Chapter 1 – The Discovery: Finding a Forgotten Northern Ontario Lodge
It started with a phone call.
One phrase in that call caught my attention: “River Valley.”
That name took me back decades. I used to pass through River Valley on my way to Lake Temagami, heading toward my parents’ cottage, which they had purchased back in the 70’s, on an island in the southwest arm. When I heard the property might be available, something stirred. I called the Executive Director of the corporation that owned it to ask if it could be purchased privately. At the time it wasn’t for sale, they wanted to offer it to other Indigenous groups, but a year later she phoned again:
“Are you still interested? We’re accepting offers.”
We arranged a visit. Four of us and my German Shepherd Seven, packed for a 580km road trip north and an overnight stay.
As we approached the property, the gravel road narrowed and twisted through tall stands of pine, their branches closing in like a tunnel. Then, through the trees, we saw them, the bent metal gates, dull and weathered, a faded DANGER – DO NOT ENTER sign hanging crookedly in the centre. For a moment, we hesitated. Then the truck crept forward, tires crunching on the gravel. The hinges let out a long, dragging groan, a sound that seemed exaggerated, almost unnatural against the dead silence. We paused, listening, but there was nothing. Only the stillness, heavy and waiting, as we crossed through the gates and onto the peninsula.
It felt like crossing into another time.
Camera rolled as we pulled in. My first words were: “Wow. She’s old.”
But she was magnificent.
The buildings stood silent and weathered, their old barn-red paint fading under decades of sun and wind. Towering pine and birch trees surrounded them, their reflections dancing across the glittering water that stretched wide on both sides. Along the deep, emerald shoreline, the lake’s crystal clarity mirrored the pines so perfectly it was hard to describe without seeing it for yourself. Inside the main lodge, the log walls, caramel burnt-orange from generations of smoke and time, still carried the scent of pine and woodsmoke, a lingering echo of the laughter and labor that once filled the place.
We set up an air mattress in the big log room of the main lodge, cooked dinner on a Coleman stove, and huddled under sleeping bags as the cold crept up through the floorboards. Centered along the far wall stood the original hand-built stone fireplace, rising from floor to ceiling and taking up nearly a third of the wall. Its hearth was cold now, but the stones were darkened from years of warmth, from countless fires that had once filled the room with light and laughter. The fireplace stood as a testament to an older generation’s patience and craftsmanship, built by hands that took their time and cared about every detail.
The wind had died down, and the only sound was the slow crack of cooling logs, until we heard it. Loud knocks. Shifting sounds somewhere in the dark.
The Indigenous peoples who had used this property as a healing lodge for more than thirty years had spoken of a little girl who still lingered here. Even Seven bristled at one sudden bang, hackles raised, ears pricked toward the black corners of the room. The kids went still, eyes wide. Truthfully, it unsettled all of us. Maybe it was the cold wood contracting. Maybe it was something else.
Either way, that night, the lodge felt alive
A Place Waiting to Be Restored
Morning came soft and gray, a thin mist curling over the lake as several loons called out, gathering before their long flight south. A faint frost silvered the dock, glistening in the pale light like a thin layer of forgotten time. The first sunlight touched the caramel burn-orange logs of the old lodge, warming them just enough to reveal both their age and enduring strength.
We stood outside in quiet awe, breath hanging in the cool air, surrounded by a stillness so deep it felt sacred, a quiet that most have never heard. In that silence, we realized this was more than weathered timber and land, it was a forgotten piece of Northern Ontario’s story, and somehow, possibly, a piece of ours too.
That night marked the beginning, the moment we decided this place deserved a second life. The air felt charged, as if the lodge itself had been waiting all along for someone to listen.
Learn more about our mission at Lodge on the Point.
The Temagami region’s natural and cultural history is remarkable — read more about Lake Temagami.
Next up: Week 2 – The Decision: Heart Over Money (coming soon)Lodge on the Point](https://lodgeonthepoint.com
