Did Walking Across Canada Make Us More Independent?

Reflections After Reaching the Pacific Ocean
 
The Ideas of Self-Reliance and Independence

 
When we began preparing to walk across Canada on the Trans Canada Trail, one of the things that most interested us was the prospect of becoming increasingly self-sufficient. Having previously completed several long-distance pilgrimages in Europe, Ontario's Bruce Trail, and Newfoundland's East Coast Trail, we were reasonably familiar with the practical demands of spending weeks or months travelling on foot. However, crossing an entire continent would require something rather different. We would need to carry our clothing, shelter, sleeping equipment, food, water, electronics, and everything else necessary to sustain ourselves, while learning to adapt to different climates, landscapes, trail conditions, and the availability of supplies. Not just for a few days or weeks – but for months and years at a time.

In many ways, we imagined that the longer we walked, the better we would become at managing these challenges independently, eventually settling into a routine in which we could confidently rely on our experience, equipment, and ability to solve problems as they arose.  There was something appealing about the simplicity of this idea. In our everyday lives, as in those of most Canadians, we had become accustomed to depending on an extraordinary number of conveniences, services, and technologies - many of which we rarely stopped to consider. Turning on a tap provided drinking water, electricity was available whenever we needed it, groceries could be purchased without much advance planning, and a vehicle made travelling considerable distances relatively easy. By contrast, life on the trail seemed to promise an opportunity to reduce our lives to the essentials and rediscover the satisfaction of meeting our daily needs through our own efforts. We would decide where to go, how far to walk, when to stop, and how to respond to the circumstances we encountered.
 
Even now that sounds wonderful.  And admittedly, after four years and approximately 14,000 kilometres of walking from Cape Spear, Newfoundland, to Clover Point in Victoria, British Columbia, we have become considerably more experienced at dealing with the practical realities of long-distance travel. We have learned how to reduce the weight of our packs, repair equipment, assess trail conditions, nd make difficult decisions when circumstances do not go as expected. We have also developed a much clearer understanding of our physical capabilities, including when we can reasonably push ourselves farther and when continuing would be foolish. Yet, somewhat unexpectedly, the longer we spent walking across Canada, the more apparent it became that our ability to complete the journey depended on an extraordinary network of other people and the infrastructure they created and maintained.

 
Perhaps one of the most surprising lessons of our #Hike4Birds has been discovering that becoming more capable of taking care of ourselves did not necessarily mean becoming less dependent on others.
 

The Things We Carried, and the Things We Could Not

 
At the beginning of our journey in Newfoundland, the weight of our backpacks was a constant reminder that everything we needed had to be carried on our backs. Each item represented a compromise between usefulness, durability, comfort, and weight, while food and water presented challenges that could not simply be resolved by purchasing lighter equipment. We could carry enough supplies to remain away from communities for several days, but every additional litre of water or day's worth of food increased the effort required to walk. As we progressed across the island along the T'Railway Trail, we became increasingly conscious of the relationships between distance, available services, and the practical limits of what two people could reasonably transport.

 
What initially seemed like a straightforward exercise in planning became more complicated as we travelled farther west. A grocery store marked on a map might have closed early for the weekend or even years prior, a campground might be full or no longer operating, and a community that looked reasonably close when travelling by car might require several additional hours of walking to reach. Even apparently simple questions, such as whether there would be somewhere to refill our water bottles or purchase dinner, required care and choices. We soon learned that the existence of a town on a map did not necessarily mean that it would contain the services we needed, and that the availability of those services could change considerably between seasons.
 
These challenges became especially apparent as we crossed Manitoba and Saskatchewan during the summer of 2021. In southern Manitoba, where temperatures frequently became oppressive, access to drinking water was not simply a matter of convenience but an important consideration in determining how far we could safely travel. Along the Crow Wing Trail, through agricultural landscapes and communities separated by long stretches of exposed roads, we spent considerable time investigating where we might replenish our supplies. Carrying additional water provided some reassurance, but it also increased the physical burden of walking during periods when the heat was already making progress difficult. Needless to say, the results as we approached Emerson made clear that we were struggling.

 
Our experiences also revealed how easily we took for granted the infrastructure that made ordinary activities possible. A public washroom with running water, a shaded municipal park, an operating grocery store, or a campground with showers could transform the end of a difficult day. In Alberta, after reaching the campground in Irricana during temperatures around 34°C, we were grateful for the opportunity to take cold showers, wash our clothing, and visit the local shops. None of these facilities was particularly remarkable in itself, yet after spending hours walking beneath the summer sun, each represented a considerable improvement in our circumstances.
 
We could carry a tent, sleeping bags, cooking equipment, and several days of provisions, but we could not carry an entire community's water system, grocery supply, or public facilities. Nor could we reasonably expect to complete a journey lasting several years without making use of them.  The more efficiently we learned to manage the things we carried, the more clearly we understood the importance of the things we could not.
 
The Invisible Work Behind the Trail
 
One of the less obvious forms of dependence became apparent whenever we followed a well-maintained section of the Trans Canada Trail. Walking along the Confederation Trail on Prince Edward Island, the Musquodoboit Trailway in Nova Scotia, the Cataraqui and K&P Trails in Ontario, or Alberta's Iron Horse Trail, it was easy to appreciate the pleasures of a relatively straightforward route through attractive landscapes. These corridors provided opportunities to travel away from busy highways, often through forests, wetlands, agricultural regions, and communities that we might otherwise have missed. Yet none of these pathways existed independently of the people and organizations responsible for creating and maintaining them.

 
Throughout our journey, we encountered volunteers, trail builders, municipal employees, and members of local organizations who had devoted considerable time and effort to maintaining recreational corridors. Some had worked to convert abandoned railway lines into public pathways, while others were responsible for clearing fallen trees, repairing bridges, installing signs, negotiating land access, and ensuring that routes remained usable. In Saskatchewan, while following the trail toward Elbow, we unexpectedly met two volunteers who had helped build that particular section. Their enthusiasm for the pathway and their generous welcome reminded us that the trail beneath our feet represented much more than a line drawn across a map.

 
These encounters gradually changed how we thought about travelling independently. Although we were responsible for carrying our equipment and walking each kilometre, our ability to proceed often depended on work completed by people we would never meet. Every cleared pathway, bridge, ferry crossing, and directional sign made the journey possible in ways that could easily go unnoticed until something was missing.  Indeed, some of the most difficult sections of our walk were those where the expected infrastructure was absent, incomplete, or unsuitable for pedestrians. In Northern Ontario, the fragmented nature of the trail around Lake Superior meant that reaching individual hiking sections required considerably more planning than simply following a continuous footpath.  Campground availability, backcountry reservations, and the distances between trailheads all influenced what was possible for us. Ultimately, our progress was constrained by the availability of services and access to the trails themselves.  Once again, our ability to continue was shown to depend on a larger network of people, institutions, and infrastructure.
 

When Independence Means Knowing When to Ask

 
There were also occasions when self-reliance required us to acknowledge that our plans were no longer practical. This was not always easy, particularly after investing considerable effort into researching a route and travelling hundreds or thousands of kilometres to reach it. Like many long-distance walkers, we had become accustomed to adapting to discomfort, unpredictable weather, and difficult trail conditions. However, the ability to tolerate inconvenience is not the same as the wisdom to recognize genuine danger, and our experiences repeatedly reminded us that determination alone cannot make an unsafe situation reasonable.
 
In British Columbia, as we approached Princeton last autumn, catastrophic flooding the previous year had destroyed portions of the Kettle Valley Railway corridor, leaving approximately a long stretch of the Trans Canada Trail between Princeton and Hope officially closed. As we attempted to determine whether any safe route remained, we relied on information shared by local hikers, cyclists, trail builders, and others familiar with the damaged infrastructure. Their accounts described washed-out sections, missing bridges, unstable terrain, and dangerous alternatives along heavily travelled highways.

 
Initially, we struggled with the prospect of abandoning the route we had spent years preparing to follow. However, after walking beyond Princeton and seeing firsthand a trestle that had been disconnected from the riverbanks by flooding, the situation became considerably clearer. At the same time, nearby forest fires raged, and local communities were struggling to protect essential services and homes.  To continue on along what remained of the trail and follow its route was irresponsible at best, dangerous at worst.
 
Ultimately, the responsible decision was not to prove that we could overcome every obstacle independently. It was to recognize the limits of our knowledge, listen to those familiar with local conditions, and accept that some challenges could not safely be overcome by determination.
Perhaps this is one of the less celebrated aspects of self-reliance. Experience does not necessarily make us more inclined to act alone. Sometimes, it teaches us to recognize when someone else knows more than we do.
 

The Communities Along the Way

 
Of course, our reliance on others extended far beyond trail construction, navigation, and access to essential services. Throughout the journey, we depended on the people working in grocery stores, campgrounds, restaurants, hotels, transportation services, and countless other businesses that made it possible to travel through unfamiliar regions. We also benefited from the kindness of strangers who offered encouragement, water, practical information, meals, or assistance when circumstances became difficult.

 
We have written elsewhere about the extraordinary hospitality we encountered while walking across Canada, and it remains one of the most memorable and unexpected aspects of our experience. However, reflecting on independence has encouraged us to consider something slightly different. Beyond the unexpected generosity of strangers was the everyday cooperation on which our journey depended, much of it so ordinary that it rarely attracted our attention at the time.  This includes the ferry operators who transported us across waterways, the campground hosts who maintained facilities, the employees who stocked grocery shelves, and the people who kept municipal services functioning; all contributed to our ability to continue. Even the seemingly mundane task of purchasing a meal depended on people who had grown, transported, prepared, and sold the food. We might have walked into town carrying everything we owned, but the apparent simplicity of our lives on the trail depended on an intricate system of relationships extending far beyond the communities we were passing through.
 
We had set out hoping to simplify our lives by carrying fewer possessions and becoming more capable of meeting our own needs. Instead, we were discovering how deeply even a relatively simple existence remained connected to the work, cooperation, and goodwill of others.
 

Rethinking What It Means to Be Independent

 
Standing at Clover Point in Victoria after completing 556 days on the Trans Canada Trail, it would have been easy to describe our journey as an achievement in independence and self-reliance. After all, we had carried our own equipment, walked the distance ourselves, endured the weather, managed numerous setbacks, and found ways to continue when our original plans no longer worked. We had also spent years making difficult decisions, often without knowing what challenges the next day might bring.  These accomplishments were real, and we do not wish to diminish them. There is considerable satisfaction in developing practical skills, learning to solve problems, and discovering that we are capable of more than we once imagined. Long-distance walking has helped us become more confident in our judgment, more adaptable, and more comfortable with uncertainty. Perhaps most importantly, it has taught us that we can often manage quite well with considerably less than we once believed necessary.

 
Yet none of this means that we have become independent of the people and systems around us. If anything, our journey has made us more conscious of those connections and relationships that make independence possible in the first place. 
 
We suspect that part of the difficulty lies in how independence is often understood. It is easy to imagine the independent traveller as someone who requires little assistance, avoids relying on others, and can overcome adversity through determination and personal resourcefulness. But this image overlooks an important reality: most of the opportunities that allow us to act independently exist because of the work and cooperation of other people.

The Trans Canada Trail itself provides a particularly compelling example. It offers people the freedom to explore enormous portions of the country on foot, by bicycle, on skis, by horseback, or on the water. Yet that freedom has been made possible through decades of planning, negotiation, construction, maintenance, fundraising, and cooperation involving individuals and organizations across Canada. We could choose to walk for months at a time precisely because so many other people had contributed to creating the conditions that made such a journey possible.

 
Hiking has shown us that accepting help, listening to advice, and being grateful do not diminish the value of what we were undertaking. Nor does recognizing that our dependence on others mean surrendering responsibility for our choices. Rather, it means acknowledging that independence was never as absolute as we might have imagined.

 
For every kilometre we walked, there were trails that someone had maintained, roads that someone had built, communities that provided food and water, and people whose experience, labour, and willingness to help contributed to our progress. We did not always recognize these contributions as they occurred, particularly when we were exhausted, frustrated, or preoccupied with reaching our next destination. However, looking back from Victoria, it is difficult to imagine how we could have completed the journey without them.
 
Thank you.
 
See you on the Trail!