Off to the West, Day One

Not a great start: the train we are to be on was coming in from Winnipeg, and was late. So our ten PM start, slid to about eleven. They were nice about it, but had that smile of resignation I have seen before on VIA. Fortunately, the lounge in Toronto is comfortable, and well-stocked with food and magazines.

My fellow passengers are a varied lot, from a young man who seems to be about 23, bearded and probably alone, but friendly, to an older man (probably in his late sixties) with long white hair tied in a ponytail, a long white beard, and a pleasant face. And all those in between, mostly older, mostly white, mostly patient.

We get onto the train, settle into our various cabins, and the silver machine is off. As has happened before, the track we take is something of a zig-zag, going west and north to Keele and the 407, then due east to the 404 area, the north and west again. Up through Richmond Hill towards Lake Simcoe, we passed a hamlet called, simply, "Quaker": maybe three or four houses.

Then I put my bed down and fell asleep, bumping and rocking my way to oblivion. Woke a few times during the night, but generally a good sleep.

And in the morning, we were in Capreol. There is no longer a train coming from Montreal which joins us in that town, but it is still a stop for the train before heading into the vast, mostly empty, Canadian Shield. Lots of snow, lots of trees, lots of rocks.

My first meal was the breakfast, at about 7:30. A Denver omelette, quite nice, with two other men travelling singly. Both characters, as you might expect. One was a man older than myself, the healing scab of a basal cell carcinoma on his cheek, looking a bit sad to be going to Winnipeg. He is moving there from Burlington, to join his daughter and his wife (who, interestingly, moved out a few years ago). A step he knows he has to do, but doesn't want. He had lived in Montreal, Vancouver, and of course Burlington, and preferred them all to Winnipeg. But then, he liked Stephen Harper, so his tastes are suspect.

My other breakfast companion was a man with a pony tail, probably mid-fifties, not the one I saw last night. He is a teacher, interested in native issues, and a lover of museums, on his way to Winnipeg to give a talk. He slept in the economy coach, said it was fine.

Rocks and trees, snow and ice and some open water: these were the elements of the morning out our windows. Black Spruce trees offering on their arms large pillows of snow. Poplars and other deciduous trees cradling the snow in the crooks of their branches, seeming to protect it from...what?






Most of the trees here are second growth at least, not too old. But occasionally you see an area that has been burnt,or one which is older and bigger trees. No animals or tracks seen. The odd solitary house, rarely small settlements, and once a solo outhouse in the forest a ways off the track (are the bears that civilized up here?). And on it goes, seemingly forever. A sceptic would have trouble believing that Canada had any trouble with either lumber or water supplies.

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Location:Front St W,Toronto,Canada