ONTARIO TRAIL RIDERS ASSOCIATION INC.

A BICENTENNIAL CELEBRATION

The Journey into Yesterday - Participation
The Journey could be celebrated in several ways and by people of all ages.

Journeying
People could journey in a variety of ways.  They did, on horseback, by horse drawn carriage, on foot, by bicycle, by car and by canoe.  The greatest number journeyed by horseback.  They came from Thunder Bay, Port Dover, Haliburton, Huronia, Durham, the Ottawa Valley and the regions through which the route travelled.  In the Niagara region, equestrians organized a companion journey which traveled from Niagara-on-the-Lake northward to join with the primary group in the final Parade of Horses.  Journeyers ranged in age from 10 to 83.  The 10 year old rode 100 miles across Central Ontario, while her mother was one of the three who journeyed the entire distance from Ottawa River to the Final Parade at the Niagara Escarpment.  The 83 year old gentleman shared 75 miles with a 70 year old across Parry Sound District. The Journeyer's Scroll was signed at the end of each day and over 450 managed to sign.  Even more had joined for a few hours during the day but turned homeward before reaching camp.

Pioneer Families
Descendants of the original settler families were invited to sign the
 Scroll of the Pioneers. The two scrolls which traveled all the miles of the Journey now bear the names of over 1300 people.  Their sense of pride in their Ontario heritage was apparent and their pleasure in our recognition of their contributing role in Ontario history made efforts worthwhile. The scroll holds the signatures of Native people, a 98 year old and the footprint of a baby.  Many recorded the land site location of the first settlers, the year and their place of origin.  Now the Scroll of the Pioneers is part of the Journey Collection.

                                                                                                                 The Journey Collection with Mavis McCullum
Stitching Time
The invitation for each community to record its story in special quilt squares was another success.  Early the following year, all the collected squares were assembled into the Journey Quilt composed of 81 squares, stitched with the name of the community and its date of founding as well as a square stitched with the names of the founding families.  The quilt border was stitched with hoofprints and the names of significant Journeyers.
                                                                                     
Histories
The communities were encouraged to record their history if they had not done so and asked to present a copy for the Journey.  The Journey Collection of Histories represents over 50 communities and provides a record of their beginnings and their people. 

FROM THE DIARIES OF THE JOURNEYERS
The following is a story written by Sue Bennett of Minden, one of the 3 main Journeyers
Barry's Bay to Madawaska  August 2, 1984

Neither Wendy nor I had slept well this night, it wasn't the horses that had kept us awake, as we knew they were safe. The three geldings were picketed in a shed and the two mares in a paddock outside.  It was a strange noise, a metallic clicking sound, followed by a silence, then weird sliding noises and the clicking repeated.  At three AM, I could stand it no longer and shone my flashlight in the direction of the noise, the chicken coop.  The perpetrator of the sound was a chicken perched precariously on top of a water feeder, who, at regular intervals lost it's grip and slid down the sloped sides of the metal container, followed by a quick scurry back up to the top only to repeat the whole darn process!
Five AM came too soon and swearing, cursing and vowing to eviserate the bird, I emerged from my tent.  Wendy was still in her tent and laughing at my cursing, asked if the chicken was still alive and if so, WHY?!!
This was how one of our longest, most trying days of the "Journey into Yesterday" began.  Look at a map!  It is but a short distance from Barry's Bay to Madawaska, that is if one takes the highway, but who wants to ride the road when there is the challenge of overgrown railway tracks and the beauty of the wilderness and wild rivers?
We said goodbye to our hosts at Barry's Bay at about 8:30 AM.  We were to ride a short distance along the road and pick up the railway tracks after a ride down a sandy lane and a cut through the bush to avoid a tressel bridge over a river. It was an extremely hot day and the tracks were very overgrown.  Our diamond hitches were certainly tested this day, so much so that we found they couldn't stand up to the constant smacking from ten year old poplars and birch trees.  It was amazing to ride behind Wendy and watch her pack horse bend those trees double under the panniers and have them catapult back up again.  Rocky, my pack pony, being smaller, didn't take as many trees down but enough for me to lose my rope off the one side of my diamond hitch.
WE knew this stretch held a few beaver washouts, we had been told there were ways around them along snowmobile trails.  We had no problems finding our way around the first beaver swamp.  It was a well used track and didn't take us very far out of our way and we rejoined the tracks only to be confronted with the rails disappearing under a lake of more beaver swamp!   The way around this one took us to Red Pine Lake, about seven miles north of where we wanted to be.  Luckily this was an area we had checked out in the spring and Wendy recognized it as such, so with at least the knowledge of knowing where we were, we moved out at alittle faster pace, as we also knew we were miles out of our way.  When we found the Opeongo River along side the road and the well remembered ford in the river, we eased our pace and watered the horses.  A little farther along the trail we took a ten minute break for lunch and map reading.  We knew we were behind time but little did we know that the fun had only just begun!
We rejoined the tracks and up ahead, we knew, was the trestle bridge that crossed the Opeongo River.  We had checked it out in the spring and Jim had told us that he would stop here on his way home and plank the bridge for us. No mean feat as the bridge was 2 miles from the road and the wood had to be carried in.  He had left us a note under a pile of rocks on the tracks that brightened our spirits as he had planked the bridge and also measured the depth of the river where the bridge crossed it.  The river was fairly fast and about five feet deep.  The note also told of how he had been competing with a bear for the blueberries that grew so plentifully along the tracks and not to worry about him as he was quite friendly as long as one shared the blueberries!
We have since learned it is near impossible to plank a trestle bridge that still has the rails down, as they have two sets of rails for strength and this leaves very little room for planking in between.  However time was ticking on and rather than unpack and swim the river we decided to try the bridge.  Bad choice.  Wendy's riding horse, Dandy, crossed calmly and kept to the boards, I held Frank's horse, BJ, while he led Wendy's pack horse, Piti, across.  Unfortunately the little mare crossed from the planked area over onto the trestle and went straight through with all four legs.  It was a dreadful sight to watch, as no sooner had she pulled herself out form between one set of ties than she went down between the next set.  After what seemed like an age, she arrived at the other side, miraculously still standing.  I couldn't see clearly from where I was but someone had answered our prayers and Lord only knows how, but she suffered only scrapes and grazes.
Well, here we were, two horses on one side of the bridge and three on the other.  The bridge we now knew was a nightmare.  The other choice was the river, so we set to unpacking and unsaddling.  Frank, being the tallest, decided it would be safest for him to lead the horses across and I, a useless swimmer, didn't argue with his decision.  Both my ponies had to swim as it was too deep for them to wade.  Rocky decided to swim slightly upstream which didn't please Frank as the water was deeper there. We then had to resaddled and pack sopping wet horses.  Time was ticking on and we had wasted another hour at this crossing. Oh well, with that behind us what more could lie ahead?  If only we had known!
Our next obstacle was another beaver wash out.  The rails hung like a back bone across a twenty foot wide, fifteen foot deep hole.  The sides were straight down and crumbled underfoot and if that wasn't enough, just for effect there was a rusty culvert laying dead at the bottom.  On our right was a beaver swamp full of water (now who was it that decided the beaver should be our national animal?  Is he locked up yet?!) and to our left, what looked like a drained swamp with a creek flowing through it.  Upon inspection, we found a number of moose tracks crossing the area so we decided that that would be our route, down the bank, across the drained swamp, over the creek and a little more sandy swamp then up the bank on the other side of the washout.  The trees were chopped down to permit a way down the bank and up the other.  Frank led BJ half way onto a sand bar, Wendy followed, slightly to the right, when suddenly both her horses were floundering in bog.  It was one of those bogs that shutter all around like a bowl of jell-o when some poor soul falls in. Dandy, whom Wendy was riding, fell on to her neck and chin at this moment, and Wendy, who's feet were now in the bog, decided it was time to abandon ship.  Piti, sank up to her panniers which seemed to act as buoys and kept her from sinking further.  Luckily Wendy landed on firm ground and managed to encourage Dandy to keep moving forward and struggle to firm ground.  Piti followed and after a few more really tense moments,  joined Dandy on firmer ground.  Frank took BJ another route and didn't get into too much trouble.  The ponies went next and being so much lighter only sank up to their knees, but my heart was in my mouth as I hurried them across.  From that moment I have had great respect for the largest of Ontario's herbivores, to be able to spread that much weight out on those feet and not sink as we had done.  The moose tracks that we had put so much faith in had only sunk a couple of inches into the sand and mud!
Once again fate was on our side and apart from the filth and stink  and a good scare to all of us, everyone was okay.  "Press on gang, there really is no going back now!"  We don't burn our bridges, we sink 'em!
What next, the three of us wondered?  By this time we had become quite blase, we felt there wasn't anything we couldn't tackle and conquer.  You've heard of "punch drunk" haven't you?  Hey we can take it, we're riding "Timex" horses....they take a lickin' and keep on tickin'!  Well here it comes, another washout, "Quick, get out the hatchets, who cares if this is dense bush, up a steep crumbly bank and once more on the tracks, keep on truckin, times awasting!"
By this time we knew that much more of this sort of stuff and we would be spending the night in the bush. The horses would be a little hungry as there wasn't much beaver grass about.  Wendy and I would have been fine as we had all our gear with us and I'm sure we would have shared our supper with Frank who didn't have a pack horse along?!
The groan from the three of us as we saw what lay ahead, having just hacked our way through the bush around another washout, could have been heard a mile away. "Oh no, not another washout!"  However, this one was not as bad as it first looked, the rails hung precariously about four feet above the ground but the base was dry and we could lead the horses along side the rails while we did a balancing act along the ties.
The next few miles were through thick bush, young saplings formed a thick canopy about us. The iron rails and wooden ties acted as a physical barrier as the trees encroached upon this narrow corridor.  It was difficult to see as twigs constantly whipped our faces and made it impossible to guide the horses. We knew we were still on the ties as the horses stumbled on them constantly as the spacing of them is just short of their stride.
We could hear an engine in the distance and our hopes lifted as we thought it was a road.  It turned out to be a motor boat on a lake that opened up to the left before us.  The people in the boat were a little startled to see us.  What were they staring at?  Anyone would have think it was unusual to see three riders and two pack horses appear from the bush on a railroad line that hadn't been used in the past fifteen to twenty years!
By now evening was closing in fast and we were all beat.  Soon we noticed a sandy trail running parallel to the tracks, so we took it.  We had had just about enough of the tracks by this time!  We returned to the tracks after awhile and found a note on a stick "Beaver swamp ahead"  (so what's new?) "Take highway into Madawaska.  Turn left here".  It was from the people of Madawaska.
I can not tell you how happy we were to receive that note.  Shortly after, we met a man in a pick-up truck who greeted us like long lost friends and told us they had been waiting for us since four PM and were about to send out a search party. A fire truck escorted us along the highway to the village where our campsite by the river and community centre awaited us.  Our tents were grabbed from us as soon as we had unpacked them and helpful hands erected tents, put up picket lines, held horses and were generally fantastic to a bunch of tired but happy trail riders.  Once the horses had been well watered, fed and settled for the night we were escorted, slapping at hoards of mosquitoes that had descended upon us, into the little hall that was now full of happy, singing people.  They treated us like royalty and after several cups of tea, piles of sandwiches and cakes, we felt very happy and welcome.  We were so tired but what a fantastic finish to such a trying, yet memorable day.  So with the knowledge that the next day was a well deserved rest day for the horses, we finally fell into our sleeping bags at midnight! 

Celebrating Ontario's Bicentennial by Horseback

One rider's account of her Journey into Yesterday

A set of horse shoes, worn thin over 500 miles of Ontario's historic pathways and an album stuffed with photos and clippings are the material reminders of my summer of 1984.  But the gate holding my memories is easily opened by just a glance at either...........
The route travelled along significant pioneer trails, old railways and colonization roads, all now faded memories in this province's history.  But 1984 was our Bicentennial year and , as residents of this beautiful piece of Canada, we were asked to examine our beginnings and retrace our history to it's roots - "to celebrate together".
The Ontario Trail Riders Association Inc., an equestrian trail group, gave much thought to this special year and came forth with plans for an equestrian celebration of our Bicentennial.  As plans progressed, the project grew in scope to not only include equestrians, but all types of trail users, communities along the route and all residents wishing to participate.  Support for this vast project, named the Journey into Yesterday, came from the Bicentennial office, Tourism and Recreation and the Ontario Equestrian Federation.
Official plans had made no attempt to encourage anyone to travel the entire distance but rather to join in, relay fashion, for an hour, a day or maybe two.  Here existed my personal challenge and the perfect opportunity to try something I've wanted to do for some years. With the aid of some topographical maps, I carefully studied the entire 500 mile route and worked out the possibility of traveling it while sticking to the official time schedule of events.  Soon I had the promised company of a good friend and trail riding buddy of many years.  She had secretly been plotting the route too.  We spent many hours pouring over the maps, talking to people in many areas of the province and we gained another willing member.  We traveled to sections of the route to investigate possible problems, discussed conditioning and compiled an equipment list.
The weeks slipped by quickly and on July 28, 1984, I traveled to Timbertown on the Ottawa River in eastern Ontario.  My young mares and I joined a small group of horses and riders ready to start the journey.  Our members consisted of Sue Bennett of Minden with her two Welsh Mountain Ponies, Frank Bowman of King City with his Arabian gelding and myself with my two Appaloosas.  Along with many local riders who had gathered for the official opening ceremonies, we were joined by four other riders who were with us for the next two days.  Sue and I had both planned to travel with pack horses.  Packing was not new to either of us as we had been spending holidays doing just that for at least five summers.  This would be the longest distance any of us had attempted although we had traveled over 200 miles on other occasions. Because we were unsure of local feed supplies, our hay and grain would be transported in Frank's trailer to the next campsite.  Other than that, we were on our own to reach each night's prearranged stop.
This was still a very public celebration and as the towns and villages were encouraged to participate, we were welcomed with parades, meals and ceremonies as we rode through. Many camps were set up in municipal parks or fairgrounds while others took advantage of private hospitality.  Evenings were spent talking to local people truly interested in our horses and gear as well as what we were doing.  Pioneer descendants were asked to sign a parchment scroll we carried with us.  Towns presented us with their written histories, crests or pins denoting their coat of arms, and quilt blocks stating their date of founding.  All these momentos would become part of the "Journey Collection" and would travel back to these very towns.
Each dawn would find us up and busily preparing for the day's ride.  Riders wishing to join for the day or two would arrive at camp and saddle up.  The route was discussed over breakfast.  The horses were given a check-over while they munched their hay.  Some days we made good time, traveling well marked and cleared trails or bush roads.  Others proved to challenge the real pioneer spirit in us all as we cleared bush, swam rivers and crossed beaver bogs.
Our hardest day packed just about every imaginable obstacle in our path. We struggled through fifteen miles of thick northern Ontario bush country in just over twelve hours.  Guiding the pack horses through this thick growth was a task on it own.  They soon learned to bend the small trees under their packs while staying a safe distance behind the horse ahead, and where possible, swing wide around the bigger trees.  Owing a little more to luck than skill, I'm sure, we never lost our loads. There was a point where we discussed turning back and covering what we knew was behind or gambling on the unknown ahead.  The sinking sun and what we believed was the shorter distance won out and we continued on, arriving at camp escorted by the local firetruck complete with flashing lights and siren.  This display of support and hospitality raised our confidence that we really would make it through the remaining 430 miles!
   And so it continued as our journey route took us on an unique tour of Ontario.  We left hoofprints along logging roads and past remnants of towns, stations and homesteads silently telling a story of days gone by, a story we tried to visualize.  There were days when downpours threatened to drown us, the sun tried to bake us and the bugs, to eat us alive, but through it all, the enthusiastic receptions and encouraging people kept the miles fairly clicking under our horses hooves.  Media coverage was informing the public and the crowds of participants grew at each town.  More riders joined in, the "Journey" gained momentum and it carried us along.
Our equine partners seemed eager to continue each morning.  They rested well at night, all being seasoned to picket lines and camp life.  We paid special attention to their needs because we knew that our success rested on their ability to continue "sound and fit".  We had three rest days spaced through out the duration of the ride.   These were welcomed breaks by all members of the group.  Horses lazed happily in pastures and camp buzzed with activity.  Tack repairs were made, panniers re-arranged and there was even time to sneak a leisurely snooze under a shady tree.
The miles added up and we were nearing our journey's end. We had enjoyed the company of many riders over the time, from many different areas of Ontario.  For the last week we had a large group with us every day.  We were now in southern Ontario, leaving behind the wilderness and dense bush, to travel the Great Pine Ridge Trail, established by OTRA in 1973.  Here we trailed through the backyard of civilization with cool breaks of forested lanes and pine plantations.  We were glad we had replaced the horses' shoes a few miles back as the gravel shoulders were sure to wear them thin before too long.  We were so close to our destination now that doubts and anxiety set in; it would be heartbreaking for one of our horses to come up lame.  Although our horses were in excellent condition, we babied them even more at night, to ease our minds.  They received double checks for lumps, sores or limps.  Our luck held out!
Now in a field near Ballinafad, a tiny hamlet nestled close to the ancient Niagara Escarpment, I pulled the saddles and packs off my horses for the last time.  There was a feeling of exhilaration of having completed a gruelling 500 mile journey but another nagging feeling of regret.  It was over! I would have to come back to earth tomorrow.  Could it be possible that I had really been away a month, sleeping on the softest rock I could find each night, in the saddle every day?  It seemed more real to continue on this way than to return.  Maybe I should ride the hundred odd miles home, then I'd be ready?  I thought how quickly I seemed to have slipped into an old style of living, much like our pioneers and, like so many times in the past month, I paused to think what it might have been like.  A shout of congratulations chased these thoughts from my mind and I joined the celebrations around the campfire.  True to trail rider tradition,  there were tales to tell and I sure had my share!
Morning brought an increase to our camp population as riders joined for the grande finale, a parade into Scotsdale Farm.  This is the site the horse people of Ontario would like to see as a Horse Park, a showcase of the horse, its accomplishments and contributions.  Over 250 horses with riders and carriages rode an impressive parade route through beautiful rolling countryside into Scotsdale Farm for the Bicentennial ceremonies.  It was here that the collected histories, the scrolls and the quilt squares were officially handed over for the "Journey Collection".
We had all looked into our past, relived a part of our history and had celebrated together.  Our journey was over but it had been a success!

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