THE EXPEDITION Chapter 16: Food, Feet, Friends (Section 1)

In which Ann meets Dylan the adventurer 

Date: June 11 2019, PM Arriving at Wapella

Wapella is tiny, yet their little supermarket had organic apples and avocados, and more of those super healthy bars I was halfway living on. We had a great talk with the shop lady, and after signing the petition, she gave us directions to two places we’d be welcome to camp.

The first was a pretty and well maintained postage stamp sized park just down the street from the supermarket, with benches and a gazebo. It was lovely, though a bit public for sleeping, so I decided we’d find the ball park. First, though, I sat down to eat my avocado (with apologies to those enmeshed in the avocado cartel problems).

That’s when we met Dylan Auguste, aventurier extraodinaire.

A tall, bearded, roadworn man of indeterminate age – he seems old and young at the same time – came up out of nowhere with packs and bags, and wondered about the avocado. He also wondered about the odd old lady with the dog, and what we were up to and where we might be staying. This nice quiet person who’d dropped out of the blue seemed safe and interesting, so I gave him the advice the shop lady had given me. We asked each other if we minded sharing the impromptu campground, and then Dylan went to pop into the shop and find the ball park. I was going to see if I could find some french fries to share with Mr Myrtle, who’d been being such an amazing climate gypsy puppy. Google said there was a restaurant at the other edge of town, but it was a small town and it was still early, so off we went.

We did find the place, and it was tiny but about eight locals sat around two tables pushed together, and there were a few more tables to spare. They looked me up and down, and Mr Myrtle too, and didn’t seem very impressed. They were even less impressed when I answered them about what I was doing, and even less so after they read the petition. I think someone also looked up the walk page on facebook; that didn’t help. They were polite, just barely, but there was quite a commotion of laughing and cussing when we left. Some people are so threatened by change that all they can do is dig their heels into the old ways even harder.

Dylan was way better company. He’s in his late twenties, and he’d set out on foot from Montreal the previous winter, heading for the west coast. Why? Because he could, because it would be an epic experience, and because you only live once.

He’d been raising funds for a charity at the beginning, but they’d turned out to be a bit shady and he’d disassociated himself and the walk from them. He could hardly start that all over again with another beneficiary from the road – he was alone – but he helps whoever and however he can. I doff my hat to his dear heart and his determined soul.

Dylan has road stories that make me shiver – he walked through northwestern Ontario blizzards and storms that chill most folks right through their insulated walls and blankets. He weathered that winter with a tent that blew away, a sleeping bag that sometimes froze so solidly shut he couldn’t break the ice to get out of it, and a will that kept him from freezing even when he had to thaw the ice on his own beard to quench his thirst. There’s hundreds of kilometers of nowhere warm to stop on the road in northwestern Ontario – in walking terms, that means days and days of a whole lot of absence of human development. It’s incredibly beautiful, and thank goodness some spaces are still wild, but it makes for one heck of a rough and lonely walk, and a downright life-threatening hike in winter. He had to carry all his provisions through that. The pace of walking is slow, more so in snow, and even more so when weighted down by having to carry food. It’s kind of a vicious circle – weight slows you down more so it takes longer so you have to carry more, but you can’t not have food. His backpack then was around a hundred pounds, he said, plus the weight of the snow and ice accumulating on it and himself. He made it through Ontario and through winter.

Pictures from Dylan’s Facebook page

Since then, the weather had been better but the road had taken its toll. He was so worn. A day or two before I met him, someone had given him a bicycle and proper bike packs to help. He had a friend in a town not too much farther along where he could take a break while he recouped and decided whether to continuing by foot or bicycle, or perhaps hitchhike. The idea of stopping didn’t seem to be an option, and I certainly understand that. Epic journeys take on a life of their own, and they can become entwined with your being in a way that makes the journey so much more than geographic.

Once into areas where food was again available, he stopped carrying as much as he had been, but he was already nutritionally damaged. Living on what’s available on the road wasn’t helping, so he’d been doing things kind of in the middle, like me. We did eat at diners and cafes and fast food places, but carefully, and balanced by carrying some super healthy and easy to eat stuff. That breakfast drink powder I’d gotten was proving to have been a really good gift from the universe. I also carried some good bars, and sometimes a couple packages each of precooked organic gluten free bean things (curry, mexican, etc) and a couple of precooked rice. The packages are lighter and more packable than cans, and the packaging is either recyclable or, in some cases, compostable. Sometimes I picked up a thing of granola and mixed up a bit of my breakfast drink stuff as milk for it, or ate the granola like potato chips.

Seeing how worn out Dylan was made me realize I had to be even more careful, though. He was worried about that and wanted me to promise to take care of myself that way.

He was worried about other things too. We wouldn’t be able to get through northwestern Ontario alone. There’s too many places where the trailer simply won’t fit on the road. There’s also those long stretches full of nothing. He’d been alone, but I have a dog who thinks dogs are terrifying. That wouldn’t work out well with the wolves.

Dylan went over a map with me, making notes and giving me advice to write down. I told him everything I could think of about places to stop (and not). At one point, a man who lived next to the ball park came along. He told us all about the dozens of cats he lived with, and all about how the climate crisis is really just part of the liberal and democrat parties’ political plot to take over the world. He didn’t like me very much. I probably should have bitten my tongue better, but he got quite loud and rude. It’s a good thing Dylan was there – he’s much more tactful than I am, and calmed things down well.

We talked about things like boots, and I was glad I’d gotten good ones. Also back braces and knee braces, hats and packs, and other random road stuff. Finally, we called it a night and climbed into our respective tents (he’d been given a new one after the first one blew away, a lovely bright green three person one with room for packs, and even room to move around). It was odd but nice to have another traveller next door.

We keep in touch a little online, and maybe we’ll meet again – Dylan finished his journey, and recovered from it, and I hope he writes his stories. I hope he keeps going out and creating stories.

Note: Dylan has published a book in French Un pas après l'autre: 3000 kilomètres à travers l'hiver canadien (2020)   

We had more stories to meet later that day. Rich the Vegan would cross paths with us in Moosomin. We’d talked a bit in messages but had been mostly saving it till we met.

#WalktoWakentheNationexpeditionbook #WapellaMoosominDylanAuguste