Home Before Dark, Getting home late to supper launched a beautiful trail & tale

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It was very quiet around the supper table that late fall evening, the look of concern quite evident on my father’s face as he slowly consumed his twilight meal. The mood of his wife and six children wasn’t much better.

My brother Tom was late, and now darkness came early to Schreiber, the small north-of-Lake Superior town in which we lived. The tardiness of my older brother was unusual, and the absence of his lively conversation quite evident. As the oldest and boldest, he fulfilled a large role in the family dynamic.

Being late for supper was risky business. Not only would you encounter strong words and the cold icy stare of our father, but our large group of siblings were an opportunistic bunch. Any one of us could suddenly determine that Tom’s share of my Mom’s good cooking was up for grabs, especially the blueberry pie.

Loud footsteps hopping up the outside porch stairs interrupted the pensive atmosphere, and then Tom’s smiling face peered in through the kitchen window.

We could tell by the look on his face that we would be well entertained at the supper table for the next hour or so.

Tom burst through the kitchen door, and his first shouted words were, “We made it; we reached Mount Gwynne!”

Before he could say another word, my father interrupted, voice edged with anger and concern. “Where were you?”

The smile dropped from my brother’s face, but not his excitement.

“We were up on Mount Gwynne!” he exclaimed again. “We searched all afternoon for the route up, and once we reached the top, we didn’t want to come down.”

We all knew the “we” included Bill, the kid down the street who no doubt was also receiving a cold reception from his dad.

“Sit down and eat your supper. It’s getting cold,” my dad said less sternly, the relief of his son being safe at home instantly brightening his mood.

I lost track of time as Tom described his search for, and his summiting of, the highest point of land in a southerly direction from our small town of Schreiber. This peak was only 1,456 feet above sea level, but listening to Tom spin the tale of that day’s exploits, you would think he’d summited Mount Everest.  

 Tom was a gifted storyteller as well as an adventurer. Experience taught me if he was worked up about something, it was worth going to see what got him so excited. I had just come into the age of double digits that fall. Being three years younger than my brother, I was in no rush to go exploring too far from home. But I often caught a glimpse of the mountain far off in the distance, snow-capped and picturesque in winter, dark and forbidding in summer.

As the crow flew, it looked a long way off. That distance multiplied when travelling through the bush. Sure, I wanted to go there, now that Tom had, but as a young boy, the thought of meeting up with a bear, a wolf or another wild forest creature made me realize that the farther into the bush you went, the farther you had to run back home to safety.

 Getting lost also loomed, even more distressing after two kids from the neighborhood became disorientated in the forest south of town and spent an entire night there scared, exhausted and lonely. I still vividly recall the spine-chilling wail of the air raid siren mounted on the roof of our town’s fire hall sounding non-stop through the night trying to guide those boys home.     

 Over the next couple of years, I did push my explorations farther and farther south, following a chain of four lakes that were properly named First, Second, Third and Fourth lake respectively. Starting at First and moving on was the normal progression, moving ultimately to the goal of Fourth Lake, larger in size and with better swimming. Two small log cabins on the edge of this lake were open to all adventurers, built by earlier local explorers whose names I knew, but whom I had never met. All this meant I was slowly getting closer and closer to the mountain and getting more daring with the progress by my teenage years.

One Saturday after a discussion with Tom, I persuaded a good friend and fellow explorer into making the quest for the peak of Mount Gwynne.

We had a plan, but the thought of exploring new territory quickened the heart’s pace. We would start at Fourth Lake, then using an old, battered compass we’d follow a “South” bearing, keeping to the high ground and expecting that if we kept going up, we would eventually get to the peak.

This common-sense approach worked well, and after two to three hours of bushwhacking, backtracking and walking in circles, we slowly but continuously climbed upward until all we could see in front of us was blue sky and air.

The experience on the top was incredible, and at first overwhelming. In our short lives, we had never envisioned a vista so high, so full of wonderment, so perfect.

This was the highest point of land in the vicinity, and with few trees at the top of the mountain, the view proved to be a 360° wonder. We didn’t quite know everything we saw or how to put it all into perspective, but we knew for certain this was a very special place. After gazing out into the landscape for what seemed like hours, hunger pangs brought us back to reality. We quickly searched for enough wood to make a small fire. I struggled with a can of Libby’s beans

trying to remove the lid with a small pocketknife and chastising myself for forgetting to bring the can opener. Eating beans cooked in a can over an open fire has to be one of life’s greatest pleasures for a young boy, and with this enjoyable task completed, we renewed our intent to identify everything in sight.

When we came back down, we had been changed … or at least had well broadened our horizons.

Tom grew up, finished high school and then moved away for four years to attend university. He finally returned after finding work with the Canadian Pacific Railway. He continued to explore the surrounding area with great purpose, and in his mid-20s, he decided to create a hiking trail so those with the desire and stamina – but perhaps not the local knowledge – could also traverse the areas of rugged beauty he’d discovered as a youth.

Tom and a small group of young men, armed with topographical maps, chainsaws, brush axes and boots on the ground, put in the planning and hard work that creates trails. Within a few years, they established the 53-kilometre (40-mile) Casque Isle Hiking Trail, which now winds its way through the forest from Terrace Bay to Rossport.

Mount Gwynne rises at Kilometre 31.5, close to the half-way point. I often catch a glimpse of this significant landmark from locations on the south side of Schreiber, unchanged since I was a young boy over 50 years ago, and heading east on the Trans Canada highway from the top of Rossport Hill onward Mount Gwynne stands out, rising above the cold blue waters of Lake Superior, a sentinel, standing firm against the ravages of time.

This trail covers different aspects of the boreal forest that surrounds these northern Ontario communities. The vision of this young group of trail builders was to create a trail that not only followed the shoreline of the Big Lake up close and personal, but to also climb high enough to witness Lake Superior’s far-ranging splendor.

That group of trail blazers wanted it to be challenging, but not so much that it couldn’t be completed by fit individuals from multiple generations. They wanted unique surprises to discover along its route, causing hikers to eagerly anticipate what might be around the next corner. They created a route to provide access points for day trips on each section or for camping for those attempting to complete the entire trail in one outing.

I return to Mount Gwynne periodically while maintaining this section of the trail or just out for a walk knowing that the hike to the top will be well rewarded.

Knowing more about our geological history, I know that the view to the north, which takes in Schreiber surrounded by a series of hills, lakes and ponds, was gouged out by retreating glaciers from the last Ice Age that blanketed the Canadian Shield more than 10,000 years ago. The view to the east maps out one pulp mill with its smoking stacks at Terrace Bay while taking in the picturesque Slate Islands stand out 6+ miles from the lakeshore. Farther east, Pic Island lies just offshore and beyond this point, the north shore of Lake Superior begins its slow curve southward toward its most easterly point.

To the west, the Rossport Islands chain starts with the nearest, Copper Island, a few miles distant from the summit. The westerly view ends with highest and second largest of all the Lake Superior islands – St. Ignace, some 1,854 feet above sea level. Still farther west, Black Bay Peninsula stretches its long, jagged finger out into the Lake, disappearing over the very distant horizon. The deep blue hue of the

waters to the south spread out for almost 180° before you, giving the illusion of a never-ending ocean complete with white-capped waves rolling along as far as your eye can see.

From that summit, the path of the hiking trail can also be seen in both directions along the rugged beauty and rocky terrain of the Lake’s shore, born from fire and sculpted by ice.

There’s something else worth the climb for me.

Tom died at age 31 in a winter car accident about 50 miles outside of Thunder Bay. A plaque on the rocky top of Mount Gywnne was placed the year he died in memory of Tom, who’s short life accomplished so much and who forever remains in

the hearts of all who knew him well and loved him more. The simple inscription is one with which he would surely agree:

I sometimes stand there, remembering Tom’s original summit story and my own first trek to the top of Mount Gwynne.

That first day I stood on the top of Mount Gwynne was a very special time in my life and is one I will always remember with great clarity, I spent a considerable amount

of time up there that afternoon and could’ve stayed much longer but there was one thing that I was quite sure of as I made my way down the mountain – I certainly

wasn’t going to be late for supper.

Casque Isle Hiking Trail

THE CASQUE ISLES HIKING TRAIL CLUB works diligently to maintain the 53 kilometres (about 40 miles) of trail it calls “an adventurer’s dream come true, and then some.” It is a critical section within both The Great Trail and the Voyageur Hiking Trail and links Terrace Bay, Schreiber and Rossport. “We’re a fully volunteer club,” explains Matt Borutski, the current president of the club. “We’ve gotten grants here and there for signage,” he adds, but the hours of maintenance come from the club members’ love of the trail itself. “If we don’t beat it back every year, it’s going to disappear in no time,” Matt adds. There are about a dozen local folk who aid in the maintenance, everything from hacking back a few errant branches to, if needed, repairing a foot bridge. When it comes to keeping the trail passable, Matt says, “We are it.” Voyageur Trail Association membership costs $35, and, Matt says, “with that you will receive a code for our maps on the Ondago app that will work 100% of the time, with or without cell service.” Plus he adds of membership dues, “that’s how we pay for insurance and tools.”

THE TRAIL’S NAME comes from a quote from Dr. John J. Bigsby, a physician, geologist and member of the British commission in Upper and Lower Canada who wrote about Lake Superior’s north shore from atop Pic Island in 1823. He  commented on the casque, or helmet-shaped, islands: “As I turned towards the land, tall casque-shaped islands were seen here and there, full of sinuosities and overlooked by pleasingly grouped hills of conical or waved outline from 600 to 800 feet. I was well repaid for the trouble of the ascent.”

THE TRAIL’S ORIGINS can be attributed to the energetic local youth led by Tom McGrath in 1975-76. “The Casque Isles Trail is a pure expression of the region and its people,” notes the trail club on its webpage, “forever endearing and brimming with spirit. Diligently working to create this recreational nature trail, the group cut through thick boreal forests, going from the shores of our Big Lake to the tall peaks of the bluffs that surround it.”

WITH A REPUTATION AS A DIFFICULT HIKE, says Matt, “People hear about the Casque Isles Trail, and they think they can’t go on any of it.” While he admits, “Mom and pop can’t come out here with their kids with sandals on; you have to be prepared to go and do it,” he says, there’s a lovely 2 kilometre stretch that would rank “easy.” Creating more of those easier to hike portions has been a strategic goal of the hiking club. Other portions of the trail do rate moderate to difficult, though the vistas from the high points make the strenuous hiking well worth it. From Mount Gywnne, he jokes, “I can almost see Ashland, Wisconsin.”

Trail notes

The Casque Isles Trail is divided into six segments with 11 access points:

• McLean’s: 14 km. (8.70 mi.)

• Schreiber Channel – 13 km. (8.07 mi.)

• Mount Gwynne – 7 km. (4.35 mi.)

• Death Valley – 10 km. (6.21 mi.)

• Hydro Bay walk-around – 3 km. (1.86 mi.)

• Lyda Bay – 6 km. (3.73 mi.)

Matt Borutski, president of the Casque Isles Trail Hiking Club, appreciates that variety of segments. “That’s one of the beauties of our trail; it’s linear.” He does find that visitors who tackle one segment want to come back for more. “When I talk to them after, they say, ‘We’re coming back to finish it off.’” The club is part of the Voyageur Trail Association.

“I was born and raised here in Schreiber,” says Matt. “We lived half a block away from the bush. When we were 9 or 10 years old, that was our playground. … We enjoy the places that the trail takes us to.” Matt does have a favorite section – the Schreiber Channel. “It’s not as difficult as Death Valley – Death Valley is our toughest segment because of its slopes. The Schreiber Channel segment, I call it ‘Death Valley Light.’ It’s 3 kilometres longer … but a lot easier to walk.” The Death Valley, by the by, is not named for the hiking, though it is the difficult section. It’s thus named, says Matt, because long ago, the Ojibwe people would herd game into the valley to hunt.

He also recommends the Rossport to Rainbow Falls segment. “I’ve talked a few people into going there; it has fantastic bluffs.”

Dan McGrath is trail master for the Casque Isles Hiking Trail Club helping to save his brother’s legacy and his own joy of the woods connecting the towns along his hometown portion of Lake Superior’s Ontario shore.