It’s the middle of the night, and a storm has rolled in. Which means it’s time (whether we like it or not) to test the durability of our little trailer.
What’s more, is that we’re parked up in the middle of a field with virtually nothing around us to provide any kind of shelter. As much as I haven’t loved being parked up next to monster campers in the past… at least I could have hoped they’d act as a windbreaker in a situation like this. Here goes nothin’.
There’s no signs of any water seeping in, and it really is bucketing down so that’s great news. We’re off to a good start. I can usually sleep through anything but the thunder and lightening is so extreme I keep tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable deep sleep.
It feels like wind could rip the top off of our portable house at any moment. I can barely hear myself think over the sound of the rain pounding against the plastic window above our heads. I wonder if we’re a target to be struck by lighting, alone out here in the middle of the field. Fortunately there are some telephone polls and electrical boxes near by. But if the electrical box is struck… will it pass through our power cable, electrocute the whole flimsy structure and kill us? Chesney says the metal bits of the trailer are made of aluminum which isn’t a conductor and should mean we’re in the clear. Not sure how his nerdy ass knows that, but I’m happy for it.
The walls are shaking, but haven’t caved in on us yet. I’m partially ready for us to get swept up into a tornado, but, as you have probably guessed because I’ve managed to write about it, we don’t. Morning comes and we’ve survived the worst of it. I’m very impressed with this little thing!
Turns out Chesney wasn’t sure about the aluminium thing, but it brought me peace.
How did we end up alone in a middle of a field? A very good question. We’re just as confused as you are. From the beginning of this trip we’ve been hearing allllll about how impossible it is to find a trailer these days since everyone is turning to camping as the only way to travel during the pandemic. We’ve seen how quickly some campsites have filled up online and we’ve struggled to book the ones we wanted. And yet… we’ve somehow ended up here at Davy Lake without another camping soul in sight.
In some ways it’s great because we have the whole place to ourselves… but it’s eerie. What do all the people who have chosen not to stay here know that we don’t? We’re right on a lake and it seems cute so I don’t see the problem.
Maybe it’s because there’s literally nothing to do in town. Ignace/Davy Lake is our last stop before leaving Ontario and starting work in Manitoba. We decided to stay here for 3 nights to get a bit of a break from setting up and tearing down every day or two. We didn’t take into account that we might be starved for activities – especially with the gloomy weather.
We got here an hour earlier than expected and couldn’t understand how. Chesney drove us here and is a very law abiding citizen who always goes the speed limit. So how tf did we make up 50 minutes of time on the GPS? I Google it, and it turns out Ontario covers two time zones. Did you know that? I certainly did not.
Time zones are so strange and I don’t really understand why they couldn’t just get a little creative (as they often do) and push the line a little West so it fit nicely along the border of Manitoba. Apparently it was not possible.
But literally look at how they’ve split up that entire green bit. Like excuse me? Nunavut covers those three time zones anyway so why have we chosen to put some of the blue nunavut time zone in between the green bits? You’re telling me a town north of another town is actually going to be an hour behind? And then a town further north of there will be an hour ahead again? But it was imperative that a small portion of North-Western Ontario be on the same schedule as Manitoba? And don’t even get me started on Newfoundland’s half hour time difference. I’d like to speak to the manager of Canada’s time zones, please.
When the rain lets up we rent a canoe for $10, which comes with 4-foot long children’s paddles to take a little tour around the lake. It’s a small lake, so there isn’t much to see. But we do catch a glimpse of a turtle, and something that may have been an otter! Or a muskrat. We’ll never know. I got otter vibes, but we’re not sure if they even live in small Canadian lakes?
In search of something a little more exhilarating than canoeing in circles around the lake, we find a provincial park nearby. It turns out to have some pretty breezy but beautiful walks! A big win! It’s called Sandbar Provincial Park, and there’s (obviously) supposed to be a big sandbar which is visible from a hike-able viewpoint.
We get to the top and there’s definitely no visible sandbar… but it’s a nice view regardless. I’d like to speak to the manager of naming Ontario’s Provincial Parks, please. I’m full Karen today.
At least we got a nice walk in and some pretty cool pics!