Campsites in Ontario have become hot commodities, especially since the pandemic sent city dwellers scrambling for the outdoors. To accommodate the influx of campers, Ontario Parks has announced that it will be limiting the number of nights an individual can book a campsite at its provincial parks during summer months.
Previously, campers were able to book sites for a maximum of 23 days, but starting in 2023, Ontario Parks will limit the maximum stay in its more popular destinations to seven or 14 nights, depending on the park.
The limited stay will be in effect from July 1 to the Saturday of the Labour Day long weekend, and does not pertain to backcountry camping or roofed accommodations, only campground campsites.
The government agency says its goal is to provide more people with access to summer campsites, especially as interest grows. In 2014, Ontario Parks recorded 4.3 million camper nights. In 2021, that number grew to 6.6 million camper nights. This initiative will provide more booking dates, accommodating a greater diversity of campers.
“I’m really glad they made that decision because it’s going to make it easier for a lot of people to get campsites,” says Michele Craig, a camper who books sites four to five times each summer.
Some of Craig’s favourite parks include Algonquin, Arrowhead, and Grundy Lake, but she’s struggled in the past to book sites. In 2019, Craig booked a campsite in Bon Echo, but hasn’t managed to get one since. “That one’s very hard to get into,” she says.
By limiting the number of nights people can stay, Craig says she also hopes it puts an end to people overbooking. “You can start your booking five months before your arrival date,” she says. “So, people would book the whole 23 days when they only wanted the week at the end. And then they would start reducing their reservation.”
This way, people have a guaranteed three-week block, giving them more choice over which days they want to camp. But it also prevents others from booking those days. Craig says she found that it’s easier to book a campsite three to four months before her arrival date when the individuals who book the three-week blocks cancel the days they don’t want.
Sometimes—to avoid the cancellation fee, which can be as much as 50 per cent of the campsite’s total fee—these individuals resell the dates on other sites, such as Facebook. This way, the individual only has to pay the transfer fee, which is $7.52, Craig says. This also prevents the dates from going back into the system and being fairly distributed among everyone.
Craig says she does feel bad for the people who do stay for the full 23 days, especially those who use it as their summer vacation. “But unfortunately, that’s the game that has been played,” she says, “and I’m glad [Ontario Parks] is taking action.”
In a discussion on the Algonquin Parks Facebook page, one user, who’s supportive of the change, points out that prior to July 1 and after Labour Day, 23-day bookings are still allowed. “Learned to love camping in September/October, [because] I could never get a site earlier than that. I do book 3 weeks, but I actually stay 3 weeks,” the post says. Plus, the nightly limit only applies to certain Ontario Parks.
“I’m feeling positive about the change,” Craig says. “And I know that the reason is just that our parks are so beautiful and popular, and it’s not hard to see why.”
Maximum 7-night stay
Algonquin
Bon Echo
Killbear
Pinery
Sandbanks
Maximum 14-night stay
Arrowhead
Awenda
Balsam Lake
Bass Lake
Blue Lake
Bonnechere
Charleston Lake
Chutes
Craigleith
Darlington
Driftwood
Earl Rowe
Emily
Esker Lakes
Fairbank
Finlayson Point
Fitzroy
Fushimi Lake
Grundy Lake
Halfway Lake
Inverhuron
Ivanhoe Lake
Kap-Kig-Iwan
Kettle Lakes
Killarney
Lake St. Peter
Lake Superior
Long Point
MacGregor Point
Mara
Marten River
McRae Point
Mikisew
Mississagi
Murphys Point
Nagagamisis
Neys
Oastler Lake
Pancake Bay
Point Farms
Port Burwell
Presqu’ile
Quetico
Rainbow Falls
Rene Brunelle
Restoule
Rideau River
Rock Point
Rondeau
Rushing River
Samuel de Champlain
Sauble Falls
Selkirk
Sharbot Lake
Sibbald Point
Silent Lake
Silver Lake
Six Mile Lake
Sleeping Giant
Sturgeon Bay
Turkey Point
Wheatley
Windy Lake
Maximum 23-night stay
Aaron
Arrow Lake
Bronte Creek
Caliper Lake
Ferris
Kakabeka Falls
MacLeod
Missinaibi
Ojibway
Pakwash
Sandbar Lake
Silver Falls
Sioux Narrows
Voyageur
Wakami Lake
White Lake
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was the latter part of the spring in 2008, and I was out for a paddle in Algonquin Park. I’m fortunate to be sponsored by the Canadian clothing company Roots, and more fortunate still that they let me hang out at, and train from, their awesome lodge in Algonquin Park. On the day in question, I was preparing for the Summer Olympic Games in Beijing (which were in just a few months), very focussed on making my kayak go very fast in very straight lines with perfect technique and form.
Algonquin is a great place to do this. Not only are there limitless stretches of beautiful flat water for paddling and limitless crisp, clean air to breathe, but apart from the odd loon, some friendly canoe trippers, and a mind-blowingly majestic sunset, there isn’t much in the way of distraction. There was really just one decision I had to make on this, my week’s tenth such kayak sojourn, and it was coming up soon. Left or right? Left went under the bridge to Smoke Creek and on to Smoke Lake—a beautiful lake, but pretty big, and probably windy. Oh, and it was pouring rain. But it was magical rain, so utterly Canadian it was like drops of warm maple syrup on my face. A right turn would take me onto a pristine little lake called South Tea. It’s small enough that it doesn’t whip up with a little gust. With four islands for variety and some wind shelter, it is the ideal size for a quick training loop.
If you’ve ever paddled a canoe or a kayak or, Tom Thomson forbid, a paddleboard in Algonquin, then you may know approximately where I was. I chose to steer my skinny little racing kayak to the right, onto South Tea Lake. Usually, left turn–right turn choices don’t have an impact on the rest of your life. But this one did. Not like the disastrous and ill-fated one Mr. Thomson experienced in 1917. This was a good kind of impact. It certainly changed my life, and certainly for the better.
Adam van Koeverden on the dock with his dog Michael. Photo by Daniel Ehrenworth/Cottage Life
I started kayaking in 1995 on the advice of my mother. She was concerned that the older and less athletic of her two sons was getting into trouble after school. Mostly because I was getting into trouble after school. I was too old for a babysitter, and clearly too young or stupid to be trusted on my own. So when the local newspaper ran a recruitment ad for the Burloak Canoe Club, which read: “Future Champions Wanted,” my mother called the club and politely inquired if non-future champion, jerky tweenagers were also welcome. Thankfully, they were in need of new members, so I was allowed to join.
The Burloak Canoe Club was my game-changer. They took a lazy, directionless kid off the couch and taught him to channel some of his energy into something useful. Okay, possibly not that useful. Kayaking is fun, but unless you’re seal-hunting, I suppose it may not be vital. It is an awfully enjoyable gig, though, even after paddling 5,000 km a year for the past 16 years. Kayaking has taken me all around the world for racing and training and has taught me some pretty weighty life lessons as well. At Burloak I learned the most valuable lesson I know: that any task requiring hard work to accomplish is redeemed by both the reward(s) you may be fortunate enough to receive, and (perhaps more so) by the value inherent in the effort. My kayaking career has rewarded me in many ways, not the least of which was bringing me to that corner of Algonquin.
I often consider how the choices we make mould us into the people we are. My choice to turn right that rainy morning, a seemingly random decision, ended up being another game-changer for me. When I was out paddling on South Tea Lake, I saw a For Sale sign on a dock. There was an old log cabin, and it seemed nobody had been by in a long time. I was curious, so I got out and had a look around. There were five or six big fallen trees blocking the path, and since I was in bare feet I didn’t explore for too long. I committed the realtor’s phone number to memory and finished my paddle in the rain.
I was off in Hungary for a World Cup event a few weeks later, when my cellphone rang. I decided it was worth the roaming fees and answered it. The real estate agent on the line asked if the inquiry I’d made a few weeks back was in earnest, or if I was just curious. I didn’t quite know how to respond, mostly because I had, to understate the case, limited experience in real estate deals. At the time I didn’t even own a car and had never owned much more than a bike and a few kayaks, so the prospect of owning land (or even a lease, as is the case in Algonquin) was a little beyond my scope of comprehension. One thing I did know was that there are only 300 odd cottage leases in the park, and it’s very rare that they are ever exchanged outside family lines, let alone sold through a realtor. If I were ever going to be an Algonquin leaseholder, this was likely my one and only shot. So, after I called my parents and they said I wasn’t crazy for considering it, I went ahead and purchased the lease. Over the telephone, from Hungary. After seeing it once, in the rain, in my bare feet. Oh, and I won the World Cup race. It was a really good weekend.
The cabin that became mine was built sometime in the 1940s by two men who worked at a nearby summer camp. Legend has it that the spruce logs they used for the cabin were from some land the camp cleared for a baseball diamond. There’s still a little rock cairn on the outskirts of my plot dedicated to a guy named Bookie, who died far too young, more than 60 years ago. The dedication reads: “Bookie loved and enjoyed Algonquin Park, may you have a similar experience.” And I do. The gentleman who owned the cabin had passed away shortly before I assumed ownership of his lease. So as I found it, when I was home from my European racing tour, the cabin had been left as though he meant to be back sometime soon. A book was lying open on the counter, and some hand tools were on the floor. The door to the propane fridge was propped open with a stick, and some clean dishes had been left to dry.
A rundown log cabin was what initially drew van Koeverden’s attention while he was out for a paddle four years ago. It’s mouse-infested, so is now only used for storage. Like most other cottagers, van Koeverden uses his cabin as a place of escape—especially important for someone who travels so often for work. Next stop: London, England, for the 2012 Summer Olympic Games. Photo by Daniel Ehrenworth/Cottage Life.
There was (and still is) a tremendous amount of work to be done. In the time since he had been gone, storms had whipped through the property and knocked over some sizeable trees. I bought a chainsaw, after I came to realize that the effort involved in reducing fallen mature maples to firewood with a handsaw far exceeds the amount necessary for building that brand of character that I referred to earlier. I’m an environmentalist, but chainsaws are incredibly useful tools. Until Al Gore invents a solar-powered Stihl, I’m just going to indulge in a few extra carbon offsets every year; I’m not trading in my orange monster for an eco Mennonite handsaw anytime soon.
My family didn’t own a cottage when I was growing up. I spent the summers of my youth at different camps, at my uncle’s apple orchard, and at the cottages of family friends. And, since 1995, all of my summers have been spent training and competing. But, for as long as I can remember, having a cottage of my own, with lakes to paddle on, has been one of my dream goals. When it became a reality, my younger brother and a few great friends quickly came on board. My brother, Luke, and I love the idea of a long-term, maybe lifelong, project. The cabin has really brought us together, as brothers and as friends. We’re always talking about what needs work (everything), what he saw in a magazine for the cabin, or what kind of picnic table belongs on the deck. (We got the hexagonal kind, the best for eating—and for cards.)
During my first autumn with the cabin, my good friend Anders came from Sweden for a visit, and he helped me clear some fallen trees with his Viking brawn. As we sat on the dock with a beer, he told me that my place was “lagom.”
I hadn’t heard the word before, and he explained that it’s a Swedish word without a direct English equivalent; it roughly translates to “just enough for everyone,” with the implication of some found simple perfection. So that is what I call the place: Lagom Lodge.
My first year or so of Lagom leaseholdership was characterized mainly by discovery and cleaning up. The second and third were for planning and learning how to build things, and for making mistakes (which I’m certain will persist in the coming years, as I don’t seem to learn from them). This past autumn was my fourth as a leaseholder. It was the first year that the cottage truly functioned as a place on its own, for me. I have a drinking water tank, a few decent beds, a Scrabble board, and an outhouse. I have everything I need to prepare fairly edible food and do the washing; I’m getting caveman-good at starting fires. I don’t have any ambitions for hydro or a well. I could see having a gravity-fed tank for a little water pressure, and maybe a solar panel because, of course, the kids will need to charge their cellphones (I need to charge my cellphone).
The Birdhouse, so named because van Koeverden thinks it looks like a child’s version of an avian abode, is the first building he erected at his Algonquin Park property. “It’s as simple as a building can get,” he says. Being green was a priority: The windows and doors are recycled, he used only no-VOC paint, and he removed just one small tree to clear the site. Photo by Daniel Ehrenworth/Cottage Life
Two summers ago, my brother and I built a barrel sauna from a kit that I got from the Pennsylvania Dutch around Creemore, Ont. (Creemore is also the beer of choice at Lagom Lodge). The sauna gets pretty hot, so it extends our swimming season by a month or so. After that project, we were fairly proud of ourselves and sufficiently ambitious to build what we call the Birdhouse, a simple, 250-sq.-ft. cabin with a steel roof and a deck out front. It’s up on stilts just high enough so you get a lake view out the window from both top bunks. I painted the floor kelly green (since that’s the favourite colour of my best friend, Sarah) and last fall I installed a little Norwegian JØtul stove. Now I don’t need to start an outdoor fire for a morning coffee, or sleep with a toque on in October. Luxury! The Birdhouse isn’t insulated, but I’m going to do something about that in the fall.
Since Lagom Lodge is exclusively water access, every project takes a little longer; all materials are loaded, unloaded, and carried at least seven times, which is surprisingly gratifying. I am very lucky to have Michael, the dog, for company and protection, as well as many strong friends who enjoy doing physical activity in the form of manual labour. I only ask that they bring proper footwear, and in exchange, I’ll feed them and provide a fairly comfortable place to sleep. Michael still stays on the floor, though. Unless it’s really cold, and then he’s allowed to sleep at my feet.
A friend of mine told me that my stories about cabin life reminded him of Walden by Henry David Thoreau. I wanted to read it, so I went to a book- store in Toronto to buy a copy for Lagom Lodge. But they were sold out. The next time I was up, I went to find the book that had been left open on the counter. Turns out, the old man had left me a copy. Serendipity!
Of all the amazing places I’ve been fortunate enough to paddle—from the Queen Charlotte Islands in BC to the fjords of Norway and the Niger River in Mali, from the waters around Alcatraz and under the Golden Gate Bridge to the Gold Coast of Australia, and in gold medal races on countless rivers, lakes, and racecourses in Europe, Asia, and North and South America—Algonquin Park is the most perfect. It is my home, and will be until at least 2017 when the leases are up, and, McGuinty willing, for many years after.
It is simply always where I want to be when I am not there.
I am drawn to it, its fascinating history and natural beauty, through the core of my being. When I eat a fish from the lake or drink from a stream, when I feel the moss and dirt between my toes and breathe the crisp air, I’m laying roots down deep into the bedrock. I am sharing something with Algonquin, and with everyone who loves and enjoys the park. When I leave my dock and look back as I turn the corner from South Tea Lake— whether I’ve left a kayak wake on the water or ski tracks in the snow—I know I will be returning soon. Walden is still sitting open on my table there. I haven’t finished it yet. Not the book, not the cabin, not the dream. I hope they’re never finished. I hope the work endures and continues to gratify me and everyone who paddles over for a coffee. You’re welcome anytime. Just bring your work boots.
This story was originally published in the Summer 2012 issue celebrating 25 years of Cottage Life.
Ontario Parks initially launched the program on June 7, 2021, to prevent long line-ups into the parks during popular and busy times. Visitors can book their daily vehicle permit up to five days in advance of their visit, ensuring they aren’t turned away upon arrival due to capacity limits, or have to wait in long line-ups to purchase a permit at the park.
Ontario Parks first rolled the program out in 17 the most popular provincial parks, including Algonquin, Sandbanks, and Presqu’ile. The government agency says the program proved popular, with 80 per cent of last year’s visitors voicing their approval. As a result, the program has been expanded.
You can purchase an advanced permit on Ontario Parks’ reservation site. Once you’ve purchased the permit, it guarantees you access to the park on the day you’ve selected. Starting at 7 a.m., you can purchase the advanced permit up to five days before you intend to visit.
Once you’ve purchased the permit, you’ll receive a confirmation email detailing the check-in instructions for the park. In most cases, you’ll have to show your confirmation at the entrance gate and leave a printed version of the permit on your vehicle’s dashboard.
If you’ve already purchased a seasonal or annual daily vehicle permit, which gives you unlimited access to provincial parks during a specific time period, Ontario Parks recommends that you still reserve an advanced daily vehicle permit so that you have guaranteed access to the park. This won’t cost you any extra. All you have to do is enter your seasonal or annual daily vehicle permit’s serial number in the reservation.
At a provincial park not registered in the program, you’ll still have to purchase your daily vehicle permit at the entrance gate. It is still possible to buy a daily vehicle permit at the entrance gate of a provincial park enrolled in the advance daily vehicle permit program, but Ontario Parks advises against it.
According to Ontario Parks, if you show up without an advanced reservation—even if you’re the first visitor to arrive in the morning—there’s no guarantee you’ll get access to the park as priority entrance goes to advance daily vehicle permit holders.
Whether you purchase the daily vehicle permit in advance or not, the price remains the same, ranging from $12.25 to $21, depending on the park. Alternatively, you can purchase an annual day-use permit for $99 or a summer day-use permit (valid from April 1 to November 30) for $75.
If you are planning a provincial park day trip, here are the 33 parks enrolled in the advance daily vehicle permit program:
