Where Mystery Still Exists

Call them crossroads, sideroads, concessions, or whatever else. Here in the Kawartha Lakes region, there is only one kind of road that lights me up as a driver. 

Those seasonally maintained dirt roads, the narrower the better, that lead to the unknown. Imagine that – places where mystery still exists, even if explored by others. Wiley Road in Kirkfield is a great example, where four wheel drive is necessary, and where it’s likely that you’ll see far more wildlife than people out there. 

Every autumn I make a point to take a drive down Wiley Road if for no other reason than to see what the bare bones of summer, now stripped of their vibrance, have left the wayward explorer. I’ve seen coyotes, hares, black bears, more deer than I can count, and curious bovine that linger around the edge of their cedar rail confines. Sandhill cranes sometimes stray late into the autumn here, so long as the ground doesn’t freeze early, and it’s not uncommon for the odd ruffed grouse to parade down the middle of the bumpy dirt track, too. 

And it’s quiet. Eerily quiet, and I like that. 

Autumn never really did mean that it was time to slow down, did it? I love summer, and who doesn’t flourish in the throes of those warm, gentle spring days? But autumn lays bare all that summer hid from us, and taking to those bumpy old backroads down through places where times seems to have forgotten is a surefire way to spark the depths of my curiosity. 

So that’s what I do. If the sign where pavement meets gravel warns “Seasonally maintained roadway”, I think to myself “perfect, because I’m a seasonal visitor with enough clearance and questions about what’s down here, and I need (or, realistically, want) answers”. 

Cranberry Lake Road, which is on the very western fringes of the Kawarthas, is another goat track that always gets a visit from me. It’s rough, so much so that you could loosen a filling or two, but it’s worth it. I saw my first and only Kawartha Lakes jack rabbit down that road a few years back. A giant creature with long, somber ears catching daylight through them. I’ve never seen another since. 

And admittedly not everyone has the kind of vehicle that affords the traversing of these types of forgotten roads, but never forget that you can park, and you could walk. You could make an afternoon of it. Bring the binoculars. Bring a lunch and hiking shoes. Don’t be afraid to get your feet wet. Don’t be afraid of these roads. Do respect the “No Trespassing” signs, though along the sides of them. 

Perhaps the most memorable moment that I’ve experienced down one of these dusty old concessions happened in 2024 down the “secret” road, which I’ll never name, but after travelling down it for about twenty minutes, there was enough mud and water overtop that my vehicle couldn’t pass. So, I parked and started walking, getting soaked in the process. After cresting a hill, I began working down the other side when a commotion in the woods to my left caught my attention. Brush was being thrashed, and it sounded as though a monster was about to break out from the woods at any minute. 

In fact, it wasn’t a monster, but two. Two bull moose stepped out, locked in battle, eyes bulging out of their heads, oblivious to my presence. This all within a ten minute drive of nearby Fenelon Falls. 

You never truly do know what you’re going to see down our beloved backroads, the passages to something beyond what our highways can give us out here. I’ll always be a rough road wanderer, taking to them when their secrets lay revealed, when the cottages sit empty, and the docks have been pulled, and the lakes are lowered. 

Who knows, I might see you out there. 

Mike Fitzgerald is an avid outdoorsman and knowledgable homesteader who writes for multiple publications about living off the land. You can follow him on his adventures via instagram as @omnivore.culture