Every Journey Begins With the Intention to Finish

“To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labour.”
 
Robert Louis Stevenson, “El Dorado,”
 

Reflections After Hiking Coast to Coast to Coast

 

There is something rather misleading about a completed journey. Once the destination has been reached, the photographs taken, the distances calculated and the final entry written, the undertaking begins to look as though it was always moving toward its eventual and inevitable conclusion. The route can be traced across a map, the days can be counted, journals reflected over, and the experiences can be organized into a narrative with a beginning, middle and end. Even the setbacks begin to acquire a certain logic. They become obstacles that were overcome, delays that were endured, and difficulties that somehow contributed to the eventual achievement and great insights about life and the world.  Looking back, it is easy to forget that while we were experiencing those events, none of us knew how the story would end.

 

In 2018, while preparing to walk across the nation on the Trans Canada Trail, we were asked a series of questions from a reporter, of which two stood out: Had walking across Canada always been our goal? And did we believe we could actually accomplish it?

 

Our answer to the first was no. Walking across Canada had never been a lifelong ambition, something we had dreamed about since childhood or a singular achievement around which we had organized our lives. The idea had grown out of years spent exploring long-distance pathways, studying landscapes, observing birds, and discovering how much of the world becomes visible when we slow down enough to pay attention.

 

Our answer to the second was more complicated. We believed that we had sufficient experience to attempt the undertaking, and we certainly intended to finish. Indeed, I have never been inclined to begin something without intending to complete the task at hand. Yet we understood that determination, experience and planning are not guarantees of success. An accident, illness, financial difficulty, random event, unexpected closure or any number of circumstances beyond our control could bring the journey to an end.  Neither experience nor planning give way to control over events in this world.

 

Instead, we began knowing that we wanted to finish, not knowing that we would.  By the time we had finally reached the Arctic Ocean, it seemed to be both more meaningful and more important. Little in our 6 years on the Trans Canada Trail was guaranteed – but ultimately the journey was worth it.

 

A Completed Journey Changes the Story

 

One of the peculiar things about reaching a long-sought destination is that it changes how the journey appears in retrospect. The uncertainty that occupied so much of our attention while walking slowly becomes less visible, and memories begin to smooth out.  We remember the difficult moments, certainly, but we also know that we continued beyond them. The hail storm passed, the trail eventually reopened or another way forward was found, the needed supplies arrived, and the next day on the trail was somehow completed – no matter how tired we were. As a result, because we know the outcome, it becomes tempting to treat those events as temporary  interruptions within a larger story of inevitable progress.

 

But that is not how they felt at the time.

 

When we left Cape Spear in June 2019, we had no reason to imagine that our three-year estimate would eventually stretch across seven calendar years. We had calculated distances, studied maps, considered the seasons and tried to establish a reasonable schedule around the enormous undertaking we had proposed. We expected difficulties, but we also assumed that with sufficient preparation and determination, we could address most of them as they arose.

 

What we could not anticipate was how thoroughly the undertaking would become entangled with events taking place beyond the trail. Freak snowstorms and the landfall of a hurricane would force us off the trail.  The COVID-19 pandemic would also interrupt the journey, fundamentally change the conditions under which we could travel and how we were received. Closures, restrictions, changing access arrangements and the uncertainties of reopening affected everything from accommodation to our ability to continue walking.  Yet it also gave way to a rising interest in online talks and shared experiences.  Not long afterward, wildfires in northern Canada shaped our hike again, filling the prairies with smoke and making progress harder and harder.  As we moved westward, other aspects of the world would alter our hike – extreme heat, floods that undermined the trail in BC, and forest fires that meant we could not walk north. Even in the past couple of years, the consequences of those fires have continued to shape the availability and cost of services in communities through which we travelled.

 

There were also more ordinary complications. Equipment deteriorated, plans for resupply proved inadequate, accommodations were not always available where we needed them, and unexpected expenses were incurred. Work commitments and family responsibilities also required attention. Routes that appeared relatively straightforward during our research became considerably more complicated once we reached them – some being more hopeful plans than trails. 

 

Each of these events demanded a decision, and not every decision led immediately toward our destination. Some meant stopping for a day. Others meant changing routes, spending money we had not anticipated spending, or accepting that an entire season would now have to take place differently from the one we had imagined and planned for.

 

In each instance, we had no way of knowing whether our decisions would lead us forward or bring the undertaking to an end. All we could control was the choice to take the next step.

 

The Difference Between Intention and Certainty

 

I still believe there is value in beginning a difficult undertaking with the intention of finishing it. Without that commitment, it would have been remarkably easy to persuade ourselves to stop somewhere along the way.  There are at least two instances – one very recently – where I can imagine how easy it would have been to quit the Trans Canada Trail. 

 

Beyond these, there were certainly any number of days when stopping would have seemed an attractive option. We were tired, uncomfortable, wet, overheated, frustrated or simply tired of organizing our lives around the practical necessities of walking. There were mornings when the prospect of another thirty or forty kilometres was considerably less appealing than the comfort of remaining where we were or going to a motel and hiding under covers to sleep. But each of those moments was rarely sufficient reason to abandon the undertaking. We had already experienced enough long-distance walking to understand that discomfort, fatigue and occasional discouragement are part of the process. They do not necessarily indicate that a journey has become impossible, simply that at the moment it is not particularly enjoyable.

 

All of which sounds impressive until you also acknowledge that over the years we also learned that commitment can become something less useful when it is allowed to turn into stubbornness.  There is a difference between continuing because a challenge remains manageable and continuing because you cannot bear the idea of admitting that a plan is no longer sensible or what others will say if you walk away. We encountered that distinction en route repeatedly, particularly when weather, terrain, water availability or the condition of our bodies failed to cooperate with our expectations.

 

I admit that while we did walk from coast to coast to coast, the fact remains that on the Trans Canada Trail, perseverance was not always demonstrated by continuing forward. Sometimes it involved stopping long enough to reconsider. Sometimes it meant changing a carefully researched route, accepting help, taking an additional rest day, recognizing that our calculations had been wrong, or knowing that no amount of frustration was going to fix the moment.  As one of my favourite books likes to quote – “we simply had to work the problem,” not fixate on it.

 

These decisions could be frustrating, particularly when they involved abandoning progress we had worked hard to make. Yet they also became essential to the larger undertaking.  What changed with experience was not our intention to finish, but our understanding of what finishing might require.  In 2018, we approached the journey largely as a question of whether we could walk the necessary kilometres.  Thirty kilometres a day over the course of 480-500 days takes you coast to coast to coast – it is as easy as that.  Sound familiar?  But the fact is that it was never going to be that easy – something it took us a long time to figure out and even longer to admit. 

 

By our final year on the Trans Canada Trail, we had learned that walking the distance was only one part of what was required. The ability to adapt, manage uncertainty, recognize mistakes and occasionally set aside our pride were just as important as physical endurance.  It also helped to periodically scream, cry, or just have a few cold beers and let go for a few minutes – but that sounds less inspirational to admit to.

 

Six Years of Walking Does Not Mean Six Years of Certainty

 

It is tempting to imagine that confidence must increase steadily as a journey progresses. Certainly, experience provides advantages. We became better at organizing our days, evaluating trail conditions, judging distances, recognizing exhaustion and estimating what we could reasonably accomplish before evening or our energy gave out. 

 

We learned which pieces of equipment mattered most, which conveniences we could do without, and how to rearrange our supplies for long stretches between communities when we had no other options. We also became more familiar with the psychological games our minds could play while walking: the difficult first four days of a new season, the gradual return of endurance, the occasional discouragement, and the surprising pleasure of an ordinary day when everything seemed to work.

 

But confidence in our ability to manage the daily routine did not translate into certainty about the eventual outcome. Experience is wonderful and previous achievements are great for the ego – however, neither guarantees success today or tomorrow on the trail.

 

Even after reaching Victoria in November 2022, having walked more than 14,000 kilometres from the Atlantic to the Pacific, we still had the northern portion (3500 km +) of the undertaking ahead of us.  In one sense, reaching the Pacific demonstrated that we could walk across Canada. Yet it did not establish that we could reach the Arctic. The geography was different, the distances between services were greater, and the possibilities for changing plans were increasingly limited. There were far fewer trails and far more highways in the north.  Our experiences crossing the ten southern provinces offered useful lessons, but they could not provide detailed knowledge of conditions we had not yet encountered.

 

The journey north reinforced this distinction repeatedly.  The unsuccessful attempt to follow the Dawson Overland Trail, our difficulties managing food and progress along the Dempster Highway, and the exhaustion we experienced around Eagle Plains all confronted us with the limitations of our previous experience. Serving as proof that even after years of walking, we were still capable of making poor estimates and potentially catastrophic mistakes. We could still underestimate the demands of a route, become exhausted, run short of supplies and find ourselves needing assistance.  There is considerable humility in discovering that even after crossing a continent, you remain capable of making the same kinds of mistakes you hoped experience would have taught you to avoid.

 

Yet perhaps the more important lesson was that making a mistake did not automatically mean the undertaking had failed.  It took time, but we came to see that experience had not made us independent of circumstance or other people. It had helped us become somewhat more willing to acknowledge our limitations and respond before a difficult situation became an unnecessary crisis.  I think this realization contributed far more to us reaching the Arctic than any ability to simply endure whatever happened en route.

 

What Success Conceals

 

There is another difficulty with the way successful journeys are remembered. The fact that an undertaking ends successfully can encourage the belief that the decisions made along the way were necessarily the correct ones.

 

Yes, we survived the bad weather, negotiated difficult roads, survived trekking down the sides of highways, managed unexpected expenses and eventually reached our destination. It would therefore be possible to interpret those experiences as evidence that our judgement, decisions along the way, and preparation had been adequate.  But our eventual success should not be seen in this way – trust that we have no belief that every decision en route was wise. Only that the sum of them led us from ocean to ocean to ocean.

 

Reflecting on our hike, it is clear that some situations worked out because we made reasonable decisions based on the information available. Others were resolved because circumstances changed in our favour. Sometimes someone offered assistance at precisely the moment we needed it (we were often very lucky in this regard). Sometimes a business was open when we arrived, a route was passable despite our concerns (Meadowlark Trail), or the weather allowed us to continue when another day of delay would have created real additional problems.

 

And sometimes we were simply fortunate.  Never underestimate luck, good fortune, and kind people.

 

I think it is important to acknowledge all of this, particularly when sharing our experiences with others considering similar undertakings.  A successful outcome does not make every risk we took reasonable (walking through a field where bear research was ongoing comes to mind), nor does it mean that another person following the same route would encounter the same conditions or have access to the same assistance (Mel Vogel’s experiences were very different from ours).

 

With that said, I think that it is equally important to clearly state that an unfinished journey should not automatically be regarded as a failure. We have encountered people whose travels were interrupted by injuries, personal circumstances or events they could not control. Their willingness to begin and the experiences they gathered along the way are not somehow invalidated because the destination remained beyond reach. The choice to step out the door is still a very important moment, just as is the willingness to admit that the drive and passion you had in that moment are no longer sufficient to carry you further.  If our own journey had ended in Newfoundland, Ontario, Alberta or somewhere along the Dempster Highway, it would not have changed the seriousness with which we began or the value of what we experienced before stopping.  We would undoubtedly have been disappointed. We might have needed considerable time to reconcile ourselves to the outcome. But not reaching the next destination would not have erased the landscapes we had crossed, the people we had met, or the knowledge we had gained.  That is of course easier to say from the fortunate position of having finished, and I recognize the privilege inherent in that perspective.

 

Destinations inform us where one person’s trek finished, not where ours will conclude or where the journey itself comes to an end.  It also does not tell us anything about the experiences, circumstances, decisions, and lessons learned while en route – each of which is more important than reaching the trailhead.

 

The People Who Made Finishing Possible

 

One of the most misleading ideas surrounding long-distance journeys is that completing an enormous distance on foot represents a purely individual achievement.  While we were the ones hiking each day along the trail, roads, through forests, mud, and over mountains, it would be inaccurate to suggest that determination and physical effort alone made the undertaking possible.

 

Across Canada, we received assistance from people whose generosity changed the course of individual days and, occasionally, entire sections of the journey. Some offered drinking water, meals or a place to stay. Others provided information about the trail ahead, helped us navigate complicated connections, or offered transportation when circumstances required us to take time off the TCT.

There were also people who followed the journey from a distance, encouraged us, shared information, contributed resources or reminded us that what we were attempting mattered to someone beyond ourselves.  These encounters became part of the geography of the Trans Canada Trail just as surely as the rivers, forests, mountains and communities through which we passed. During tough times, they certainly carried us and ensured that we continued. By the time we reached the Arctic, it was impossible to separate the distance we had walked from the assistance that had made continuing possible.

 

In 2018 and 2019, our preparations understandably concentrated on what we would need to carry, what we could accomplish each day, and how we might manage the practical demands of travelling across Canada. We could prepare equipment and research services, but we could not plan (nor did we anticipate) the generosity of strangers and how much it would transform our hike.  Indeed, we could never have anticipated how often a conversation, an unexpected kindness or someone's willingness to help would help us finish the TCT.

 

Was It Worth Hiking Across Canada?

 

Looking back from the end of the Trans Canada Trail, I find myself returning to the original questions asked so long ago -  Has walking across Canada always been our goal?

 

No. The Trans Canada Trail was not the destination toward which our entire lives had been directed. It emerged from our interests in long-distance walking, natural history, photography, geography and the possibility of exploring Canada at a slower pace that would allow us to notice all of the wonderful places throughout the country between its familiar destinations.  With that said, once we committed ourselves to the undertaking, however, completing it became a serious intention.

 

Did we know we could succeed?  No. Not when we began planning in 2018, not while testing ourselves on the East Coast Trail (also part of the TCT), not when we left Cape Spear in 2019, and not even after reaching the Pacific in 2022.  Not even as we trekked north were we completely certain of reaching the Arctic Ocean.  In fact, there were definitely times that we felt less certain than we had been while studying maps and guidebooks years ago. There was never a guaranteed outcome – even on our last day on the trail, anything could have happened.

Ultimately, even with the intention to finish, we had to accept a high level of uncertainty. What I see now is that without the intention and goal of finishing, it would have been easy to abandon the undertaking when it became uncomfortable, inconvenient or more difficult than expected. At the same time, however, without accepting uncertainty, we might have become so attached to the original plan that we failed to recognize when circumstances required a different response.  Neither determination nor caution could guarantee that we would reach the Arctic Ocean. Together, however, they helped us make decisions or gave way to circumstances and people that allowed the journey to continue.

 

I sometimes wonder what we would have thought if someone had shown us the entire experience while we were still preparing to leave Newfoundland. Would we have been reassured to know that we would eventually reach all three oceans, or overwhelmed by the time, expense, uncertainty and difficulties that lay ahead?

 

I suspect we would have been both.

 

See you on the trail!