglables. At least they should run us through some sort of invasive scanning machine or have a dog sniff us. But after showing our passports, we're waved though with hardly a glance.

Strange to be back in the USA. Doesn't quite feel real, maybe because the city of Niagara Falls, NY is a bit of a bizarre no-mans-land. We've already made hotel reservations nearby so we have more time to kill here than we'd guessed, with the fast morning's hike and border crossing. We fill it with a lunch at the local culinary school, where they served Deb a bold but successful Asian tuna taco, improbably paired with a side of fries. Also a New York wine, Konstantin Frank's rosé, good stuff from the Finger Lakes -- where we'll soon be hiking. We won't get too close to Dr. Frank's place, but hopefully we'll walk by some Finger Lakes wineries to see how they compare in craft and trailside hospitality to their Niagara cousins. 

Our room for the night is at the Red Coach Inn, a Tudor-style hotel and restaurant highly recommended by our Canadian kin. It's pretty good, I guess, except the food was so-so and the curtains fell off the wall in the room. The tub's nice, though. 

Day 13 (Aug 26)

For breakfast, a spare French Dip sandwich leftover from last night's feast at The Beach. (They were running a special: a second sandwich for only 2 dollars more. I couldn't resist.)

We wind through the urban trails on the east edge of St. Catherines and down to the Welland Canal, which connects lakes Erie and Ontario. The trail crosses at this impressive draw bridge:

(Technically it's a "lift bridge" since it goes straight up and down. On this one the control room is housed at the top of the span, so the operator rides up and down with the bridge!)

Probably the sign is illegible, but the bridge is unfortunately closed for repairs from 10 to 4, and we've arrived at 10:30. Fortunately the workmen say they'll escort us over. But right now a ship is approaching, so we'll have to wait for it to pass.

The ship is the Federal Sakura, a bulk carrier (for goods like grain or ore) registered in Panama but flying the Canadian colors as well. The whole process takes about 20 minutes, then we're escorted across.

This is actually known as the "Fourth Welland Canal" as the same basic route has been re-dug for ever-larger ships since its inception in 1932. (A fifth version is planned by 2030.)

The trail takes us alongside an earlier canal, maybe the third?

Much too small for the likes of the Federal Sakura. Also here is a delicious abandoned apple orchard! And we go straight through a golf course, baffling us and the golfers.

We pass through the famous Screaming Tunnel without incident, and back up onto the Escarpment for the last few kilometers of Bruce Trail. It's great to be back up on the cliffs again, with little sinkholes and even a cool breezy cave to give us a bit of relief from the heat. And without warning, it's over. We're in the parking lot of Queenston Heights Park, where a monument marks the Bruce Trail's southern terminus.

We elect to take a celebratory pause for the night in the South Landing Inn ("Prior to 1814") in the tiny old village of Queenston below. Before the Welland Canal, this was an important shipping port, the closest spot to Niagara Falls where ships could safely dock and unload westbound cargo. It's also where the Americans invaded in 1812 and were repelled by brave General Brock, though it cost him his life. A gaudy dresser who insisted on personally leading counter-charges with his sword drawn, he was an easy target for the American musketmen and was shot through the chest. 

A huge pillar monument in the park honors General Brock. Next to this pillar, we learn, is the only restaurant within walking distance of our inn. So I bravely charge back up the Escarpment like the Americans in 1812, and retrieve our celebratory dinner to go. Tomorrow, Niagara Falls and Buffalo, USA!

Day 12 (Aug 25)

At dawn, an incensed deer bleats and snorts and stomps at our tent door. Clearly we've overstayed our welcome. Quietly we break camp and tiptoe back to the trail.

It's a lovely tranquil morning in Short Hills, forests and streams and small falls. A gigantic incongruous power line on tall towers breaks the natural reverie:

Maybe from the hydroelectric dam at Niagara Falls?

The trail leaves the park and winds around the shore of Lake Moodle, which serves as a reservoir for the small city of St. Catherines below.

We're a hot sweaty mess and we descend into St. Catherines around the back of Brock University. (Named for General Isaac Brock, the "Hero of Upper Canada", i.e., brave and stalwart agent of British imperialist aggression against the USA in the War of 1812. More on that later.) Anyway, messy and hot, but the university offers us no comfort. Where do they hide the water fountains and iced tea? We could investigate further, but we press on into town.

In St. Catherines we attempt to cool off at beloved Canadian coffeeshop chain Tim Horton's. Our advise: stick with iced black coffee. ("No drink base").

We're lucky enough to have a hotel here just a half mile offtrail, the Stone Mill Inn. It's a swell place, not quite a Carmen's (no pool or computer) but not bad. They do have guest laundry, which is super helpful in this heat. (Of course Carmen's did as well. Really, Carmen's is the best hotel, in Canada at least.)

Good grocery shopping nearby too, and an excellent dinner at The Beach, a culinary gem mascarading as a sports bar. We stock up for our next push to the end of the Bruce Trail, through Niagara Falls, and on to Buffalo.

Day 11 (Aug 24)

The cheerful sound of bird-repellant gunfire wakes us through our earplugs. A really lovely morning on the trail. The spider webs are thick with dew and the mosquitos dance like little fairies in the sunbeams.

Pass through the great little homestead of the Van Den Elzen family:

They drive by (in a van, of course) and wave. Seem like nice people. A good crop of strawberries ripening and some appealing goats.

An easy jaunt through the Ball's Falls Recreation Area, with a cute little cliffside historical village with an old mill, blacksmith, church etc. Another place to get married. We're already married but for anyone who's looking to, Niagara wine country seems to have you covered.

Another well-timed winery, Flat Rock, greets us for lunch in their neat octagonal tasting room:

Delicious stuff. And just before heading back into the woods another excellent winery peeks around the corner, Sue Staff's:

12 wines tasted in all, a very winey lunch! Hope we don't run into any sinkholes.

Deb rescues a young orphan ear from a broken stalk of a trailside corn field, and we munch it raw during our afternoon heat-dodging siesta. There's still a lot of heat waiting for us when we resume, though, and it's a sweaty slog to the next likely camping opportunity in Short Hills Provincial Park.

Cousin D's reassurance notwithstanding, we're aware that all the camping that we've done since the paid campground at Kelso has been unauthorized. It's also clear that these are rules very much observed "in the breach" so it hasn't been too worrisome. We've kept our campsites away from the trail and off private land, and it's been fine.

Here in Short Hills, though, the regulations are vast, specific, and clearly posted, listing fines off 100 to 300 dollars for a wide variety of infractions, camping among them. But this place is huge. There's no way we could make it out by nightfall, and nowhere to stay on the other side if we could. Nothing to do but set up as discreetly as possible, far offtrail in a less busy part of the park, and spend a nervous night being chided by the snorting deer whose weedy bed we're borrowing. Hopefully they won't rat us out to the park wardens.

Day 10 (Aug 23)

The morning's road walk sends us past a horde of northbound hikers, who insist we're headed the wrong way. We're heading home, finally in the right direction since Hamilton, but it's too hard to explain. Maybe because it's hard to talk to a horde, or maybe because it doesn't make sense to begin with.

Descending into the woods again, we're once again greeted by loud gunfire - close, and getting closer. How many shooting ranges do these trigger-happy Canadians have up here? A single passing northbound hiker (much easier to talk to) fills us in on the mystery: these are empty cannons at the vineyards, fired automatically to keep birds off the vines. A sort of armed scarecrow. It eases the mind a little to think of this as the sound of winemaking, but as we descend and get closer to the wineries the reports continue to be a little jarring.

Well at least we're walking through some nice, fragrant grapes. Our hostess at Crown Ridge told of some vineyards losing up to 90% of their vines in the harsh winter, but these guys look nice and healthy:

The trail takes us right through the Mike Weir winery, right by the tasting room in fact, right around lunchtime. So a couple of glasses to wash down the trail mix couldn't hurt.

Back into the woods, a fun day of leaping around jagged rocks and little fissures, an escarpment-top landscape reminiscent of Mount Nemo last week. A bit less dramatic, though, so "Little Nemo" maybe.

Some of the local grape crop has migrated into the wild:

Not quite ripe, a very tart treat!

The ridge levels out into a splendid campable area with lots of trails. Still probably not exactly allowed to camp, but it's clearly been done many times judging by the fire rings, and cousin D had advised us that it's all "Queens land" so we shouldn't be shy. (He also warned us not to fall into sinkholes, which we've been pretty good about so far.) We make camp in a soft dry copse and drift off. And almost immediately awake to the sound of drums. Then guitar. A nearby party? It feels like we're deep in the woods, but who knows? It is Saturday night, after all. Soon come the hits of Chuck Berry and early Beatles. "Love, love me, do..." Ah-ha, this is a wedding band! We must be pretty close to one of the wineries. In with the earplugs, and nevertheless strains come and go, rocking us awake and back to sleep all night. Was that Journey? Who plays "Another Brick in the Wall" at a wedding? Ah, this one sounds like "Blurred Lines"... Zzzzzzz...

Day 9 (Aug 22)

Awoke to gunfire. The same nonchalant style as last night, frequent but irregular. Baffling.

Back down on the trail, the mosquitos are at the ready from first footfall. Travis, our B&B host in Dundas, had told us that the harsh winter and extreme spring snowmelt had somehow made for the worst mosquito season any Ontarian could remember. I believe it. Those guys are lurking everywhere in the lush greenery.

But the spring snowmelt is long gone, so finding water in August can be a challenge. And what we find, we don't always want... Most hiking we've done is of the up-into-the-mountains sort, where the water is more or less trustworthy and even springs right up out of the ground if you're lucky. Here there are no springs to be found, and what's flowing down the Escarpment has untold housing, industry, and agriculture in its watershed -- whatever's on the land west of the cliffs, and it's hard to say. Some water has odd coloring, some looks fine and smells funny. We're carrying a filter, but still much prefer municipal water when we can find it. But since the Devil's Punchbowl we haven't found a drop, good or bad. So we're thirsty.

During a brief road-walking interlude we see our first vineyard:

 

Looks like we're in grape (and wine!) country now. Some of those vines don't look too good, though. Dry, like us.

Luckily the trail heads down and takes us right through the little town of Grimsby, and Deb spots a water fountain at a public pool. We'll live to hike again!

After lunch and resupply, heavy with food and water, we trudge up in the afternoon sun. A section of the trail on private land has been closed because the property is for sale. (An enormous clifftop mansion, out of our price range, but calling all Canadian billionaire Bruce Trail fans, buy that place and open the trail!) The reroute takes us right past the door of a small B&B, the Crown Ridge. Sure the road is unshaded and the sun is beating us like a maul but do we really want to stop after such a short day? Well yes. The hostess greets us with a glass of delicious Niagara rosé which we enjoy from our balcony with a view of Lake Ontario over the trees. Looks like we might like being in wine country after all. Is that a boat rocking? I hope so.

Day 8 (Aug 21)

For breakfast, leftover lasagna from last night's feast, and then a fond farewell to Carmen's.

The trail from here winds on decommissioned roads, forgotten underpasses, and suburban bike paths.

One mile is a pleasant clifftop walk with shade trees, benches, and wooden fences. The next we're back in the steep, narrow jungle of the Escarpment's no-mans-land. We're soaked in sweat and trailing clouds of mosquitos, feeding in shifts.

Have you ever heard of the "Devil's Punchbowl"? It's a mostly-dry waterfall that once rivaled Niagara Falls in volume, my map tells me. It's just a tiny climb up this little side trail... Wow, ok, that was steep. It's pretty neat really, but it's hard to take a good picture...

That red roof in the distance is the Punchbowl Market and Bakery!

A fine quiche on their porch, fill up with water, a bagged dinner to go (savory pies), a very good stop.

Back down in the jungle below, the pleasant memory fades quickly. The heat and mosquitos are so bad that in desperation we throw up the tent at the first flat spot of shade we see and jump inside. Only after an hour of Anna Karenina and a slight dip in temperature (the Celsius degrees up here are very large) dare we venture out again. This really helps. We manage a good afternoon's hiking after all, but when we're ready to quit there's no good camping to be found. That lovely level spot with the clearing and bed of pine needles should be just over the next muddy rise, just beyond that thicket of brambles... alas, no.

Up a treacherous cleft, almost at the top of the cliffs above, a tiny overgrown ledge gives us a night's sanctuary. We probably shouldn't be camping here. It isn't really safe, or allowed. And there are near-constant gunshots coming from nearby. Bad hunters, or very persistent shooting range patrons. But we're too exhausted to move now. That shooting has to stop eventually.