How Do You Stay Motivated on Such a Long Journey?

Reflections After Hiking 14,000 km on the Trans Canada Trail
 

Finding a Reason to Begin

 
When we first thought about and then later researched the possibility of walking across Canada on the Trans Canada Trail, motivation was not something we spent much time worrying about. Having already completed several long-distance pilgrimages in Europe, Ontario's Bruce Trail, and trained on Newfoundland's East Coast Trail.  Owing to these experiences, we knew that there would be difficult days, uncomfortable nights, and occasions when the prospect of continuing would be considerably less appealing than the comforts of home.  On both the Camino Frances and ECT we had already confronted the possibility of quitting altogether.  In the process, however, we also knew how rewarding it could be to explore unfamiliar landscapes on foot, and the possibility of spending several years travelling across Canada, photographing wildlife, observing birds, and sharing our experiences was genuinely exciting.

 
At that stage, our greatest concerns were largely practical. We needed to determine how far we could reasonably walk each day, what equipment to carry, where to find food and water, and how to navigate a national trail system that included footpaths, railway corridors, roads, and waterways. We spent months examining maps, comparing possible routes, estimating costs, and considering the challenges of crossing different parts of the country in different seasons. The undertaking seemed enormous, but the more we researched, the more interested we became in discovering what the journey might reveal.

 
In some respects, enthusiasm was the easiest part of preparing for our departure. There were countless possibilities to imagine, from seeing Atlantic Puffins along the coast of Newfoundland to crossing the Canadian Shield, walking through the prairie provinces, and eventually approaching the Rocky Mountains. We anticipated meeting people, learning about communities, discovering new birding locations, and experiencing places that we might otherwise never have reason to visit. We also hoped that our #Hike4Birds project would encourage others to reconnect with nature, explore their local trails, and participate in citizen science.
 
However, imagining an adventure and living it day after day are two rather different experiences. All in all, it is relatively easy to remain excited about a journey that exists mostly in the imagination and in the future, when the difficult moments are still hypothetical, and the possibilities seem almost limitless. Maintaining that enthusiasm after months of walking, especially when the weather is poor, progress is slow, and the next several hundred kilometres appear to offer little obvious reward, presents a very different challenge.

 
Now, having completed 556 days and approximately 14,000 kilometres on the Trans Canada Trail between Cape Spear, Newfoundland, and Clover Point in Victoria, British Columbia, we find ourselves reflecting on something a reporter asked us and which we had barely considered when originally planning the journey. 
 
Namely: How do you remain motivated to continue doing something for so long?
 

When the Extraordinary Becomes Ordinary

 
One of the first things we discovered was that even an extraordinary adventure eventually develops a surprisingly ordinary routine. At the beginning of our walk across Newfoundland in 2019, almost everything felt new. We were excited to begin, interested in discovering what lay ahead, and conscious that we were undertaking something that would take years to complete.   Each new community, trail, and bird sighting seemed to confirm that we had made the right decision, while even the inevitable challenges of constant rain, wet gear, and sore bodies formed part of an experience that was still very exciting.

 
However, after months on the trail, the novelty of living out of a backpack gradually diminished.  This is just a simple reality.   The uncertainty of knowing where we would spend each night, constantly figuring out where to find water and racing to be in set destinations to give pre-arranged presentations all gave way to unexpected feelings.  Most mornings began with the same practical considerations, whether that involved packing our equipment, preparing breakfast, checking the weather, and confirming the day's route, and most evenings involved similarly predictable routines.  In between, we spent considerable time walking (obviously), photographing wildlife, recording bird observations, washing clothes, charging electronic devices and writing our daily travel blogs. By the time these tasks were completed, there was often little opportunity to do much else before beginning the following morning again. In many ways, this was the definition of our world on the TCT for 556 days. 

 
Don’t get me wrong, just as it would be misleading to suggest that every day was filled with inspiration or that walking across Canada represented a continuous succession of magnificent landscapes and memorable experiences, it also wasn’t boring or horrid.  Some days were remarkable, while others involved little more than following a gravel road through agricultural land, navigating suburban neighbourhoods, or walking beside traffic for hours. There were occasions when we spent much of the day looking at the ground immediately ahead of us, concentrating on our footing or thinking about where we might find water, rather than contemplating the extraordinary nature of the journey.

 
Of course this gradual transition from adventure to routine was not necessarily a bad thing. As walking became part of our everyday lives, we no longer required each day to provide an exceptional experience in order to consider it worthwhile. We began to appreciate that long-distance travel was not simply about reaching the most spectacular places or collecting memorable moments, but that it was also about learning to take an interest in the landscapes and communities between them.  In this regard, much of our time on the Trans Canada Trail was about coming to appreciate the moment we had in front of us each day. To this end, our motivation became less dependent on the promise of something remarkable happening and more connected to our willingness to pay attention to whatever the day presented.
 

Curiosity as a Reason to Continue

 
For us, one of the most consistent sources of interest throughout the journey was birdwatching. When we began developing #Hike4Birds, we hoped that travelling across the country would provide opportunities to document birds and wildlife while encouraging Canadians to take an interest in the natural world. What we perhaps underestimated was how important that activity would become in sustaining our own enthusiasm for the walk.

 
Birding gave us a reason to pay attention, even during stretches of trail that might otherwise have seemed repetitive or uninteresting. A wooded rail trail could become an opportunity to listen for unfamiliar songbirds, while an agricultural field might reveal grassland species we rarely encountered elsewhere or which were endangered. Wetlands, rivers, coastlines, and even small municipal parks offered possibilities for new observations, and the changing seasons continually altered the birds we were likely to encounter as migration shifted what species might be local residents.

 
In Newfoundland, Atlantic Puffins, seabirds, and the possibility of encountering wildlife along the rugged coastline provided enormous excitement during our first weeks. As we continued through the Maritime provinces, shorebirds, waterfowl, and forest birds accompanied us through landscapes that were gradually becoming more familiar. In Ontario, urban green spaces, the shores of the Great Lakes, and the forests of the Canadian Shield revealed how much natural diversity could exist within a single province. By the time we reached Manitoba and Saskatchewan, we were encountering environments and species that seemed very different from those we had spotted before.  American White Pelicans, prairie birds, and enormous concentrations of migrating Snow Geese provided memorable experiences, particularly when the physical demands of walking through exposed agricultural landscapes made some days rather difficult. In Saskatchewan, watching migrating geese fill the sky from one horizon to the other reminded us that the natural world was constantly changing around us, whether or not our own progress across the map seemed particularly impressive.  The migration of birds also gave way to us realizing that our trek was – in the large sense of migration – rather small.

 
There were also countless smaller encounters that never became defining moments of the journey but nevertheless made individual days more interesting. Watching a turtle cross a trail, finding a porcupine resting in a tree in Quebec, or stopping to photograph a black bear or massive elk alongside the trail could easily interrupt hours of otherwise uneventful walking.

 
These experiences rarely brought us any closer to our destination in a practical sense. Indeed, stopping to observe birds frequently meant that we covered less distance than planned. However, they gave us something to remain interested in beyond the number of kilometres we had walked or the distance still remaining.  Perhaps this is why by the time we reached British Columbia we came to see that curiosity proved more dependable than enthusiasm. We could become tired of walking, frustrated by trail conditions, or discouraged by the difficulties of the larger undertaking, but there was almost always something in the surrounding landscape or people we were meeting that we still wanted to understand.
 

The Problem with an Enormous Goal

 
When we began at Cape Spear, the prospect of eventually reaching Victoria seemed almost impossible to comprehend. We could trace the route across a map and estimate how many months or years might be necessary to complete it, but those calculations did little to convey what it would actually mean to walk approximately 14,000 kilometres. Even after completing our first province (which was the same size as the country of Spain), the distance remaining was so enormous that thinking about it too frequently could become overwhelmingly discouraging.
 
We gradually learned that focusing exclusively on the final destination was not particularly helpful. Reaching British Columbia might have been our eventual goal, but it provided little practical motivation on a rainy morning in Nova Scotia, during a difficult stretch of Northern Ontario, or while following an exposed road across the prairies. At those moments, the Pacific Ocean was simply too far away to feel meaningful or even real.

 
Instead, we increasingly approached the journey through a series of more immediate destinations. There was the next day to get through, the next community to reach, the next trail to navigate, the next provincial boundary, or the next location that we had been particularly interested in visiting. Sometimes our attention was focused on a significant landmark, while at other times reaching a campground, finding somewhere to purchase groceries, or completing a difficult section of trail provided sufficient satisfaction.
 
This did not mean that we were mentally abandoning our larger ambitions. Rather, we came to recognize that an enormous undertaking could only be experienced through the individual days that comprised it. Step by step.  Provincial boundaries helped provide a sense of accomplishment, as did completing particular trail sections or reaching important milestones. However, we also discovered that these markers were not always as satisfying as we had imagined. Completing one section generally meant beginning another, often with a different set of challenges and a considerable distance still ahead. No matter how much we wanted to reach Victoria, there was no way to walk the entire distance in a single effort, and constantly measuring our progress against the final destination risked making everything between the Pacific and us seem insignificant.

 
Over time, motivation became less about anticipating the satisfaction of reaching the end and more about finding value in the experience of getting there. Paying attention to what we could enjoy each day en route.
 

When the Reasons Change

 
Another unexpected aspect of undertaking a journey over several years was discovering that our reasons for continuing did not always remain the same. We began with an ambitious project that combined exploration, conservation, education, photography, and a desire to inspire others to spend more time outdoors. These remained important throughout the walk, but their relative significance shifted as circumstances changed.

 
The COVID-19 pandemic was perhaps the clearest example. When we completed our first season in Quebec in November 2019, we expected to return to the trail the following spring and continue westward. Instead, the pandemic disrupted travel, altered access to parks and communities, and raised difficult questions about whether continuing the expedition was practical or appropriate. Much of the work we had invested in planning the journey suddenly seemed uncertain, and the prospect of resuming the walk was accompanied by concerns that had not existed when we left Newfoundland.  Yet the pandemic also reinforced some of the reasons we had begun Come Walk With Us and the #Hike4Birds. As people experienced restrictions on travel and social interaction, many became interested in exploring local natural areas, observing birds, and finding opportunities to reconnect with the outdoors. Although we had to change how we travelled and shared our experiences, our original hope of encouraging people to discover nature close to home remained relevant.  The end result was that during the periods of rotating lockdowns, we have almost one hundred free remote presentations to classrooms, nature groups and community groups.
 
Alternatively, there were other periods when the purpose of the project became harder to sustain. Funding challenges, unexpected expenses, changing travel restrictions, and difficulties securing support required us to reconsider what was practical. We also encountered criticism and occasional hostility, while the considerable amount of work involved in documenting and sharing the journey sometimes competed with our desire simply to be outside experiencing it.

 
In Saskatchewan, particularly during the difficult period around Saskatoon, the cumulative pressures of the undertaking became difficult to ignore. Looking back, our travel journals from that time describe how exhaustion, equipment problems, logistical frustrations, and disappointment gradually affected our ability to see the larger purpose of what we were doing.  These were not simply questions of whether we could physically continue walking, but whether the experience was still providing the sense of meaning and satisfaction that had motivated us to begin.
 
Ultimately, there was no single answer that resolved these difficulties. Nor did every concern disappear after a night's sleep, a cold beer (or two), or a few encouraging words given by kind strangers. Sometimes we needed time away from the trail, an opportunity to reconsider our plans, or simply a chance to remember that walking across Canada had originally been something we wanted to do because we loved being outdoors in nature, active, and hiking.
 
Looking back, it seems especially important to acknowledge that maintaining motivation did not mean preserving the same level of enthusiasm for four years. Our interests, priorities, and expectations changed, just as the landscapes, circumstances, and experiences around us changed. Ultimately, it took realizing that rather than trying to recover the excitement we had felt when we first set out, we sometimes needed to discover what continued to make the journey worthwhile under very different conditions.
 

The Difference Between Commitment and Obligation

 
As the years passed and the distance behind us increased, we also became conscious of another complication. Having invested so much time, money, and effort into the expedition, there were occasions when continuing seemed almost obligatory. We had announced our intentions publicly, received support from individuals and organizations, delivered presentations, and shared thousands of travel blogs documenting our progress. We had also made personal sacrifices to pursue the project – including selling our house, leaving our jobs, and donating our possessions - while adapting other aspects of our lives around the demands of spending years on the trail.

 
Under these circumstances, there were times when the desire to complete the journey was very difficult to separate from the feeling that we ought to or had to finish what we had started.  Commitment undoubtedly played an important role in helping us continue, particularly when the immediate rewards of walking were difficult to appreciate, and both online and organizational criticisms piled up. Ultimately, though not easily, there was satisfaction in honouring the decisions we had made, fulfilling our responsibilities, and persevering toward something that had occupied such a substantial portion of our lives.
 
However, we also had to recognize that completing the trail simply because we had already invested so much in it or because we worried that the regular critiques we received would only grow louder were not necessarily sufficient reasons to continue. We had encountered roadways that were genuinely dangerous, experienced difficult weather, and occasionally found ourselves facing circumstances that required substantial changes to our plans. In those moments, insisting on continuing exactly as intended could easily become and be seen as simply expressions of stubbornness rather than commitment.

Our experiences in Alberta and British Columbia reinforced this distinction. Near Airdrie, walking along a busy roadway demonstrated that determination could not compensate for unsafe conditions. Later, when we reached Princeton and discovered the extent of the damage to the Kettle Valley Railway corridor, we were forced to reconsider how to proceed toward the Pacific. The desire to finish remained powerful, but it could not justify placing ourselves or emergency services in unnecessary danger.  Each of these experiences reminded us that maintaining motivation to continue on was not the same as refusing to change course. Sometimes preserving the larger purpose of an undertaking required us to reconsider the immediate plan, accept an interruption, or acknowledge that circumstances were beyond our control. 
 
On the shores of the Pacific Ocean, I now see that over 556 days, circumstances were rarely entirely in our control. Sometimes you just have to allow yourself to let go of your expectations, and navigate the channel you find yourself in.
 

Remembering Why We Wanted to Walk

By the time we reached British Columbia, we had been working toward our Atlantic-to-Pacific crossing for almost five years, including the period spent planning before our departure. The trail had become such a significant part of our daily lives that it was sometimes difficult to remember what life had been like before we began. We had grown accustomed to travelling slowly, navigating unfamiliar places, photographing the landscapes around us, recording our observations each evening and sharing them with others.

 
However, as we approached Vancouver for the first time and not long after Victoria, the prospect of completing the first large phase of our journey also introduced a rather different set of emotions. For so long, reaching the Pacific had provided direction to our lives, shaping our plans and giving us something specific to work toward. Suddenly, the destination that had once seemed impossibly distant was not that far away. In those moments, we were (of course) excited, relieved, and (hopefully) understandably proud of what we were about to accomplish, but we were also conscious that reaching Clover Point would bring a now familiar way of living and moving to an end. The morning decisions about how far to walk, the anticipation of discovering what lay around the next bend, and the satisfaction of recording another day's observations had – after years of movement - become integral parts of our lives.
 
Perhaps this is one of the more interesting contradictions of long-distance travel. For years, we had been motivated by the prospect of reaching Victoria, yet as we approached the Pacific, we found ourselves reluctant to let go of the journey that had brought us there despite its numerous challenges and frustrations. 
 

Motivation Is Not Always a Feeling

 
With all of that said (sorry for being long-winded and reflective at the moment), looking back over 556 days on the Trans Canada Trail, we cannot identify a single source of motivation that carried us across the country. Sometimes it was enthusiasm for the landscapes ahead, sometimes curiosity about the birds and wildlife around us, and sometimes the satisfaction of reaching another milestone. At other times, our commitment to #Hike4Birds, the encouragement of people we met, or the desire to complete something we had begun helped us continue when the immediate pleasures of walking were less apparent.  Sometimes it was even stubbornness in the face of harsh criticism that pushed us to prove the critics wrong and kept us moving.

 
There were, we freely admit, also plenty of days when we were not especially motivated at all. We packed our equipment, put on our boots, and began walking because that was what we had planned to do. Once underway, our interest frequently returned as we encountered an unexpected bird, explored an unfamiliar community, or became absorbed in the landscape around us.
 
Occasionally, those levels of motivation did not return until much later, and the next day or next section remained simply another difficult stretch of trail to get through.  I think that this is an important aspect of our journey - because motivation is often presented as something that must be maintained continuously if we are to accomplish difficult goals. Our experience suggests otherwise. We did not spend four years feeling enthusiastic about walking across Canada, nor did we wake every morning inspired by the prospect of covering another 25, 30 or 50 kilometres. What sustained us was a combination of curiosity, routine, commitment, adaptability, and a genuine interest in the places through which we were travelling.

 
In many ways, the longer we walked, the less we depended on the excitement of undertaking something new or extraordinary. Instead, we became increasingly comfortable with the ordinary reality of travelling slowly, accepting that some days would be difficult or uneventful while others would provide experiences we could never have anticipated.  To this end, perhaps the most valuable lesson was discovering that we did not need to find a new source of inspiration every morning. We simply needed to remain interested enough and pay attention to the world around us to begin the day, while remembering that the larger journey was something we had freely chosen to undertake.

 
By the time we reached Victoria, the Trans Canada Trail and the country had given us much more than the satisfaction of crossing a continent. They had provided four years of opportunities to explore, observe, learn, reconsider our expectations, and discover places we might otherwise never have visited. It had also taught us that an undertaking does not need to be exciting every moment to remain meaningful. Nor does it need to be fully recognized to have taken place.
 
We began walking across Canada because we wanted to experience the country at a slower pace, reconnect with nature, document its birds and wildlife, and share what we discovered with others. Despite the challenges, delays, critiques, and occasional doubts, those reasons remained important to us throughout the journey.
 
And perhaps that explains why, having finally reached the Pacific Ocean, we were already thinking about the thousands of kilometres still waiting to be explored on the northern route toward the Arctic.
 
There was still so much we wanted to see, and the path continued onward, giving us the opportunity.
 
See you on the Trail!