5th June 2018

Breakfast was to be taken at the Subway conveniently located next to our hotel. Bright and early, Sue, Sean and I sat outside waiting for it to open at 9 a.m. Sean clutched a breakfast voucher for the three of us, triumphantly acquired from reception at the NU Hotel, as though it were a golden ticket. We were to be treated to a sub containing egg (or “omelette”, as they preferred to call it) and cheese, with a choice of salad fillings. Naturally, we improved matters with the addition of bacon.

Being the very first customers of the day, we settled in expecting our order to appear in short order. The café gradually filled up, with Dominic and Caitlin joining us, followed by a trickle of others. After a suspiciously long wait, we noticed that every other customer seemed to be tucking in, while we still sat empty-handed. On enquiring, we discovered that our order had simply been forgotten. Quite an achievement, really, considering we were the only customers for a good while. Breakfast, it must be said, proved a disappointment.

Afterwards, the five of us caught the shuttle bus to the nearby train station and boarded the frequent connection to Terminal 1 at the airport. Having located the Budget car rental desk, we exchanged details and soon found ourselves in the car park choosing our respective vehicles. Sue and I decided to upgrade, given the miles we had ahead of us, and this turned out to be an inspired decision. Wishing each other good travels, we parted ways.

The morning had begun bright and sunny, but the further we drove out of Toronto, the more the clouds gathered. Our first stop was Barrie, where we visited the Tourist Information office to decide whether to head via North Bay or take the longer route through Algonquin Park. The park won.

By the time we reached Huntsville, it was lunch o’clock. We found ourselves in Harvey’s fast food outlet, where we both ordered hearty salads which proved rather more filling than anticipated. Pressing on under increasingly leaden skies, we discovered that the showers mentioned on the radio were not exaggerated in the slightest. For the next three and a half hours, the heavens opened with unwavering enthusiasm. Scenic views were largely replaced with the sight of windscreen wipers at full tilt, though we did pause, alongside several other bedraggled tourists, to admire a black female moose having her lunch by the roadside. We were most grateful for our decision to upgrade the car: it offered a far sturdier grip on the drenched back roads than the compact model would ever have managed.

We eventually rolled into Gwenda’s drive around 6 p.m., with the rain still beating a steady tattoo on the roof, as it would for the remainder of the night. Although Gwenda’s eyesight has been affected by macular degeneration, she still navigates her home with admirable ease, and her mind remains as sharp as ever. We spent the evening catching up before I made a quick sortie into town to fetch a pizza from Goodfellas. The portion sizes could easily have fed a small regiment. Suitably replete, Sue and Gwenda resumed their exchange of family news, while I retreated into a document from Jamie, which had arrived earlier in the day with a politely urgent request for edits before Tuesday.

I

It was still raining when we went to bed around 10 p.m. The raindrops pattering on the metal roof of Gwenda’s bungalow promised to lull me to sleep, and did so very efficiently. I’ve always found the sound of heavy rain wonderfully soporific; Sue, alas, does not share this view.

By morning, the rain showed no inclination to stop. After breakfast, I drove to a nearby café with internet access, Gwenda being firmly of the “no Wi-Fi required” persuasion. This was my only option for sending Jamie’s freshly edited website document. My tablet, however, flatly refused to cooperate, preferring instead to sulk. My phone proved more obliging, allowing me to chat with Sarah about the pros and cons of her proposed ankle operation while my tablet stared blankly into the digital void.

Later in the morning, we escorted Gwenda on a grocery expedition to ValuMart, returning with provisions for a light lunch of bread rolls and yoghurt.

With the rain still hammering away in the afternoon, we decided on a little retail diversion at Ryan’s, a cavernous tourist shop. Ryan himself was installed near the entrance with his dog, Holly. I passed the time stroking Holly and exchanging pleasantries with her owner, while Sue and Gwenda inspected every single item in the shop at least three times. In the end, they bought nothing. Back in the car, Sue confessed she had almost purchased some arrowheads and moose teeth but was unconvinced of their authenticity. Authenticity is always tricky; best to avoid ending up with decorative plastic disguised as prehistoric treasure.

Not deterred, we tried another tourist shop, this one stocked with considerably pricier curiosities, before retreating to the familiarity of Tim Hortons. Over coffee, I mounted another assault on Jamie’s document. The tablet continued its stubborn refusal to “trust” the internet connection, though eventually, after stripping away its security filters, it relented, and the document was sent.

The rain persisted, so we took a brief drive down to the riverfront. Visibility was poor, and with spirits not much brighter, we soon gave up and retreated once more to the warmth of Gwenda’s bungalow. In a rare twist of events, Sue indulged in a nap, leaving me to enjoy a long chat with Gwenda until it was time for dinner at the Bear Pit, a local hotel restaurant. After the meal, we were treated to a spot of impromptu entertainment, a line-dancing group rehearsing enthusiastically in the next room.

Returning to the bungalow, the evening wound down with crosswords before we turned in for the night.

Sue and Gwenda were up bright and early the next morning, while I managed to linger until half past eight. In my defence, I had woken at seven, only to be coaxed back under by the rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof.

After breakfast, we made another attempt at a stroll along the Deep River boardwalk. Parking near the memorial garden, we braced ourselves against the biting wind beneath steely skies. Before long, Gwenda waved us on at our own pace. We reached the small marina just as the first squall swept across the water, clearly hinting at heavier rain to come. Taking the hint, we turned back. To our surprise, Gwenda had picked up the pace and caught us up. Leaving her and Sue in the shelter of the yacht club, I trudged back to collect the car.

Lunch was salmon sandwiches before, and with admirable persistence, we tried the river walk once more. This time, we headed for the public beach where generations of Deep River children have learned to swim. A playground stood ready to occupy those too young to paddle, though on this occasion, both were deserted. The only sign of life was a JCB, noisily preparing the grounds for some future summer that looked very far away. The river, whipped into dark choppy breakers by the wind, did not invite lingering.

Further upstream, we stopped at Pine Point. Sue was especially keen, recalling that 28 years earlier, we had played on its sandy beach with Charlotte and Jamie on a gloriously warm day. This time, the experience was decidedly less idyllic. After a couple of hurried photographs, we sensibly retreated to the car.

Our final errand was a stop at ValuMart for dinner supplies: BBQ chicken, potatoes, sweetcorn and coleslaw.

Back at the bungalow, we settled in once again, thankful that the Canadian weather hadn’t entirely confined us indoors. Still, as I reflected, the old phrase “Mad dogs and Englishmen” seemed particularly apt.