Perfection on the Prairies: Souris River Bend, October 3-5, 2023

When you drive from sea to shining sea on the Trans-Canada Highway leaving from one coast or the other, and hit either central Alberta from the west or Manitoba from the east, you hit flat. You hit relentless, unchanging flat for many hundreds of miles. So much flatty flatness of flat that you fall into a sort of flatness-shocked daze.

It’s very, very flat.

I mean, the Big Sky is nice, and all, but…

My uncle used to tell about driving across the prairies, and he would say, “You just start to ask yourself, ‘Did no one think to plant a tree?’” The Trans-Canada flatness leads many travellers with whom I’ve spoken to assume that the prairie provinces as a whole are a barren wasteland of mercilessly tedious landscapes.

I submit as evidence some passenger-seat photos from previous X-Canada road trips with the Mister, during which the flatty flatness spanned approximately 12 hours of time on the road:

Alberta flat.

Saskatchewan flat. (Oh look, there’s a clump of trees in the distance!)

Manitoba flat. (When will it eeeeeend???)

Thing is, if you venture a hundred km north or south of the Trans Canada, the prairie geography morphs into varied panoramas of stunningly beauty. Cypress Hills Provincial Park, Grasslands National Park, Riding Mountain National Park, Spruce Woods Provincial Park – none of them could be described as either flat or tedious.

Another case in point would be the Souris River Bend Wildlife Management Area in southwestern Manitoba.

Just under a year ago, I stumbled across the Friends of Souris Bend Facebook group. Over the subsequent months, the very pretty photos that would pop up on their page got me all intrigued about this place I’d never heard of. I’m always keen to find at least one or two new places to explore when I’m on my road trips, so I added Souris Bend to my west-east itinerary as a potential camping option.

Camping at a Manitoba Wildlife Management Area – real estate that is not provincial parkland but rather designated crown land set aside “for the better management, conservation and enhancement of the wildlife resource of the province” – is free, but requires a permit, which can be applied for online (see Camping Notes below). I was originally going to head for the Middle Camp, but some intel from the Facebook page admin suggested that, given the rainy forecast and the possibility that the clay road to Middle Camp would become impassable, South Camp might be a better option.

We pulled in to the empty camp – “camp” being a somewhat hyperbolic term for what consists of a map and an outhouse in a field of prairie grass – in the early afternoon. A silent drizzle enshrouded the place in misty white silence. A hundred yards or so distant from the sign, tucked around the back side of a clump of alders, we found a picture-perfect campsite: someone had built a stone fire pit on an escarpment that overlooked the Souris River.

Normally, having had a short haul to camp and with the whole afternoon ahead of me, I would saddle up and head out for a short stretch-your-legs jaunt on the horse. But with the weather being uninspiring, and Spy being under-exercised, I decided – after spending a half hour or so cleaning the layer of caked-on clay off all the high-touch parts of my rig – to take the pooch for a spin instead. We trudged along under the dripping sky for an hour or so, scoring views of the river that were gorgeous even on a wet grey day.

The next day dawned cool but fine. I was in no hurry to climb into the saddle before the sun warmed the air a bit, so by the time Pai and I hit the trail, it was close to 10 a.m. After struggling on the previous day’s dog walk to figure out why the river’s course wasn’t what it looked to be on the map, I’d figured out that the “You Are Here” pointer on the map was not anywhere near to where we were – it was indicating a spot about 400m northeast. That vital tidbit of information at hand, I had a good sense of the lay of the land. The trail marking was superlative, and I had no trouble navigating a route that looped us 20-some kilometres north, crossing and re-crossing the river at the indicated fords.

From the very moment we set foot on the trail, our Souris Bend ride was a delight. Our 4 ½ hour route wound through rolling hills, descended through mixed forest to the riverside, and climbed to expansive views over the river. Although much of the forest was already leafless, the aspens were still cloaked in gold, making for a gilded carpet on the paths where they’d dropped their foliage.

Green (easy) trail option at Hallelujah Hill

View over Souris River somewhere south of Middle Camp, west side.

View over Souris River from west side, on Blue (or maybe Purple) trail.

The northernmost point we reached on the ride was the sunny top of Amphitheatre Hill, which, on that 18C day, made for a near-summery lunch spot.

Lunch stop on Amphitheatre Hill

River crossing at Middle Camp

Very soon after arriving back at camp, having met no one else on the trail, the skies closed in once again – I’d just thrown Pai’s blanket over her back when the drizzle began anew. In the almost-dry spells between the half-hearted showers, I managed a bit of chill time at my campfire with its stunning view over the river, and even succeeded in cooking my dinner outside without getting drenched, but ultimately, the rain won. I packed it in early and retreated to my “living quarters” for most of the evening.

When I pulled up stakes the following morning, I was wishing the weather and timing had co-operated better for a longer stay: if Souris Bend were a movie, it would be a cult classic – a little-known gem that spawns ardent appreciation among its devotees. There are few such flawless trail systems in all of Canada – I’m looking forward to visiting again.

Camping Notes for Horsey Folk

No permit is required for day riding in the Souris River Bend WMA.

Had I not joined the Friends of Souris Bend Facebook group, I would have been utterly unaware of the requirement for a camping permit, since information regarding camping in WMAs is tricky to find on the government website or via Google search. I was also forewarned that the permit can take a month to process, and so I submitted my request in late August, specifying a vague camping date range (mid-to-late September). It took a few follow-up phone call a few weeks later while driving through The Lands of Crap Cell Service (Northern Ontario) before I finally received a verbal OK for my plan the day before I was driving out to Souris Bend – my actual emailed permit arrived several days after I’d been and gone. (I must say that the folks at the government office are very nice, so if you’re having troubles, don’t hesitate to call!)

Main line (Parks information): 1-800-214-6497 or 204-945-6784

An online application form for Wildlife Management Area Use can be found here (scroll down to WMAA-Wildlife Management Area Use Permit Application in the Wildlife section, and click on “Apply”). As their website currently stands, you must go to your cart after submitting the form in order to complete your application.

There are 3 campgrounds at Souris Bend: North, Middle, and South. Camping is free. All of the camps feature an outhouse and a map. There is no potable water and there are no pens, nor is there much opportunity to highline unless you set up your line between two rigs.

The reason Middle Camp was my original destination was that it offers loops departing both northward and southward, and I was originally hoping for good weather and two days’ riding. Middle Camp’s mile-and-a-half road in becomes impassible after heavy rain. There is no cell service at Middle Camp. I rode past it on my route, and it is a very large flat field adjacent to the river, with easy access to the water. The “You Are Here” pointer on the map is correct.

South Camp is adjacent to the road, and can be accessed in inclement weather. It is located high above the river (no easy access but you can climb down a very steep path on foot – not suitable for horses) and so you must bring horse water. There is sketchy cell service at South Camp. The “You Are Here” pointer on the map is incorrect.

My 20+ km ridden route. South Camp is at the bottom left starting point of the yellow highlighted route, approximately 400m from the pointer on the map.

I did not visit North Camp. It is, from what I was told, accessible in rainy weather, and has cell service. From the map it appears to be well away from the river.

The trails are mostly wide grassy or sandy tracks, with some offshoots that are winding single-track; all of the few trails that are very steep appear to have easy go-arounds. The footing is excellent and is suitable for barefoot horses. The river crossings are well-marked, including entry and exit points on each bank. Trail signage and mapping are near-perfect. Trail maintenance was outstanding.

Friendship and Horses: Richer, MB Oct 2-3, 2023

On these X-Canada trips, meeting like-minded horsewomen (and, sure, horsemen, but truth to tell, it’s almost always women) is one of the best parts of the journey. Despite the fact that, given the option, the company I choose to keep is generally my own, I nevertheless delight in talking to women who share a similar feeling for the horses they ride and train and care for – and, who, ultimately, share a similar feeling about how life ought to be lived. Anna Maria in Oliver, Pam in Cranbrook, Vanessa in Taber, Dawn in Pilot Butte – these are ladies I first met sans their menfolk, and whom, after whatever initial fortuitous meeting put them in my path, I make a point of seeing again and again and again.

Last fall, on my freezing-cold October trip west, I met buddies Kristen and Sandra when they turned up as the only other campers at the closed/not-closed/pretty-much-closed equestrian campground in Spruce Woods, Manitoba. Across the campfire, beer in hand, we talked long into the night about All Things Horse. Kristen mentioned that she was thinking of offering layovers at her farm just north of the Trans Canada, and, on this 2023 trip west, I messaged her about maybe stopping by her place for a night.  The timing just barely worked out – she and her man were on the verge of departing for team penning Nationals in Calgary – but it did work. And so it was that I rolled in to her farm on a sunny, 20C October afternoon.

You know someone is an exceptionally attentive host when they remember you saying, one year prior, that camping isn’t camping without a campfire, and they therefore make sure to have a fire ring set up where you’ll park your rig, as well as making sure a friend delivers two bundles of firewood. (Who does that? Kristen does that.)

Pai in her queendom.

The timing of my stay not only worked with Kristen’s imminent departure for Calgary, but also coincided with the one day she had been able to make herself available to go trail riding with her friends. Danielle (She Who Bears Firewood) and Emily arrived shortly after I got Pai settled in her enormous pasture, and soon enough we four were heading off onto the trails that are adjacent to Kristen’s farm.

The trails go on and on and on. Our late afternoon ride had us out for just a couple of hours until the sun was setting, but the options for longer loops looked limitless.

Immediately after I unsaddled her, Pai, who had been 100% her usual Queen of the World self on the trails, began to show signs of mild colic. I’d had two horses meet their maker via catastrophic colics, and so I tend to be hyper-vigilant about the possibility of seemingly innocuous signs going very, very bad. I whipped out my stethoscope and morphed into doctor mode. Pai’s physical exam showed little untoward other than very quiet gut sounds, so I elected to just watch her and see how things played out. She lay in the grass by my campfire as Kristen and Danielle and I chatted, I with only half an ear on the conversation. Forty-five minutes later, Pai pulled herself up, and started chowing down on the lawn grass with enthusiasm. Her previously rejected dinner was now delicious, and all was well in horseland.

Phew. The binders of intel I’ve been gathering since 2012, data accrued from planning previous trips and scrawling down details gleaned from the road, do include options for emergency vet care (e.g. who can I call who might do colic surgery in BF Nowhere SK? Or in the equestrian wastelands of Northern Ontario?), but when it comes down to it, I would clearly way prefer to flick through those pages looking for best gas prices, great lunch stops, or alternative accommodation than to be figuring out who I can call at midnight who might be (a) willing and (b) able to keep my horse alive in a medical crisis.

So: phew.

A campfire is a hard place to pull away from, and so Kristen and I spent another couple of hours jawing by its light. I think it was 10 o’clock before I threw a can of baked beans into a pot and cooked (using the term “cooked” loosely) myself something to eat before hitting the hay.

Morning

Plans were made over breakfast to meet up again next fall for a longer stay, with some riding in the nearby Sandilands Provincial Forest. Then, under darkening stormy skies, I loaded up my pony, setting out for a couple of nights camping at Souris Bend Wildlife Management Area.

My Road Leads into the Desert: Dryden-Spruce Woods, October 18-22, 2022

“It’s perfect: just when team penning ends for the summer, the fall trail riding season starts.” So said my new friend Kristen as we chatted about all things horse while camping at Spruce Woods Provincial Park in Manitoba. It was the first time I had ever considered trail riding to be a primarily autumnal activity, but in this neck of the woods, it made sense: once the weather turns its thoughts to winter, the bugs tend to get out of Dodge. And the Spruce Woods bugs are legend – when I’d originally been told about the equestrian camp there, I’d been forewarned: DO NOT GO IN SUMMER. In that buzzy, bitey, slappy corner of the world, trail riding is indeed a dish best served cold.

I’d entertained various options for camping and hitting the trail in Manitoba – Riding Mountain National Park, Sandilands Provincial Forest, Spruce Woods Provincial Park – but in the end, Spruce Woods won the day. The park encompasses the Carberry Sandhills (aka the Spirit Sands), an area of desert-like inland sand dunes that are the remnants of an ancient river delta, and which have been considered sacred by the Anishinaabe people for thousands of years.  As I wound my way west across Northern Ontario, I was looking forward to the chance to once again ride through those otherworldly dunes.

Clocking in at under four hours, the drive from Thunder Bay to Dryden is a relatively short one, meaning my critter posse and I could have a fairly relaxed start to the day and still arrive in camp at Lake Wabigoon with plenty of daylight left. As it had been with the campgrounds I’d stayed at thus far, Merkel’s Camp was closed for the season, but Terry and Merrill were nevertheless happy to welcome me back to “my” spot at their camp. Since the campground was empty, I ended up shifting to a new site that featured a lake view.

Pai chilling in her e-corral at Merkel’s Camp, Lake Wabigoon, ON

Terry delivered a pile of firewood to my site, and after setting Pai up in her e-fence corral on ground that had a dusting of snow over it, I enjoyed a relaxed fireside beer as the sun went down over the water.

Lake Wabigoon sunset

When the sun rose again the next morning, the air outside – and hence, the air inside – was a crispy -7C, calling for the addition of footwarmers to my stylish daybreak camp ensemble. Sporting five layers on top, two down below, two pairs of socks, camo-patterned winter duck-hunting gloves, and my Moth Lane toque, in record time I made my morning coffee, shoveled down a bowl of hot instant oatmeal, and broke camp.

Over the course of the 540 km drive between the one camp to the next, the temperatures rose steeply from glacial to legit balmy. Pumping gas just south of Winnipeg, I fairly roasted in my long underwear. By the time I pulled in to the Spruce Woods equestrian camp, the truck thermometer was reading 17C.

The campground was eerily empty. I had my pick of the corrals and the campsites, and Spy the Dog had the run of the place until darkness fell and the coyotes began to yip from what seemed like unnervingly close range – I was 100% certain that, left to the mercy of his own questionable decision-making skills, he’d let himself be lured into the woods to be devoured by the ravening hordes.

Sunrise at Spruce Woods, the Barn camp.

Sometimes, the best trails are the ones that aren’t on the map. As Pai and I made our way along the park’s wide, grassy and sandy trails, through a landscape that was shades of gold and grey and green and black, striped with the snow-white trunks of birch, I spotted a narrow, un-mapped single-track that disappeared into the trees. Trails like that are a siren call to me, and so into the woods we went. The winding path led us down towards the Assiniboine River, and eventually brought us to the second (“Canoe”) equestrian campground, which was just as silent and desolate on this fall day as was the barn campground. Another snaking single-track led us back up to the tableland.

Assiniboine River at the Canoe camp.

Lunch break.

When darkness falls early, and the temperatures drop precipitously as soon as the sun goes down, there is little incentive to hang around outside once dinner is done. Following the day’s 20-km ride, the evening’s activities – walking the dog, cooking dinner, and some loud and terrible singing and guitar-playing by my campfire – were pretty much over by 8pm, and I retired to my solitary camper for the night. I was just about to hit the hay at 9pm when I was startled by the sound of a vehicle rolling in: we had company. Two gals had arrived with a couple of horses they settled into the paddock alongside Pai.

I got the chance to chat with my new neighbours, team penners Kirsten and Sandra, before hitting the trail the next morning.Their plan for the day included the same Holy Grail riding quest that mine did: find a very particular but elusive sand dune trail, one which, as far as the map was concerned, did not exist. I knew the trail existed, because I’d been on it in 2018. They knew the existed, because they’d heard tell of it from others who had been there.

We exchanged ideas. I had a gut feeling about the general area where the dunes should be. Kristen’s intel suggested that the trail was in a similar area code. While a park staffer I had interrogated the day before had had zero idea what I was talking about (and, I believe, may have thought I was a crazy person when I described it), a second park dude I’d chatted to that very morning had given me a fairly clear picture of where he thought the trail could be found. Between us, we figured we had a likely trailhead location narrowed down.

Given that these gals had been to Spruce many times before, I also asked them what might be their favourite ride in the park. Kristen described a not-on-the-books route that followed the Assiniboine and climbed back onto the plateau, and so I planned my day’s ride to include what would, with any luck, be the secret sand dune trail, and a trip home that would catch Kristen’s off-piste route along the river.

As it turned out, the dune trailhead was exactly as described by Park Guy numero deux, and we rode along the tops of towering sand dunes and down into their valleys.

My 30-km ride and late afternoon dog walk were rounded out by an evening around the campfire with Kristen and Sandra. While I like chatting with all of the different folks I meet at horse camps, one thing I particularly enjoy is the opportunity to talk with like-minded horsewomen. As I said to Kristen, I think it is because a lot of the tough-as-nails, up-for-anything trail-riding gals I meet are not only aware of how deep the relationship between rider and horse can be, but are also, without being floofy-foofy about it, able to enunciate aspects of that connection in a way that most of the men I meet tend to shy away from.

And so, as one does under the stars by the flickering light of a fire, we talked about horses in general and horses in particular, dogs loved and dogs lost, trails ridden and places still to be explored, rascals and mentors, broken bones and backwoods adventures. And prairie chickens.

The next morning, Kristen and Sandra headed off hiking down a woodland path to look for a forest spring, and I packed up my crew and hit the road towards Regina.

Camp Notes for Horsey Folk

I’ve written about camping at Spruce Woods in this post from September 2018 and this long post from July of the same year (scroll down to “Spruce Woods” and “Camping Notes for Horsey Folk”. The information is still accurate, other than the fact that firewood is no longer provided. The Barn campground’s water gets turned off somewhere around early October (say goodbye to flush toilets, potable water, and hot showers), but the camp itself remains open until the road becomes impassable.

The equestrian trail map can be confusing in that the colours shown on the map do not appear as markings or blazes anywhere on the trails themselves; the trails do have names, but none of these names appear on the equestrian map. Instead, they appear on the skidoo trail map, which can be found online or in the cabins that can be found here and there in the park. On the two maps below, the orange loop would be Swanson; the green loop would be Girling. Sigurdson does not appear on the equestrian map, but is the route along the river that Kristen had suggested, and which meets up with the gravel road leading to the Barn camp (not shown on the skidoo map). One of the park fellas I met advised that people do cross the Assiniboine on horseback when the river is low enough, to access the trails on the north side.

The dunes trail heads west (and probably east as well, from the looks of things) off the Park Road, just north of the Trans Canada Trail.