(Re) Finding Myself in the World

This is something I wrote - mostly just for myself - on the flight back from a work trip to Bangladesh in December 2022. I was trying to force myself to actually sit down and articulate how I had been feeling in the past few years, and why. Mostly because I just couldn't figure out why I hadn't been feeling much like... well... me. 

I’m posting this now in answer to all of the questions (complaints :P) I keep getting on IG about why, now that I have finally started posting again, I am only posting throwbacks to 2020 (and confusing everyone as to where I am in the process).

The short answer is: because I have so many stunning photos from the last 3 years that I just hadn't been able to post before, and it would be a shame not to post them now that I feel okay to do so.

The long answer is contained in the (rather wordy) essay (dairy entry?) below.  It's a lot, but I promise to intersperse all the wordiness with beautiful photos!

Orto Tokoi reservoir on a beautifully calm pre-Covid era winter's day.

I had promised myself during the Covid years that I would use my free time to catch up on posting photos. Instead, not only am I still behind on posting the photos from my last 7+ years of adventures (some from 10 years ago!), I didn't even manage to keep up with posting photos of what I was up to during Covid times!

Part of that was for great reasons (too busy out exploring to post!), part of that was for necessary reasons (too busy working when not out adventuring to post), and part of that was for a complex constellation of emotional reasons that I am only just beginning to understand and parse. 

Knowing I was leaving KG after (at the time) 6 lovely years, and not knowing if or when I would be coming back, made looking at pictures of wonderful memories and places I love deeply incredibly difficult. I was essentially mourning a loss. This place that I called home and got to play in every day would no longer be that. And I didn't (still don't) fully know how to deal with that. 

I have lived in, made friends in, and loved so many amazing places, and each one owns a piece of my soul, but none as long or as much as Kyrgyzstan.

Leaving any place is hard, but leaving one you love deeply stretches you thin in ways that are impossible to explain to anyone who hasn't felt it. It's like part of you remains there, holding on to all the people and places you love, while the rest of you continues to move about in the world. 

The more times you make that move, the more stretched thin you begin to feel, with all the connections and commitments pulling you in different directions, drawing you taught. 

Add to these all those other connections you make while abroad – to people who feel like your long lost soul twins, to partners in adventure and craziness, to those who brush briefly past your life but who are out there making the world a more awesome place – all of whom are going about in the world on their own adventures, some constantly on the move and others tucked away in remote corners you may never visit again, and the taughtness begins to feel nearly unbearable.

It’s as though you are fraying at the edges trying to hold on, with worn patches forming in the middle that allow things – memories and connections that you never wanted to lose – to escape and fall through.

And yeah... I am still not sure how to process any of that… but here is a photo of lovely Lake Issyk-Kul taken from Bel-Tam, between Bokonbaevo and Kadji-sai on the South Shore, in mid June 2020, shortly after Bishkek's release from the first Covid lockdown, along with some photos from my first hikes post lockdown in July 2020. 

   

Lake Issyk Kul from the South Shore, Ringed by mountains and perfect for summer swims, this high altitude lake (the second largest in the world!) is considered the jewel of Kyrgyzstan by many - for me it is just one of the many, many jewels. 

                             

Kyrgyz Ala Too mountain views from the Alamedin Reservoir in southern Bishkek

An early July snowstorm up at Lake Adygene (3583m asl) in Ala Archa National Park. 

Stunning views out over the 4000-5000m peaks of the Ak Sai Cirque in Ala Archa National Park from my afternoon nap perch about 100m below the summit of Peak Elektro (4025m asl).

Sky reflections on one of the Sulutor Lakes, just off the turn off for the old Too Ashuu Pass road along the Bishkek Osh-highway (approx 3200m asl).

Not only have I spent the past 2 years mourning my departure from KG and the thinning of my connections to Central Asia that that necessarily entailed, I've started to realize that I have, in many ways, been confused about or mourning the loss of my life as I had known it.

I always knew leaving KG would rip me out of the incredible local friendships and outdoor exploration and adventure (as well as aerial and pole/dance) networks that I had built. I was incredibly sad about that, but (I thought) ready for it.

What I didn't expect, was for my departure to also coincide with the loss of my travel/adventuring life as I had known it.

The original plan had always been to leave KG and spend the next 7 months travelling and wandering in the mountains wherever I ended up. I knew I would never quite be ready to leave KG, but I was excited by the prospect of hitting the road again long-term and figured that would help me get over the hurt (yes, yes, I know, most people would consider my 3.5 month summer travel expeditions 'long-term'. We all have our own little weird tendencies :P).

Instead, Covid hit, and we all know how that went. To be honest, in many ways I was very lucky, and the Covid era actually gave me quite a lot (including Covid four times, twice before vaccines were even available, but that's a story for another time). The main thing was that it meant I was able to stay in KG nearly a year longer than expected (since it wasn't like it made sense to head off travelling anywhere else), turning my anticipated 5 years there into 6, and then to return again several months later in year two of Covid for the Spring semester, giving me a year 7. For that extra time in KG, particularly the gain of a whole summer mountaineering season (the photos from which I have yet to get around to posting on IG, but some of which I am now posting here!), I will forever be grateful.

But, it also meant I didn't get to go off travelling on that big trip.

Ultimately, that's a fairly miniscule concern, and something I accepted without issue at the time, particularly given that I had gained a whole summer of mountains, alongside another winter of skiing, and extra time in KG in general, in exchange.

It also, however, meant that, rather than leaving my phenomenal life in KG for more adventure  (something to look forward to), when I did eventually leave, it was to return to Ontario. In the winter. In a lock down. In a city that, at that point, had been locked down (again) for months, and would continue to be so for many months longer.

At the time, I didn’t realize how much giving up my life in KG for a return to a restriction-and-snow-bound Ontario would impact my psyche.

While returning into a winter lockdown felt incredibly restricting, I had known what to expect and was (I thought) okay with it – supportive of the health measures and enjoying spending time at home with my grandfather as I continued to teach online.

Part of travelling and adventuring is finding the balance between when to push and when to accept what is beyond your ability (or is appropriate) to change or control. Covid was definitely a time to just embrace going with the flow, and so I did.

It wasn't the returning into a lockdown that broke me (wore me down to a thin veneer of myself, more like).  I enjoy spending days alone without any claims on my time from wider society, and I definitely enjoyed getting to spend so much time with my hilarious nonagenarian grandfather.

It was the OHIP (Ontario Health Care) regulations that meant I was tied to Ontario for the better part of each of the next two years in order to maintain residency status that really made me feel trapped.

Exploration and adventure have long been a part of who I am and how I connect with the world. And to not be able to leave my province, even once things opened up..? Well…

Being required to remain in-province likely would have made me feel locked down regardless of how open and free Toronto had been at the time. But the feeling of being caged in certainly wasn't helped by the fact that Covid restrictions meant we weren't even allowed to go camping and explore the natural beauty that Ontario has to offer come spring.

Even more than that though?

Ontario, lovely as it is, lacks the mountains that speak to my soul.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was almost as though I was withering.

Turns out, even though I am allergic to everything in it, my soul needs the outdoors to remember how to breathe. 

 And mountains – those are crucial to my very ability to inhale.

 

Multi-day trekking in the Karakol region. Heading up the Jyrgalan Valley toward the Bulak Ashuu Pass.

Late-summer wildflowers in the lower reaches of the Jergez Valley.

One of the fabulous Kol Tor lakes in the upper reaches of the Jergez Valley, at 3505m asl.

A closer look onto that same Jergez Kol Tor lake. This view (and this valley) is just pure magic.

One of the university psychologists at AUCA said something last spring during an NGA faculty meeting that has resonated with me so hard ever since. She said, essentially, "Covid has made us all into teenagers, chafing at our restrictions." 

She was discussing both the reactions of our students (who still are or are not far off being actual teenagers) and ourselves. Highlighting how everyone's patience had worn/was wearing thin. Explaining in broad terms the need so many felt to act out, to rebel against the rules and regulations.

And she was so right. Even though I willingly complied with all the regulations, understanding on an intellectual level why they were necessary, even desirable, and even though I voluntarily took a number of extra precautions. There was something in me, somewhere deep down, just raging to get out. To be able to do what I wanted when I wanted, even as I was repeatedly making the conscious decision to follow regulations. 

And it took being compared to a teenager to understand what had happened. Covid regulations were the first time many of us were having long term restrictions imposed on what we saw as our expected freedoms in our adult lives. It was a loss of control. Of course everyone was emotionally reacting like teenagers, or finding our emotional tethers shorter than usual. Even those of us who seemed outwardly fine and even eager to comply were experiencing a form of loss of agency. Suddenly, we had less control over our lives, others were making the decisions whether we liked them or not - even if those decision-making others were simply the responsible sides of ourselves doing what we all needed to do to survive.

I have always had a selfish streak when it comes to my time and energy. I am happy to use both in the service of others, but only within limits. I need my me time. To travel alone, to think alone, to just be alone, and to come to decisions alone. Without that, I lose the me I like and I have less patience for people in general.  

Early Covid gave me so much of that time, and I was so grateful. I was so tired and spent (more on that later), and needed that time so badly, that I was like a desert plant sucking up water. 

In Late Covid, however, once life had started to go on but we were no longer 'all in this together,' the restrictions I and many others chose to continue to follow combined with the restrictions I had on my ability to leave Toronto/Ontario to throw my head for a real loop. 

Logically, I told myself to view my time back home as a pause. A chance to reset my roots in Toronto soil and to mend some of the tears and edges of my over-stretched network of connections. But, between restrictions, genuine covid spreading concerns, and life in general making it near impossible to catch up with friends and family regularly, combined with the timing of my midnight online teaching sessions and amount of work I needed to take on in order to fund life in Toronto making it hard to take a break and just focus on me and what I needed to be okay, and the lack of altitude and outdoor time my heart needs to sing, my time in Toronto began to feel more like a box, a glass case I had created for myself.  

From inside, I could see the same world I always had, but I couldn't quite figure out how to interact with it in the same way.

I’d forgotten how to be me, let alone how to be me in the world.

Kyrgyz Ala Too / Tian Shan Mountain views from the summit of Peak Putin (4,446m asl) earlier in the summer.

Early Autumn views onto Lake Uchitel at the foot of the Uchitel Glacier at around 3600m asl in Ala Archa National Park 

Moody Peak Boks (4470m asl) and Aksai Glacier views from around 3400m asl on the trail between Ratsek Hut and Lake Uchitel. 

The wonderful EcoTrek Yurt Camp in Jeti-Oguz on Christmas 2020! Skating, cross-country skiing and snow-shoeing (after some back country downhill a few valleys over), what a way to spend the holidays!

I mentioned that early Covid had given me a much-needed break...

I realize I have no grounds to complain as I did it entirely to myself, but it turns out that taking advantage of every opportunity that comes your way and living life to the absolute fullest for 5 years straight with no break is somewhat tiring. Who knew? ;P

It had become blindingly obvious to me by the beginning of year 5 in KG that I could no longer sustain the pace of "work full-time-and-a-half + two side gigs + circus teaching and training + leading outdoor club + getting out to the mountains to summit or ski with friends on free weekends" ON TOP OF planning and preparing to hit the road on crazy travel adventures which took off immediately pretty much any time I had more than a week off, and then doing any prep work for my job from the road so that I could hold off on returning until the very last minute when I had to be at work. 

I had so many amazing adventures. I am so, so lucky to have had so many amazing opportunities, and I am really glad I did all of it. But it was crazy. And now, thinking about it, I have no idea how I survived 5 years like that. It was no wonder I was burnt out.

I can honestly say that, when Covid hit, I looked at the cancellation of my about-to-be-embarked-upon spring break trip and with more relief than sadness. 

I also can't lie and say that the notion that I was possibly almost too tired and exhausted to enjoy my planned 7-month trip at the end of year 5 hadn't already crossed my mind by then.

Looking back now, I know that would have been the case.

By that point, even thinking about planning travels made my mind want to curl in on itself. Some of that may have been that I didn't want to face the longing it could create if I couldn't travel due to Covid restrictions. But a huge portion of that was just exhaustion and burnout. My mind was so stressed about so many things (including, later on, the desperate situations of my former Afghan and Pamiri students, neither of which have been resolved), but it was primarily just tired from having been "on" for so long. From doing so many things and being responsible to so many people in so many different contexts. 

The weirdest part of the last few years has not been the fact that what has been going on in the outside has made me feel like I couldn't travel, but that what has been going on in my own brain made me feel like I wasn't sure I wanted to. 

How’s that for some cognitive dissonance? For travel, and exploration, and enjoying each challenge to be such a huge part of who you are and how you understand the world, and then to just... not feel like you can. Like your brain shies away from the very idea of it. Of difficulty. Of adventure. Of you. 

All it wanted was easy. And to not be responsible for things. 

The few non-work trips I did go on during Covid Year Two were just that, easy (well, except the one where I tried to work and travel at the same time. I managed, but my brain got really mad at me for that, and I was not okay) and requiring of minimal planning and research in advance. 

The work trips have been equally logistically easy. But the few times I have potentially had multiple days off (most of which I have had to work through anyhow, so it turns out this is a moot point :P), it's almost like my brain is scared to even think about trying to plan anything. Like it fears it won't remember how.

Happily, I have managed to research, plan and enjoy a few simple day trips without triggering that feeling. I'm viewing that as a start. A rehab of a sort.

The spectacular braided rivers of the Enilchek Valley on the KG-China border. 

The glacial outflow lake at the foot of the Enilchek Glacier. Just phenomenal. Made for cold swimming though!

More glacial lakes (and moraine) these ones located atop the 60.5km (!) long glacier.

Getting further up the glacier now (after multiple days of trekking!) and starting to see its other arms.

At 60.5km, Enilchek is the 6th longest non-polar glacier in the world. The length is deceptive. Those peaks in the distance are 6000-7000m tall!

A drained Merzbacher lake. Located at the confluence of the north and south arms of the Enilchek Glacier, the lake appears every spring on top of the glacier, only to drain around mid summer when the ice damn holding it in bursts, leaving its icebergs sitting on top of the glacial cover.

More of Merzbacher (3304m asl). Those icebergs are tall!
Just look to the left and you will spot Altynbek standing atop one for size.

A really big hole (Sarlacc Pit anyone?) giving you some idea of just how deep the glacier goes (hint, this is not the bottom). Complete with @Slioy for scale.

All of this to say, looking at (and therefore posting) photos from any of my trips and adventures - not even just those from KG - had become incredibly complicated emotionally, so I just simply... didn't do it. 

I think I am okay now? Work at the moment means a lot of physical travel, but little actual adventure. 

It also means a lot of heavy emotions to sift through. Working with refugee and oppressed populations is hard, not only because you are witness to the incredible trauma most of them face/have faced, but primarily because you get an upfront and personal look at the insanely ridiculous ever-shifting hall-of-mirrors that is the bureaucracy that stares them in the face and tells them no, no, not that, and no again, over and over and over.

The world seriously needs to do better. It's exhausting and upsetting, and I am not even on the receiving end of it.

But I think I know how to move past it? The day trip planning as rehab method appears to be helping. As has taking the time and space necessary to start thinking everything through and processing what has happened.

It feels so silly to think of any of this as trauma or grief that my brain has to think through - especially in light of the very real and valid trauma and grief those I work with have faced - but brains are funny things, and they work through and operate the way they want to, regardless of what seems like it should be right or wrong.

Views onto the wonderful (and oft overlooked) Suusamyr Valley town of Kyzyl Oi. This is easily one of my favourite towns in Kyrygzstan.

A little bit of post-lockdown craziness on our first trip up to Song Kol (3061m asl) after our release from the city confines.

You’ll be happy to hear that I am doing much better now (hence the return to posting!) and have even managed to plan and enjoy a number of bigger trips since writing this. Of course, that also means I am now even more behind on my postage as I just have that much more to catch up on. But that really is an issue to tackle on another day ;).

Stay sane out there my friends. Turns out it’s not as easy as one might think.

Views onto the Kyrygz Ala Too range from my 4th floor apartment in the 4th microdistrict of Bishkek City. How did I ever leave this?

A very happy Ally enjoying a wade into the upper Boz Uchuk Lake (3464m asl) after multiple days of trekking in the Karakol District.

Redirected in Kyrgyzstan

Sometimes life takes us down unforseen paths.

Early morning reflections in Song Kol Lake, 3016m above sea level at the physical and spiritual heart of Kyrgyzstan.

One of my favourite things about travel is that it teaches you to take advantage of exploring these new routes and opportunities whenever possible.

Snow surrounds a traditional kyrgyz yurt on the final weekend of summer pasture season up at Song Kol.

Case in point: I originally meant to come to Kyrgyzstan, stay for a year, explore the region, then move on to the next place, much as I had with Korea and South America.

Heading up the 3180m Too Ashuu Pass.

Instead, here I am, three years later, planning to stay for a fourth! I guess we just can't help the places we fall in love with!

A traditional Kyrgyz horseman in Toktogul.

Fourtunately, in addition to getting to explore this phenomenally stunning, frequently breathtaking (altitude will do that to you), wonderously generous and uniquely welcoming country, I have also had the opportunity to continue travelling for approximately three to four months of every year.

The Walnut groves of Arslanbob/Arstanbap. The largest walnut groves on earth, this ethnically Uzbek region in the south of Kyrgyzstan was once visited by Alexander the Great.

Updates, however, are a thing I have not had an opportunity to continue with. Unfortunately, working only eight to nine months a year (and trying to explore the country around that) has meant that my schedule when based in one place tends to be insanely intensive - and writing intensive at that.

Traditional Islamic plasterwork near the 11th century Karakhanid mausoleum-complex at Uzgen. 

This means that, as much as I'd love to have it drop by, the desire to write is a very rare visitor during my already limitted spare time.

The breathtaking turquise of Kel Suu, 3500m asl. Arguably Kyrzgyzstan's most incredible lake.

That having been said, the desire to share my travels is still very much alive! Since posting photos takes significantly less time, I've decided to compromise and continue my updates via instagram. I am currently trying to work through my backlog of five years worth of travel photos, but posts are going up!

Eolian rock formations in the fantastically eroded Boom Gorge.

So, moral of the story? 

Ally is still travelling (would she even continue to exist if she stopped?). 

Check out her instagram at AllyAtWorld to follow her travels there. 

The beautiful blue of lake Sary Chelek in Kyrgyzstan's Sary Chelek nature reserve.

See you all around the globe!

Ice!

As many of you may know, on the weekend before Christmas, Toronto (and much of Eastern Canada) was hit by an Ice Storm. Not as outrightly violent as it sounds, an ice storm doesn't actually involve large chunks of ice being flung around by high velocity winds. Instead, it's the result of several days of rain falling in subzero temperatures, solidifying on contact. When this happens over several days, as it did in Toronto, the results are absolutely stunning. A world encased in a thick layer of shimmering ice. Unfortunately, the results are just as devastating as they are incredible.

Ice forming on the trees and signposts of downtown Toronto on the evening of Sunday Dec 22nd, 24hours in.

As all of our power lines are underground and the heat generated by the buildings prevented too much of the ice from freezing, the the downtown core was hit much less hard by the storm than were the suburbs, where the lines are exposed. Down here, our primary concern became, not surviving subzero temperatures without power or heat, but avoiding the massive sheets of ice falling off skyscraper windows as they got too heavy to stay - utterly terrifying, but not lethal if you stayed out of the financial district. With roads becoming progressively more passable, though slowgoing with many of the lights still out and some trees still down on the streets, I decided to head out Scarborough-way on the Tuesday for some Christmas Eve cookie deliveries to friends and family in some of the regions hardest hit. I also took the opportunity to head into the Rouge Valley for a short, but stunning - and spectacularly cold - hike. Below are some of the pictures I managed to snap in between staring around me in awe and trying to keep my hands from freezing off.

Icicles on a tree in Toronto's Rouge Valley, 3 days after the storm.

Flash frozen field buds.

Not even the conifers were immune.

Perhaps one of my favourite pictures from my hike, flash frozen wild berries 3 days in.

By the time I made my way out that way, over 48 hours after the storm had ended, approximately 200,000 households were still without power, down from a peak of 300,000 on the Sunday, and the devastation wrought by the storm was still clearly visible - tree limbs littering lawns and lying on houses and cars, whole neighbourhoods frozen in without heat or power and everything encrusted. Night was probably eeriest, with everything entirely blacked out and no way to determine what was ahead of you.

Tree limbs litter the street outside my old house. This was nowhere near the worst I saw. Many of the limbs landed on houses, cars and power lines - the latter causing fires. Nothing brings home the subtle power of nature like a massive tree split directly in half by rain.

As temperatures fell to lower than -16 C, many people were left scrambling to find ways to stay warm and cook their food. Those with old fashioned fireplaces certainly lucked out in this regard. Unfortunately, with approximately 45,000 households still without power on Boxing Day (day 5 without), the absence of these in many newer homes resulted in a smattering of deaths across the city from fires and carbon monoxide poisoning as people brought their barbecues inside in an attempt to keep warm.

To give some perspective, the population of Toronto is estimated to lie around 2.7 million, and each household is estimated to hold an average of 2.5 people. This means that, at the peak, more than 1/4 of the city's population was without power.

Bent, but not broken, young trees bowing under the weight of all of the ice.

While the effects of the ice storm could easily have 'ruined Christmas', and they were certainly devastating, ruining many peoples' Christmas plans, one of the nicest things to see was how so many neighbours, friends, families, and even strangers, came together to help each other weather the storm. A big thank you! to all of the hydro workers from Toronto and the surrounding districts who worked tirelessly throughout their holidays to restore service. As of today, 10 days after the storm, almost everyone is back in their homes and only 100 people are still without power (many because of tree limbs and power lines falling after the ice had melted). Overall, I think the city weathered the storm pretty well. It's always good to remember, however, just how powerful Mother Nature can be. So, with 2013 at an end and 2014 just beginning, I want to encourage you all to be prepared and wish you all a Very Happy New Year! 

An icy sunset outside my grandparents' house. 

Here's to putting to rest what was an awesome 2013 and welcoming a (hopefully even more amazing) 2014! Love to you all!
Ally

More of Toronto: Wandering the Rouge

Okay, so maybe I'm just partial to the area that I grew up in, but to my mind, Scarborough really just is one of the prettiest parts of Toronto. In addition to taking my friend out to visit the Bluffs, we also went for a bit of a wander in the Rouge Valley, my favourite place to soak in some much needed nature as a kid.

A hiker on one of the meadow trails in the Rouge Valley.

At 40km square, encompassing the Rouge River Watershed that runs the length of the Scarborough-Pickering border and stretching from Oak Ridges Moraine in the north to Lake Ontario in the south, Rouge Park was Canada's first National Park, and now has the honour of becoming our first Urban National Park. It's also home to Canada's largest wetland at Rouge Beach Park (known to locals as The Estuary) and a number of national historic sites.

A view of the valley from one of the hill tops. Taken in mid-September when the colours were only just beginning to hint at a change.

While I love the Rouge year round, my favourite time to visit is in the fall when it truly becomes apparent just how the area got it's name. With this year's extended summer, the colours were only beginning to hint at a change when we were there. Fortunately for everyone else, that means the fall colours are still in bloom - and I'd definitely suggest that everyone take advantage of the lovely weather we've been having to enjoy them! 

Rouge Beach Park, where the Rouge River meets Lake Ontario. Favourite local fishing spot and summertime hangout.

One of the best things about the Rouge is that there is something for everybody, meandering valley-walks, relaxing beaches and more strenuous uphill climbs. There's even tobogganing for the kids in the winter. For more info on Rouge Park, conservation, how to get there and the view points and hiking trails within it, check out the official Rouge Park and Toronto City websites.

My favourite part. The Rouge Beach Estuary, part of Canada's largest wetland. This place is beautiful in the summer, but even more fun in the winter when it freezes over and local kids clear the ice for some neighbourhood games of hockey.

For those who don't live in the east end of the city, never fear, the whole Greater Toronto Area is dotted with (admittedly smaller) parks like the Rouge. Some of my favourites are out near Burlington and Hamilton. I find the aptly named Rattlesnake Point to be especially lovely.

A Toronto Gem: The Scarborough Bluffs

It always shocks me how tourists often seem to know so much more about what there is to see and do in a city they're visiting than the locals do. Maybe it's that locals miss out on reading the guidebooks, or maybe it's just that we get so caught up in our day-to-day lives and the mystique of travel that we forget to stop every once in a while and appreciate what's around us. In Toronto especially, I think we also get tripped up by the fact that the rest of our great country has such stunning landscape on offer (particularly in the west) and assume that anything we could have must pale in comparison. While we don't have any Rocky Mountains here, that doesn't mean our landscape isn't just as stunning (we are, after all, home to the Niagara Falls).

One of the estuarine inlets at the base of the bluffs. They'll full of fish, frogs and other life forms.

Proof that some good things do, indeed, come from Scarborough, perhaps one of my favourite oft-missed spots in the city are the Scarborough Bluffs - a 15km long escarpment running along the northern coast of Lake Ontario that reaches up 90m (or 25 stories) at it's highest point. Wonderful to visit in any season (though the beach can get quite crowded in the summer), I recently had the chance to explore them again with a friend who was visiting from Scotland in early September.  

A view of the bluffs from the beach.

The views of the bluffs are just stunning - but no more so than is suggested by its history. The bluffs are what remain of the eroded shoreline of Glacial Lake Iroquois, which covered an enlarged area of Lake Ontario and sat at the base of a large northern ice sheet during the last ice age (approximately 13,000 years ago). Surprisingly, the bluffs actually represent the last remaining geological record of this period in North America, making them incredibly important geologically. Unfortunately, due to their sandy nature, the bluffs are eroding fast - at a rate of about one meter per year. This isn't all bad though, one of Toronto's major attractions, the Toronto Islands, were actually formed by erosional deposits from the bluffs that were swept westward into the lake during a large storm in 1858! 

Looking out toward Lake Ontario. We were lucky enough to be there when it was warm.

There are a number of places from which you can enjoy the Bluffs, but two of my favourite (and two of the most easily accessible) are Bluffers Park at the base of Brimley Road and the Scarborough Bluffs Park above it east of Midland Avenue. Parking at Bluffers is free Monday-Friday before 5pm. To get there using public transit, take the number 12 or 12B Kingston Road bus to Brimley and then walk the 2km (10mins) south to the park. Just remember that the route in heads down, so you'll have quite the uphill on the walk back - it's definitely worth it though!