Tumbles and toenails can be disastrous on Bruce Trail

In my many hours accumulated in local forests, northern realms and foreign jungles, there is an element of self-care that always rears its inevitable and sometimes ugly head.

Exploring ecosystems and submitting yourself to multi-day treks and paddles often comes with a physical price. To be clear, the price is always right. We can overcome injuries and bodily grievances with ingenuity and determination. I’ve always been a firm believer that the power of will is a unique human trait, and one of the more positive ones at that.

While guiding a three-day hike over nearly 65 kilometres this weekend, I witnessed a tumble for the books. The man who took the fall was not only inspiring, but he also unknowingly inspired me to write this article.

Some parts of the Bruce Trail, Canada’s longest and oldest marked hiking path, contain small pockets of little forgiveness to human error. Although the forces of nature and gravity have been initiating the dehiscing of boulders over thousands of years, sometimes those very forces take our human bodies for a merciless ride. Without sugarcoating it, there are areas along the Niagara Escarpment where an inopportune stumble can lead to a fall that could change or end your life.

This man’s foot and hiking pole sunk into a washed-out void along the edge of the trail. Due to the surprise of no hard support, he tipped, he fell, and he began tumbling down a 75 degree pitch. His backward somersault was only the start, and thankfully, the end of the downward journey to the land hundreds of feet below. A tree snagged him by the leg, and saved him from a situation that could have been mercilessly worse.

Pinned against the tree, he let out a laugh. It was the first sound I heard from him. Not a nervous one, either. His attitude and that tree were the most positive things on the 890-kilometre Bruce Trail that day.

I clambered down the cliff to help him up and get him back on the trail. He then hiked another 60-plus kilometres over the course of three days as if it never happened. The only first aid I performed was concussion protocol, and he was totally fine.

However, this reminds me of other times that southern Ontario’s most grandiose trail beckoned myself and others to jump to the occasion in order to complete the mission.

When I through-hiked the trail over 37 days in 2014, something sinister started to slow me down. An ingrown toenail was slicing into the flesh of my big toe, therefore thwarting my potential plans to finish the expedition as early as day 14. It hurt to put a sock on in the morning. I knew something had to be done, or else I wouldn’t be able to bear the pain and hobble any further.

Enter whiskey, a cloth, a pocket knife and tweezers.

I was sitting at the foothills of a ski resort near Beaver Valley, a 12,000-year-old glacial valley situated between Owen Sound and Collingwood. The pain was psychologically insurmountable, and I knew I had to get this toenail out of my skin if I were to complete the task at hand. Mentally, I had been working my way up to this moment for days, and it was time. However, I didn’t have time for a doctor or an appointment off the trail.

I skulled a decent amount of whiskey from my flask, and then bit into the folded bandana. I then meticulously went to work on my toe. I pulled the skin back and uprooted the nail from its subduction zone. I bit the bandana like an animal, as the pain was appreciably
astounding. I remember looking past my red and bloodied toe at the green ski hills while spring peeper frogs sang their nonchalant chorus. It was an odd contrast, but I was proud of my surgical work. It hurt for nearly a week afterwards, but it kept me going a total of two weeks longer.

Besides the exposure to nature and its interesting spaces and species, I am forever humbled by how the natural world challenges us to challenge ourselves. Minus the scare of a fall or the pain of a toenail, I believe we as a society deserve a good humbling these days.