Little French to the Pickerel River

Map provided courtesy of Toporama which contains information licensed under the Open Government Licence – Canada. I have made additional markings to show route information.

In the last few years, Dad and I have been choosing some more remote and challenging trips for our summer outings. Originally, we had planned a longer trip, far away in Northwest Ontario, for our annual August trip; however, we needed to stay closer to home this year for personal reasons involving a close family member. We still wanted to get out for a shorter trip closer to home, but the new question we had was: Where to go?

A five or six-day trip, rather than the full two weeks that a northwestern Ontario trip would require, could fit into our time window. Likewise, we didn't want to be more than a five-hour drive from home. We certainly didn't want to be lining up on portages in Algonquin in the August high season, and the Temagami region was getting a bit too far and remote for our situation.  The issue was finding a place where we hadn't already been that would fit within those parameters. I wanted to come up with a route that would be scenic and memorable. I started exploring options for a trip that would be meaningful for both of us.

I grew up in Peterborough, Ontario. My father's family, however, is from the Sudbury and North Bay region. When I was a kid, our family would travel north every summer to the Big Nickel and spend time at the family's camp on Long Lake, just to the southwest of Sudbury.  

On these trips, the French River was a milestone location (especially in those days when Highway 69 was a gruelling slog of a single-lane highway and the double-lane glory of Highway 400 had yet to exist that far north). On the way there, when we crossed the bridge over the French River, it meant we were getting close to our destination. It was always exciting for me. Dad would point out where we were, and we would slow the car down and gawk at the gorge created by the high cliffs along the banks of the French River just to the west of the highway. 

On the north side of the bridge, we'd pass the French River Trading Post with its image of the Hungry Bear on its sign. Dad would say, "Look, there's the Hungry Bear!' I'd plead for us to stop in. Most times, we'd cruise on by, but every now and again, we would actually stop in for a treat. For a kid, it was fantastically exciting. (Clearly, my world experience at the time was extremely limited.) One time, I actually met the Hungry Bear! It was as if I was face-to-face with Bugs Bunny or Mickey Mouse themselves. The Hungry Bear in person. Wow! I'd seen him on TV in those wonderful commercials.

(On a side note, the Blueberry Hound and the Hungry Bear are what Dad and I like to call ourselves, respectively, while out on a canoe trip.)

On another side note, when I travel the road between Parry Sound and Sudbury, my thoughts often turn to Terry Fox. It was in this area, on one of these trips to Sudbury, that we passed Terry and his small entourage on Highway 69 in the summer of 1980. I was nine years old, and I still remember it. 

By that stage of his run, having already made it to Toronto from Newfoundland, Terry was a national news story, and everyone was talking about him.  When we passed him, cars slowed down and honked their horns in support. He was incredibly inspiring, and continues to be to this day.  (https://terryfox.org/ways-to-give/)

The following link leads to a CBC report on Terry Fox that was broadcast approximately around the same time that we passed him on the highway, give or take a day or two. 

 https://www.cbc.ca/player/play/video/1.3179078

Thanks for the reflections, Canoe Daddy, but why are you taking us on this considerable stroll through memory lane? What do a bridge, a cartoon bear, and Terry Fox have to do with canoe tripping?

Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that the French River and its surrounding area have had a place in my family's consciousness for quite some time. At 54, I think I may be heading into that transition zone between being a middle-aged man and becoming an old fart. And old farts, do indeed, tend to wax nostalgic, as "cringy" as that may be to younger people in their vicinity. I knew that my father, who is an even older fart than me (Sorry, Dad!), would also appreciate a trip down that canyon-like section of the French River west of Highway 69 -- the same gorge that consistently caught our attention from the bridge for so many years. Although I didn't explicitly talk to him about it, I felt that a trip down that section of the French would have a similar nostalgic value for him.

When I picture the French River in my mind, it's that image of the gorge from the highway that comes to mind, despite the fact that I have already done two multi-day trips on other sections of the river. I completed a large family/friend outing of the Old Voyageur Channel Loop in 2020. In 2021, I paddled the Eighteen Mile Island Loop with some of my oldest and dearest friends. Somehow, I had yet to paddle that section of the French under Highway 69 and past Recollet Falls. Having passed over that bridge and looking into the river canyon so many times over the decades, I always wanted to paddle beneath those incredible rock faces on the banks of the French in that section.