Did You Ever Get Bored Walking All Day?

 Reflections on Birdwatching, Curiosity, and the Ordinary Days of Walking Across Canada
 

The Long Hours Between Destinations

 
Before beginning our walk across Canada on the Trans Canada Trail in June 2019, we spent considerable time considering the practical challenges of travelling thousands of kilometres on foot. We worried about equipment, food supplies, route conditions, and the distances between communities, while attempting to estimate how many days it might take to reach the Pacific Ocean. Having already completed several long-distance pilgrimages in Europe, Ontario's Bruce Trail, and Newfoundland's East Coast Trail, we had a reasonable understanding of what it meant to spend weeks or months walking, but the prospect of crossing an entire continent presented challenges that were difficult to imagine in advance.

 
One question we gave relatively little consideration was whether we might eventually become bored with walking. After all, we were setting out to explore Canada, a country whose enormous geographical diversity promised an almost endless succession of unfamiliar landscapes, communities, birds, wildlife, and historical sites. Our #Hike4Birds was intended to encourage Canadians to reconnect with nature through bird watching and citizen science, while providing us with an opportunity to photograph and document the Trans Canada Trail from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We anticipated discovering places we had never visited before, encountering wildlife we had previously known only through books or occasional observations, and learning more about the country we called home.
 
However, after 556 days and approximately 14,000 kilometres on the trail, we can acknowledge that not every day was particularly exciting. Some were remarkable, filled with memorable wildlife encounters, spectacular landscapes, or unexpected conversations, while others consisted largely of following gravel roads, navigating neighbourhoods, or walking through agricultural fields that appeared remarkably similar to those we had passed the previous afternoon and a week ago. There were occasions when we seemed to spend hours approaching a distant landmark without ever getting appreciably closer, and others when the principal excitement of the day involved finding somewhere to sit, obtaining cold drinking water, or discovering that a grocery store was actually open.
 
So, did we ever get bored walking all day?
 
Certainly, there were times when we did. However, what surprised us was how often the ordinary landscapes and seemingly repetitive days provided something interesting when we took the time to observe them. Indeed, one of the most important lessons of our journey was discovering that the distinction between an interesting day and a boring one was not always determined by the scenery around us.
 

When the Scenery Seems Never to Change

 
There is a particular kind of monotony that develops when walking long distances through landscapes that appear relatively uniform. In Newfoundland, following the former railway corridor could involve spending hours travelling through forests and bogs, with the same gravel pathway stretching ahead and the vegetation changing only gradually. In Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, some road connections offered little beyond our immediate concerns about traffic and the distance still remaining. Ontario presented its own repetitive stretches, particularly when navigating suburban neighbourhoods in the GTA, industrial parks, and the long highway stretches in the north.

 
Yet nowhere did the relationship between repetition and boredom become more apparent than during our time on the prairies.  In Manitoba and Saskatchewan, we spent months walking along gravel roads and former railway corridors through agricultural landscapes that sometimes seemed to extend without interruption toward the horizon. There were days when the road continued in an almost perfectly straight line, bordered by enormous fields, drainage ditches, fences, and occasional farmhouses. Distances that appeared manageable on a map could become psychologically demanding when there was little visible indication of progress, particularly under the intense summer sun.  At times, we found ourselves measuring progress by telephone poles, road intersections, or distant grain elevators. A building that appeared relatively close might remain ahead of us for hours, while a small stand of trees could become a particularly welcome landmark in an otherwise exposed landscape. We learned that even a modest change in elevation, a bend in the road, or the appearance of a creek could provide a welcome interruption to the day's routine.
 
Of course, it would be misleading to suggest that we remained fascinated throughout every kilometre. There were occasions when the heat, wind, dust, and repetition made the days seem unnecessarily long, and when we would gladly have exchanged another stretch of roadway for a shaded woodland trail or an opportunity to explore somewhere new.

 
However, our time on the prairies also challenged the assumption that landscapes without dramatic scenery necessarily had little to offer.  One of the most memorable examples occurred while exploring the TCT in Winnipeg, when we followed the Headingley Grand Trunk Rail Trail westward through agricultural fields. We were accustomed to finding birds in forests, wetlands, and along the edges of vegetation, where branches, shrubs, and obvious perches provided clues about where to look. On the prairies, those familiar reference points were often absent, and we found ourselves listening to birds calling from amid grasses and crops without being able to determine precisely where they were.
 
Birdwatching in this environment required us to develop different observational skills. We needed to become more attentive to sounds, movement close to the ground, and subtle differences in vegetation, rather than simply searching the branches of trees. What initially appeared to be a relatively empty landscape gradually revealed an extraordinary amount of activity.  For these (and other reasons) the apparent simplicity of the prairie landscape actually made us work harder to understand what was happening within it. 
 

A Different Way of Looking

 
Birdwatching has always been one of the principal reasons we enjoy spending time outdoors, and during our walk across Canada it became much more than an occasional activity undertaken when we encountered an interesting location. It provided a way of engaging with the landscape throughout the day, regardless of whether we were travelling through wilderness, agricultural land, or the middle of a city.

 
The pleasure of birding does not necessarily come from finding something rare or unusual, although those encounters can certainly be exciting. Much of the interest lies in recognizing familiar species, observing their behaviour, noticing changes in habitat, and gradually developing an understanding of the relationships between birds and the environments they inhabit.  A bird calling from a roadside shrub might not represent an extraordinary discovery, but identifying its song, watching how it forages, or noticing how its presence relates to the surrounding vegetation can make an otherwise uneventful stretch of walking considerably more interesting. Similarly, the arrival of migrating birds, the appearance of fledglings, or the gradual disappearance of familiar summer species provides evidence of seasonal changes that might otherwise pass unnoticed.

 
During our walk through Manitoba and Saskatchewan, we became particularly interested in how the birdlife changed as summer gave way and autumn began. Landscapes that had been filled with nesting birds, insects, and the bright colours of summer gradually became quieter, while migrating waterfowl and shorebirds began gathering around wetlands and agricultural fields.

In Saskatchewan, we experienced days when enormous formations of Canada Geese and Snow Geese filled the sky above us, their calls carrying across the open landscape. At the same time, flocks of Killdeer moved through harvested fields, ducks gathered on ponds, and Sandhill Cranes made themselves known with their distinctive rolling calls.

 
These observations gave us something to follow beyond the trail itself. Rather than concentrating exclusively on the distance remaining, we sought to figure out which species were moving through the region, how their behaviour reflected the changing seasons, and what the landscape might reveal about their migration.
 
Because of these types of moments, walking the same type of landscape for weeks did not mean experiencing precisely the same environment every day – which is kind of exciting, not boring.
 

The Small Discoveries Along the Way

 
One of the most rewarding aspects of our #Hike4Birds was discovering that wildlife observations frequently occurred in places where we had little expectation of finding anything particularly interesting.

 
In Alberta, for example, we spent one memorable day travelling through rolling agricultural country where recent rainfall had filled roadside ditches and small depressions with water. Although the route itself was not especially complicated, the temporary ponds were attracting waterfowl and shorebirds, and we repeatedly stopped to investigate what we could see.  In one pond, a family of Buffleheads was swimming together, the small, fuzzy ducklings bobbing along behind their mother. Cedar Waxwings foraged in roadside shrubs, while White-throated Sparrows, Yellow Warblers, Savannah Sparrows, and Clay-coloured Sparrows added their voices to the surrounding landscape. What might otherwise have been a relatively ordinary walk along rural roads became an opportunity to observe an unexpectedly rich variety of birds and wildlife.

 
These encounters were not confined to remote or particularly beautiful places. Throughout Ontario, we found birds in city parks, suburban ravines, wetlands, and the narrow green spaces remaining between residential neighbourhoods and industrial developments. Even while crossing the heavily populated Greater Toronto Area, we encountered Great Blue Herons, warblers, waterfowl, and other species that reminded us how much wildlife could persist within urban landscapes.
 
As a naturalist, I have long understood that valuable habitats were not limited to national parks or wilderness areas. Nevertheless, walking through these environments reinforced how frequently people overlook the natural world simply because it exists somewhere ordinary.

A small pond beside a roadway might contain several species of ducks, a drainage ditch might attract shorebirds, and a stand of trees behind a commercial development could provide resting habitat for migrating songbirds. None of these places was necessarily remarkable from a scenic perspective, but each could reward a few minutes of attention.  The key was to remain curious enough to investigate them, even when the day was long, and we were more interested in reaching our destination.
 

More Than Birds

 
Although birdwatching was central to our project, it was far from the only thing that occupied our attention while travelling across Canada. Our route introduced us to communities, cultural landscapes, historical sites, and forms of land use that were often unfamiliar, and we frequently found ourselves trying to understand the places through which we were passing.

 
Former railway corridors provided opportunities to consider how transportation had influenced settlement and economic development, while agricultural regions raised questions about farming practices, local industries, and the changing relationship between communities and the land. In Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, we encountered Acadian, Scottish, and other regional histories, while in Ontario, Manitoba, and Saskatchewan, the trail repeatedly intersected with Indigenous histories, Ukrainian culture, historic routes, and communities whose stories we had previously known only in broad outline.
 
Even relatively ordinary roadside observations could lead us toward unexpected discoveries.
During our time in Saskatchewan, we became increasingly interested in the grain elevators, abandoned railway stations, historic plaques, community museums, and small towns that punctuated the landscape. In places such as Veregin, we learned more about the history of Doukhobor settlement, while the Trails of 1885 introduced us to historical events whose legacies remained visible in the regions we were crossing.

 
These were not always experiences we had anticipated when researching the route. Often our interest began with something encountered by chance, prompting questions that we subsequently explored through conversations and additional research.
 
Photography provided Sean with another way of examining the landscape. Buildings, fences, abandoned equipment, changing weather, and patterns of light could become subjects of interest even when the route itself appeared relatively uneventful. I might be looking for birds in a hedgerow while Sean was considering the geometry of agricultural fields, the colour of a weathered barn, or the changing relationship between clouds and the distant horizon.

 
In each of these ways and because we were paying attention to different aspects of our surroundings, we frequently noticed things that the other might otherwise have missed. Sharing these observations became an important part of the experience.
 
This, of course, does not mean that every discovery led to a profound insight or an interesting story. Sometimes a roadside attraction was simply unusual, a historic plaque provided a few minutes of distraction, or a conversation offered little more than practical information about the next community.  Nevertheless, these experiences helped prevent the journey from becoming exclusively concerned with the distance we were walking.
 

The Rhythm of an Ordinary Day

 
There was also a considerable amount of time during our journey when we were not actively looking for birds, taking photographs, or investigating something interesting. Walking for six, eight, or ten hours provides plenty of opportunity for conversation, reflection, and the gradual wandering of one's thoughts, particularly when the trail requires relatively little attention.  Sometimes we talked about the places we had visited, the potential challenges in the next section, or something we were looking forward to. At other times, our conversations wandered toward books, history, family, society, or some random subject that happened to interest us. We also spent long stretches walking quietly, each absorbed in our own thoughts or simply listening to the sounds around us.
 
Not that we were always companionable with one another - there were undoubtedly moments when we became impatient, particularly when a destination seemed stubbornly unwilling to get any closer, one of us was feeling unwell, or when the day offered little relief from difficult weather. Regardless, we found that we did not require constant entertainment to remain reasonably content.

 
This was perhaps one of the more unexpected differences between life on the trail and the routines we had left behind.  In everyday life, moments of inactivity are frequently filled with television, phones, social media, music, or other distractions. During our walk across Canada, we certainly made use of technology, particularly for navigation, photography, research, and documenting our experiences. However, we also spent enormous amounts of time without attempting to fill every available moment with additional stimulation.
 
Mostly we simply walked.  Occasionally things could get repetitive, and conversations would run their course, or we simply and gradually came to appreciate that there is nothing wrong with this.  Peacefulness without the need to be distracted from cradle to grave is amazing once you find it again and remember what it is like.
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When Curiosity Becomes Difficult

 
With all of that said, of course, it would be rather unrealistic to suggest that our interest in birds, wildlife, and the places around us prevented boredom altogether. There were days when we were too tired, uncomfortable, or preoccupied with practical concerns to appreciate much beyond the need to keep moving.  Focus on a muscle cramp or a blister, and you’ll soon find that you notice very little else.  Just as walking beside heavy traffic, struggling through extreme heat, navigating poorly maintained pathways, or dealing with equipment problems could consume our attention. During these periods, identifying an unfamiliar bird or investigating a small historical site was understandably less important than reaching somewhere safe, finding drinking water, or resolving whatever difficulty we were facing.
 
There were also stretches of trail that we simply did not find especially interesting, no matter how much we tried to appreciate them. Some road connections were unpleasant, landscapes became repetitive after days of walking (even mountainous ones), and the demands of maintaining our schedule occasionally meant that we passed through places without the time or inclination to explore them.
 
We have no wish to pretend otherwise, and it would be dishonest to suggest that we were perpetually attentive en route.
 

However, these experiences also helped us distinguish between boredom and other feelings that can arise during a long journey. Being physically exhausted, frustrated by poor trail conditions, or impatient to reach a destination was not necessarily the same as being uninterested in the world around us or bored.  Similarly, a day with few noteworthy wildlife observations or scenic highlights was not automatically a wasted day. Sometimes we simply needed to cover the distance between places that interested us, accepting that not every kilometre of a national trail could provide an exceptional experience.
 
Ultimately, however, we came to remember that there is a great deal of benefit in turning off the noise and letting the mind, our thoughts, and conversations wander.  The seeming fear these days of boredom has begun to override the possibilities offered in silence and wonder.   In the process, we’re being overwhelmed and forgetting that not every day has to be dramatic or full… some days can just be.
 
See you on the trail!