Travel Diary — Ontario

Part 1 — Finding something true

Sunday, May 3rd, morning, 6 a.m.

I left home heading towards Ontario. The road was beautiful. Not too much traffic, not too hot, just a light breeze that gently rocked the truck. A true spring day to hit the road and rack up the miles.

I was looking forward to returning to Ontario.

My first stop was in Montreal, more precisely in Beloeil, before continuing west. Then, a mandatory stop at Sail to restock: sinking tips, leaders, and most importantly, my favorite Yo-Zuri fluorocarbon, the pink one. Seriously, that stuff is exceptional. When you find something reliable on the river, you stick with it.

I then headed towards Indian Falls, a small, quiet Ontario community on the banks of the St. Lawrence River. The place feels almost like an old historical site, with an old lock converted into a marina. There were a few fishermen, some campers set up near the water, and above all, peace and quiet.

I settled in there for the night.

A light rain was falling gently. Nothing serious. But it was cold. Really cold for this time of year. Maybe 2 degrees Celsius. Maybe close to zero. The kind of damp cold that seeps into your bones when the sun disappears. The next morning, I was woken by a pair of swans. I'd seen swans before in Ontario, but never a pair this close. I watched them glide across the water in the morning silence and thought to myself that the trip was off to a good start. I closed the camper's roof and set off for Port Hope.

It was incredibly windy that day, but the weather was beautiful. Maybe 10 or 12 degrees Celsius. I was eager to get there, so I rode hard. Way too much headwind, a lot of gas burned, but it didn't matter. When you're looking forward to seeing a river, the kilometers pass differently. I arrived in Port Hope before dinner. I met up with some acquaintances, chatted for a bit, ate with them, and then we decided to check out the Ganaraska River upstream. The river was small, intimate, with lots of steelhead. There must have been tons of fish in there. But something really struck me. I've never seen so much trash on a riverbank. To me, the Ganaraska had practically become the official Tim Hortons dump of Ontario. Red cups everywhere. Lids. Bags. Trash in the trees, in the rocks, in the ditches. Everywhere. And it really discouraged me. Because for me, a river isn't just about fish. It's all of nature. The plants. The birds. The silence. The feeling of being far from human noise. I didn't feel that there. I still managed to hook a nice steelhead, about 6 to 8 pounds. A beautiful, fresh fish. I lost it pretty quickly. I'd used a barbless hook and didn't handle the fish properly. But honestly, it didn't bother me that much. I would have released it anyway.

That night, I went to sleep near Cobourg, in a parking lot for hiking trails along the river. Alain was there too. We settled in quietly with the camper. Later that evening, I decided to go see the river with a headlamp.

And then… surprise. Steelheads everywhere. Hundreds of them. In a short accessible section, there must have been 300 or 400 fish. Beautiful, healthy fish. Silvery shadows moving all over the dark current.

But again… the trash. More Tim Hortons cups. More garbage. Even old tires at the bottom of the river. I looked at it and thought: how can we claim to love rivers if we treat them like this? This wasn't my place.

Perhaps some people like this atmosphere. The small urban rivers, the crowds everywhere, the full parking lots, the TH cafes on every corner. But not me.

I'm looking for silence. I'm looking for birds. I'm looking for wildflowers. I'm looking for the feeling of being small within something bigger than myself. The next morning, I decided to head west, towards Goderich and the Maitland River.

And then the trip changed. Passing near Toronto, I stopped at Drift Outfitters & Fly Shop.

What a great shop! Welcoming, passionate, and knowledgeable people. Quality tackle everywhere. Flies, leaders, two-handed rod supplies—just pop into the till and the journey resumes on a different beat. I recommend stopping by to any fishing enthusiast passing through the area.

Then I ended up back on the 401. Never again. Accidents, traffic jams, endless traffic. We were sometimes driving at 30 or 40 km/h. I checked the GPS and then decided to avoid highways.

And honestly, it was probably the best decision of the trip. I found myself on the country roads of Ontario. Farms. Fields stretching as far as the eye could see. Quiet villages. And then that organic, country smell that hung in the air. It was strong in some places, but it didn't bother me. I grew up on a farm in Cap-Pelé, New Brunswick. Those smells remind me of my grandparents' farm. My childhood. A simpler time. It's amazing how a smell can bring back memories.

Finally, I reached the Maitland River. And there… at last. Real nature!

A steep dirt road led down to the spot where I wanted to set up camp. I had to engage four-wheel drive to get out of a tight spot without breaking anything. Once I was settled, I looked around and immediately felt the difference. No trash. No noise. Nothing but the river, the trees, and the wind—in short, nature. Wildflowers were everywhere. So were the birds. I felt good.

The next morning, I got up late. Tired, but happy. I made myself a coffee. My first real, peaceful coffee of the trip. Not a coffee bought quickly in a parking lot. A real coffee in the silence of nature. Then I went for a walk to an area I loved and that a friend had shown me before. After about 35 minutes of walking, I arrived. And what a place!

Red-winged blackbirds everywhere. Tree swallows flying over the water. Songbirds in every direction. A bald eagle perched nearby that flew away when it saw me coming. Turkey vultures circling overhead. Families of bustards with their chicks. The river was alive. Completely alive.

That's where I tied on my first fly. A few minutes later, bang. My first Maitland steelhead. A beautiful, fresh fish, 8 to 10 pounds. I was nervous. Alone with my rod, two-handed. I didn't want to lose it. When I finally managed to release it, I was almost in tears. Because it wasn't just a fish. It was exactly why I'd come here. Afterward, I sat by the river with a Dillan's gin cooler, an Ontario product I'd brought along.

I was watching the water. The birds. The current. Then I just thought: thank you.

Later, I caught another steelhead, a bit smaller, maybe 6 to 8 pounds. This one jumped several times. It used the entire river. An incredible fight. Then the smallmouth bass started biting. Beautiful, solid fish. One in particular must have been close to 3.5 kilos. All released.

As darkness began to fall, I decided to head back up before it got completely dark. The path was steep and slippery, and I was alone. There was no question of taking unnecessary risks.

I arrived at the campsite around 9 a.m. A sandwich. A little warmth. Then sleep.

That night, it froze. The next day, city workers came to repair a culvert blocked by beavers. They were the first people I'd seen in a long time.

And honestly… it suited me perfectly.

I went back fishing. Not many fish that day. Just a few bass. A cold front seemed to have slowed things down. But I didn't even mind. Because deep down, this trip wasn't just about fishing anymore. It was about connection. With the rivers. With the birds. With the silence. With something real.

Finally, towards the end of the day, I decided to leave again. Heading towards the Saugeen river.

I am now settled near landing stage number 12. Tomorrow, I will explore upstream, discover this river which I do not yet know, then continue on the road.

And honestly…I'm already looking forward to seeing what she's going to show me.