Trails, thrills, and Tobermory tales

We were all worn out from the trip to Niagara and the drive up to Tobermory. The night before our venture to The Grotto, we played a game of Secret Hitler. Our group consisted of my husband, Zia, and two other couples who were friends who went way back-one from Toronto and the other from Sudbury. As the game progressed, I finally grasped the thrill of board games-or any games played with friends, really. As someone who wouldn't exactly be described as an extrovert, this was unfamiliar territory. But being loud for once, sharing laughter, and feeling that magnetic energy, I caught glimpses of what makes extroverts tick. Still, I'm a true introvert-don't get me wrong. Observing people and reading vibes? That's my comfort zone.

The next morning, the wake-up was sluggish. We were all groggy, but an undercurrent of excitement was in the air. That was until Salwa, my friend and our self-appointed "local guide," casually mentioned rain in the forecast. The enthusiasm dimmed slightly, but we forged ahead. After a quick bite at Tim Hortons, we hit the road for the 1.5-hour drive to The Grotto. Just 20 minutes in, the skies opened up, and it started pouring. Umbrella count: one for three people. Zia's jacket? Not waterproof. My grogginess deepened, but we'd come too far to let the rain stop us.

After parking, we took shelter under a gazebo, juggling back-and-forth trips to the car until we finally made it through the gates of The Grotto. Tobermory, fondly called the "Freshwater Scuba Diving Capital of the World," sits at the tip of Ontario's Bruce Peninsula. Fun fact: it's home to Fathom Five National Marine Park, known for its crystal-clear waters, over 20 shipwrecks, and the famous Flowerpot Island. It's the kind of place where land and water meet in dreamy harmony.

We started walking once we settled on a route, crossing a dainty little bridge with a slow stream beneath. Soon, the path began to incline, and I turned to Salwa, now fully in her element. "Is this what you guys call hiking?" I asked, genuinely curious. She and the group burst into laughter. "Kind of," she said. "It's more like walking a trail." I wasn't convinced. This felt like proper hiking-the kind you see in movies or found-footage horror films where things go horribly wrong. Or maybe it just felt that way because I was severely out of shape.

As we pressed on, my heartbeat quickened with each upward step. Yet, the forest worked its magic. The crisp air expanded in my lungs, carrying the earthy scents of pine and moss. The occasional sounds and rustling leaves blended seamlessly with our group's laughter and chatter. When we finally reached the top, I felt a small wave of accomplishment and Zia decided to mark the moment in dramatic fashion, rallying everyone to stand around me in a circle and salute for a photo.

Then came the real fun: heading downhill. I felt a burst of childlike excitement. Swinging my arms back, I ran down the slope Naruto-style, the wind whipping against my face. It was silly and freeing-a small rebellion against the seriousness of adulthood. I didn't realise how much I'd missed that feeling until it came rushing back.

At one point, nature called-well, for one of our group mates-and we stopped at a nearby toilet. He came out moments later, exclaiming, "There's no water to flush-just wood shavings!" Naturally, my curiosity got the better of me, and I had to check it out. At first glance, the toilet looked standard enough, a gleaming white porcelain bowl. But then I looked up to see the trees and sky-it had no roof! I later learned this was an ecological form of ventilation. The most unexpected part, however, was when I lifted the toilet seat and peered into an endless abyss of darkness below. In the flush compartment? No water-just wood shavings and a plastic scoop. Practical, eco-friendly, and a little unsettling.

As we continued, the trees began to thin, revealing glimpses of something incredible. And then, there it was-the view that made every step, every raindrop, worth it. A vast expanse of deep, unreal blue and turquoise stretched below, with jagged rocks lining the edges like a natural amphitheatre. To truly take it in, you had to scramble over rocks that weren't particularly difficult but teeming with people, like ants on a well-worn trail. Impatience isn't my strongest suit, so Zia and I opted for the less-travelled paths. These steeper routes demanded precise footwork and strength-luckily, Zia was there to help me up. The closer we got to the edge, the more breathtaking the views became. The water sparkled with every imaginable shade of blue and green, and waves crashed against the rocks below, creating a melody of calm, awe, and just a hint of dread for the vast unknown-courtesy of my thalassophobia.

After capturing the moment with some photos, we all sat for a while, breathing in the impossibly fresh air and listening to the symphony of the wind and waves. For a moment, I let the knots in my mind untangle. This was the mental health boost I didn't know I needed, something I'd grown foreign to while navigating the chaos of Dhaka. Amid the quiet, I noticed Zia inspecting a nearby plant with yellow buds resembling wheat. He crushed it between his fingers, sniffed it, and declared it to have a musky scnet. That's when I realised he's the type who'd eat a wild mushroom just to satisfy his curiosity. Thankfully, this didn't kill him; instead, it delighted the group, who all tried it. What was that plant called? No clue. We still don't know.

As time slipped away, our stomachs reminded us of their needs. Reluctantly, we began the climb down through the jagged, slippery rocks. No one tells you how tricky going down can be! Thankfully, Zia was there with steady hands, guiding me through what felt like nature's obstacle course. The forest, now quieter with the drizzle gone, and alive in its own way. The swaying of branches above, the scurrying of squirrels, and the occasional chirp of hidden birds created an ambience so rich I felt like I was walking through one of those 1-hour woodland-sound YouTube videos-except this was surround sound and completely real. It was the quiet that somehow calmed you yet simultaneously heightened your senses.

Hopping back into our cars, we headed to the port of Tobermory and found ourselves at Shipwreck Lee's, a quirky pirate-themed spot famous for its all-you-can-eat Alaskan Whitefish and chips. It looked like it had popped out of a pirate movie set, with nautical knick-knacks and rustic wooden tables. The sky had cleared up by now, casting the whole place in a golden afternoon glow. Our waitress, cheerful and full of pirate-themed jokes, brought out baskets of golden, crispy fish. It was everything I'd imagined from years of reading about "fish and chips" in British books-the batter was crisp, the fish flaky and fresh, and the potato chips had just the right crunch. We devoured basket after basket, so focused on the food we hardly spoke until the end, when we collectively groaned about how full we were. As we waddled out, we spotted a dainty little ice cream parlour right next door. Obviously, we couldn't leave without dessert, so we each picked different flavours and enjoyed them in peaceful silence-a sweet ending to a meal that left us more than satisfied.

Our final stop was Indian Head Cove beach at The Grotto, and it was worth every step we'd taken all day. The sun was now shining at its peak, reflecting off the brilliant white rocks and illuminating the deep, jewel-like blue of the lake. It felt almost surreal, like stepping into one of those postcards you think can't possibly be real. One of the couples, the adventurous pair, didn't hesitate for a second-they dove right into the cool water, laughing as they swam. The rest of us? We opted for a more relaxed approach, lying on the sun-warmed rocks, letting our backs adjust to the initially rough surface. I dozed off for a while, the breeze and the sound of gentle waves creating the most soothing lullaby. What I didn't expect were the rocks themselves-some of them cracked open to reveal sparkling, gem-like interiors that shimmered in the sunlight. We spent way too long cracking and inspecting them like amateur geologists, marvelling at the unexpected treasures.

As the day came to a close, I sat underneath the shade of a tree and let the moment sink in. Trips like these aren't just about the places-they're about rediscovering parts of yourself you thought you'd left behind. The childlike excitement of running down a hill, the thrill of discovering something new, the peace of simply being present in nature-it's all worth holding onto. Tobermory left us tired, full, and completely content. Maybe that's what makes a great adventure: leaving a piece of yourself behind while carrying something unforgettable with you.

Tazeen Nuwari Anwar ia a Barrister with a passion for travel and discovering life's simple joys and hidden gems