Latest news with #DianneWhelan
Yahoo
25-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘My marriage ended, then my dog died – so I went on a six-year solo journey across a continent'
Getting lost in a forest is frightening. Getting lost in a forest when you are a woman, on your own, a storm is brewing and night is falling is very, very frightening. And it was at that point that Dianne Whelan realised that two burly hunters carrying guns were heading her way. 'This is it,' she thought. 'This is the ultimate nightmare: a woman on her own in the woods…' Not for the first time, fate smiled on Whelan. The men had, in fact, spotted her bike tracks in the woods and thought this was someone who needed help. A warm bed in a wooden hut and a hearty deer and potato stew ensued. The next morning, the skies once again clear, and with a new spring in her step, she was able to continue her journey. And what a journey. For some, reaching a certain point in life can trigger an impulsive purchase or succumb to an indulgent whim. For Whelan, just turned 50, a broken marriage behind her and grieving the loss of a much-loved dog, it fired the desire to travel solo across the length and breadth of Canada along the world's longest recreational trail – or series of trails across land and water. The trip, eschewing all forms of motorised vehicle, was to be done through a combination of hiking, biking, snow-shoeing, cross-country skiing and paddling (a variety of canoes). The distance covered was to be some 17,000 miles (5,000 of them by water). And it was to entail blood, sweat and fears. Whelan's extraordinary adventure is the subject of the film 500 Days in the Wild, which is receiving its UK premiere in London on Thursday at the Raindance Film Festival. The film – which Whelan shot herself – has already achieved critical acclaim in her native Canada, where it has been available via Paramount+ for more than a year. She is 'thrilled' that it will now be shown in London and hopes this will help to draw in a wider international audience. The title of the film is a tad misleading. When she set off from St John's, Newfoundland, on July 1 2015, she thought she could complete the journey west in 500 days. In the end, it took 1,862 days – just over six years – to reach Vancouver Island, where she was finally able to hang up her canoe on Aug 1 2021. It was a highly ambitious project. Whelen had some camping experience, but nothing on this scale. She was moderately fit but nowhere near a super athlete. Previous documentaries she had made involved filming others in extreme locations, like Everest and the Arctic. But in this, she was the one exposing herself to extreme physical and mental challenges. 'It was a bit insane,' she tells me. 'But I was looking for a new project and no one had ever made a film about this trail before. And I wanted some time on my own.' It did not take long for Whelan to realise that her journey was going to take a great deal longer than she had anticipated. Early mishaps involved the soles of her boots coming unstuck (they were put back together by a couple with superglue and a van, the weight of which was used to aid adhesion) and the loss and destruction of several tents. There were more serious incidents, such as getting caught in a riptide on Lake Superior ('I was sure I was going to roll over and perish'). Much later in the trip, while paddling to the icy far north of the country, she heard of the deaths of two fellow adventurers in the vicinity, one through drowning and the other killed by a bear who ripped him out of his tent at night. 'When you go to the Arctic you have to accept that you are on the food chain,' she says. 'But those incidents really brought home the reality – and dangers – of the situation.' Whelan had her own nerve-wracking encounter with a black bear, but the firing of a couple of warning shots enabled her to pack up her canoe and make a speedy departure. The logistics of the trip did involve support from others – family and long-standing friends helping with supplies and the provision of whatever means of transport was necessary for the stretch that lay ahead – mountain bike, canoe, cross-country skis. One or two friends travelled with her for short periods, but the vast majority of the journey was conducted alone. Canada, famously, is an astonishingly beautiful country and 500 Days in the Wild shows it in much of its glory: the brooding intensity of the great lakes, the golden prairies of Saskatchewan, the ancient rock formations of the Canadian Shield, the coniferous forests of Ontario and, of course, the drama of the Rocky Mountains. It is also teeming with wildlife, and strong supporting roles in the film are provided by moose, deer, otters and bison. Snow geese, owls and eagles also fly into the frame. There are multi-tiered human connections, too. In addition to friends, family and the many random strangers who help along the way, a key theme of the film centres on Whelan's determination to connect with the original inhabitants of Canada. In an early shot, Whelan is seen receiving a symbolic feather from an elder of the Haida community, which she carries with her throughout the trip. In another, she is welcomed ashore by Grand Chief Ben Sylliboy and leading members of the Mi'kmaq community after another successful navigation of treacherous waters. In addition to the feather, she carries the words of Canada's indigenous peoples with her, highlighting their profound observations about life and how we travel through it. Thus, rather than travelling on water, she talks of travelling with the water; addressing the earth, she refers to it as sacred. As she does the myriad species she communes with. Citing another piece of gleaned First Nations' wisdom, she says: 'It's not how you travel, it's what you carry in your heart when you travel.' Inveterate cynics may raise an eyebrow, but it kept Whelan grounded, and there are undoubtedly ideas here that will resonate with some in these challenging times. Perhaps most fundamentally, Whelan – now 60 and with a new partner – confirms that there is a great deal to the adage that the journey is more important than the destination. And she also shares her realisation that, for all the ills and bad news in the world, human beings are really not such a bad lot after all. If that alone was what she came away with from this epic voyage, it was six years well spent. The perfect holiday in Canada 500 Days in the Wild is showing at the Vue Piccadilly at 8.30pm on June 26 and 2.45pm on June 27 as part of the Raindance Film Festival running from June 18-27. For more on the Trans Canada Trail, see For more on Dianne Whelan, see Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Telegraph
25-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
‘My marriage ended, then my dog died – so I went on a six-year solo journey across a continent'
Getting lost in a forest is frightening. Getting lost in a forest when you are a woman, on your own, a storm is brewing and night is falling is very, very frightening. And it was at that point that Dianne Whelan realised that two burly hunters carrying guns were heading her way. 'This is it,' she thought. 'This is the ultimate nightmare: a woman on her own in the woods…' Not for the first time, fate smiled on Whelan. The men had, in fact, spotted her bike tracks in the woods and thought this was someone who needed help. A warm bed in a wooden hut and a hearty deer and potato stew ensued. The next morning, the skies once again clear, and with a new spring in her step, she was able to continue her journey. And what a journey. 'Midlife journey' For some, reaching a certain point in life can trigger an impulsive purchase or succumb to an indulgent whim. For Whelan, just turned 50, a broken marriage behind her and grieving the loss of a much-loved dog, it fired the desire to travel solo across the length and breadth of Canada along the world's longest recreational trail – or series of trails across land and water. The trip, eschewing all forms of motorised vehicle, was to be done through a combination of hiking, biking, snow-shoeing, cross-country skiing and paddling (a variety of canoes). The distance covered was to be some 17,000 miles (5,000 of them by water). And it was to entail blood, sweat and fears. Whelan's extraordinary adventure is the subject of the film 500 Days in the Wild, which is receiving its UK premiere in London on Thursday at the Raindance Film Festival. The film – which Whelan shot herself – has already achieved critical acclaim in her native Canada, where it has been available via Paramount+ for more than a year. She is 'thrilled' that it will now be shown in London and hopes this will help to draw in a wider international audience. The title of the film is a tad misleading. When she set off from St John's, Newfoundland, on July 1 2015, she thought she could complete the journey west in 500 days. In the end, it took 1,862 days – just over six years – to reach Vancouver Island, where she was finally able to hang up her canoe on Aug 1 2021. It was a highly ambitious project. Whelen had some camping experience, but nothing on this scale. She was moderately fit but nowhere near a super athlete. Previous documentaries she had made involved filming others in extreme locations, like Everest and the Arctic. But in this, she was the one exposing herself to extreme physical and mental challenges. 'It was a bit insane,' she tells me. 'But I was looking for a new project and no one had ever made a film about this trail before. And I wanted some time on my own.' It did not take long for Whelan to realise that her journey was going to take a great deal longer than she had anticipated. Early mishaps involved the soles of her boots coming unstuck (they were put back together by a couple with superglue and a van, the weight of which was used to aid adhesion) and the loss and destruction of several tents. There were more serious incidents, such as getting caught in a riptide on Lake Superior ('I was sure I was going to roll over and perish'). Much later in the trip, while paddling to the icy far north of the country, she heard of the deaths of two fellow adventurers in the vicinity, one through drowning and the other killed by a bear who ripped him out of his tent at night. 'When you go to the Arctic you have to accept that you are on the food chain,' she says. 'But those incidents really brought home the reality – and dangers – of the situation.' Whelan had her own nerve-wracking encounter with a black bear, but the firing of a couple of warning shots enabled her to pack up her canoe and make a speedy departure. The logistics of the trip did involve support from others – family and long-standing friends helping with supplies and the provision of whatever means of transport was necessary for the stretch that lay ahead – mountain bike, canoe, cross-country skis. One or two friends travelled with her for short periods, but the vast majority of the journey was conducted alone. Canada's beauty Canada, famously, is an astonishingly beautiful country and 500 Days in the Wild shows it in much of its glory: the brooding intensity of the great lakes, the golden prairies of Saskatchewan, the ancient rock formations of the Canadian Shield, the coniferous forests of Ontario and, of course, the drama of the Rocky Mountains. It is also teeming with wildlife, and strong supporting roles in the film are provided by moose, deer, otters and bison. Snow geese, owls and eagles also fly into the frame. There are multi-tiered human connections, too. In addition to friends, family and the many random strangers who help along the way, a key theme of the film centres on Whelan's determination to connect with the original inhabitants of Canada. In an early shot, Whelan is seen receiving a symbolic feather from an elder of the Haida community, which she carries with her throughout the trip. In another, she is welcomed ashore by Grand Chief Ben Sylliboy and leading members of the Mi'kmaq community after another successful navigation of treacherous waters. In addition to the feather, she carries the words of Canada's indigenous peoples with her, highlighting their profound observations about life and how we travel through it. Thus, rather than travelling on water, she talks of travelling with the water; addressing the earth, she refers to it as sacred. As she does the myriad species she communes with. Citing another piece of gleaned First Nations' wisdom, she says: 'It's not how you travel, it's what you carry in your heart when you travel.' Inveterate cynics may raise an eyebrow, but it kept Whelan grounded, and there are undoubtedly ideas here that will resonate with some in these challenging times. Perhaps most fundamentally, Whelan – now 60 and with a new partner – confirms that there is a great deal to the adage that the journey is more important than the destination. And she also shares her realisation that, for all the ills and bad news in the world, human beings are really not such a bad lot after all. If that alone was what she came away with from this epic voyage, it was six years well spent. The perfect holiday in Canada
Yahoo
09-02-2025
- Yahoo
The first person to complete the world's longest hiking trail is a filmmaker
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). Dianne Whelan, 59, is an award-winning Canadian documentary filmmaker and author. In 2015, with little hiking experience, she set off from St John's, Newfoundland, to walk, bike and canoe the Trans Canada Trail, which stretches some 14,900 miles across the country as the longest trail network in the world. For most of her six-year journey she travelled solo, filming for her latest independent documentary, 500 Days in the Wild. I grew up in Vancouver, British Columbia. When I was five, I remember being mesmerised watching frog spawn hatch into tadpoles. Right from there, I felt very connected to the natural world. By the time I was 12, I was carrying a photo of mountaineers Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, who were the first to summit Everest, in my copy of The Hobbit, one of the first books I ever read. I then did the Outward Bound programme when I was a teen — a 21-day course where learned survival skills to be able to head off into the wild with a backpack. My goal was to complete the journey in one continuous line, beginning on the Atlantic coast and making my way across Canada to Alberta, where I'd head north up to the Arctic Ocean before heading back down to the finish line on the Pacific. In all, the route is made up of 487 separate trails, involving lots of paddling and portages — where you carry your canoe between two bodies of water — in addition to hiking and biking. I had this idea that it'd be nonstop and I'd push myself through all seasons. But when I was on the Path of the Paddle [a primarily water-based section of the trail through northwestern Ontario] two-and-a-half years into the journey, the water froze around me, and I had to set up camp and bushwhack out, hauling the canoe. One of the First Nations elders I'd met saw this on social media, reached out and said, 'Winter is not a time for travelling, it's a time for sewing buttons. Be like the bear — it's time to hibernate.' So there ended up being some stopping and starting along the way, often while I waited for ice to melt. My mom told me about this unbelievable new trail, and part of what intrigued me was that it had never been done. And the conditions in my life were just right. My marriage of 13 years had ended, my dog of 16 years had died. Everything that was tethering me was not there anymore. Yes, it was sad, but it was also a unique opportunity to go and do it. I gave up my home, sold my car and basically got rid of my bills. I didn't have special equipment — just my old knapsack and mountain bike. When I came to my first water trail, I borrowed a friend of a friend's canoe. Fitness-wise, it was all on-the-job training. How else do you prepare your body to be active for nine hours a day? It was a very grassroots unfolding, and in hindsight that was my superpower. The problem with overplanning is you become rigidly attached to the plan. I did leave with a schedule, but I burned it on day 10, when I was berating myself for not having done what I thought I could do in three days. The trip was supposed to last 500 days — hence the name of my film — but ended up taking six years. One of the key things on a journey of this length is self-care. If the waters were calm, I'd paddle longer days; when the weather wasn't good, I'd stop. There was nobody to help if something went wrong. I really came to recognise my own fragility. When my body was tired, I'd set up camp, sometimes spending two or three days writing and making a lot of food — usually bannock bread or pancakes, as they travel well. And I'd take really good care of my equipment, because you never know when things will go sideways because you haven't. Not for one day did I feel lonely, even though I'd go months without seeing anyone. Suddenly, what mattered was the direction of the wind, the animal prints around me. I felt an awakening of something that's probably in all of our ancestry — a connection to my environment. I learned the old way of travelling isn't doing it without a motor, it's with reverence for the land. For all the fear people have of nature, it's our home. There's no bravado here — I was afraid of being a woman camping alone at night, that I couldn't lock my door. But over the course of my journey, I was helped by hundreds of strangers. When I left home, I thought the world was run by psychopaths, but it turns out it's full of kind people. I've been out since my 20s, and I began a relationship on the trail with another woman, which turned out to be one of the greatest gifts of the whole journey. She paddled up to the Arctic Ocean for a few months with me, then lived in a van to meet me on the trail whenever I needed to resupply. We'd have fires on the beach, watching the sky dancing with the Northern Lights. That was the beginning of our relationship — the five-month first date, we call it. We never saw another canoe in that time, but we heard that there was a man behind us kayaking and a couple in a canoe ahead of us. It's interesting how news spreads on the trails. The man eventually drowned five miles behind us, and Julien from the couple was eaten by a bear. Not only did my partner and I have the beauty of the experience, but we also had to confront the adversity of storms, forest fires and the sheer psychological terror of someone being eaten by a bear. We went through a lot together, and now we can handle anything — we are still together. It was a real lowlight actually — having to reconnect to this other way of living after having been unburdened of needing to make money for bills for so long. Luckily, having 800 hours of film footage to sift through gave me something to focus on. Published in the Jan/Feb 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK).To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
National Geographic
09-02-2025
- National Geographic
The first person to complete the world's longest hiking trail is a filmmaker
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). Dianne Whelan, 59, is an award-winning Canadian documentary filmmaker and author. In 2015, with little hiking experience, she set off from St John's, Newfoundland, to walk, bike and canoe the Trans Canada Trail, which stretches some 14,900 miles across the country as the longest trail network in the world. For most of her six-year journey she travelled solo, filming for her latest independent documentary, 500 Days in the Wild. Where does your passion for the outdoors come from? I grew up in Vancouver, British Columbia. When I was five, I remember being mesmerised watching frog spawn hatch into tadpoles. Right from there, I felt very connected to the natural world. By the time I was 12, I was carrying a photo of mountaineers Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, who were the first to summit Everest, in my copy of The Hobbit, one of the first books I ever read. I then did the Outward Bound programme when I was a teen — a 21-day course where learned survival skills to be able to head off into the wild with a backpack. What did the route involve? My goal was to complete the journey in one continuous line, beginning on the Atlantic coast and making my way across Canada to Alberta, where I'd head north up to the Arctic Ocean before heading back down to the finish line on the Pacific. In all, the route is made up of 487 separate trails, involving lots of paddling and portages — where you carry your canoe between two bodies of water — in addition to hiking and biking. I had this idea that it'd be nonstop and I'd push myself through all seasons. But when I was on the Path of the Paddle [a primarily water-based section of the trail through northwestern Ontario] two-and-a-half years into the journey, the water froze around me, and I had to set up camp and bushwhack out, hauling the canoe. One of the First Nations elders I'd met saw this on social media, reached out and said, 'Winter is not a time for travelling, it's a time for sewing buttons. Be like the bear — it's time to hibernate.' So there ended up being some stopping and starting along the way, often while I waited for ice to melt. Where did your inspiration for the trip come from? My mom told me about this unbelievable new trail, and part of what intrigued me was that it had never been done. And the conditions in my life were just right. My marriage of 13 years had ended, my dog of 16 years had died. Everything that was tethering me was not there anymore. Yes, it was sad, but it was also a unique opportunity to go and do it. How did you prepare? I gave up my home, sold my car and basically got rid of my bills. I didn't have special equipment — just my old knapsack and mountain bike. When I came to my first water trail, I borrowed a friend of a friend's canoe. Fitness-wise, it was all on-the-job training. How else do you prepare your body to be active for nine hours a day? It was a very grassroots unfolding, and in hindsight that was my superpower. The problem with overplanning is you become rigidly attached to the plan. I did leave with a schedule, but I burned it on day 10, when I was berating myself for not having done what I thought I could do in three days. The trip was supposed to last 500 days — hence the name of my film — but ended up taking six years. What was your daily routine like? One of the key things on a journey of this length is self-care. If the waters were calm, I'd paddle longer days; when the weather wasn't good, I'd stop. There was nobody to help if something went wrong. I really came to recognise my own fragility. When my body was tired, I'd set up camp, sometimes spending two or three days writing and making a lot of food — usually bannock bread or pancakes, as they travel well. And I'd take really good care of my equipment, because you never know when things will go sideways because you haven't. How did you feel on the trail? Not for one day did I feel lonely, even though I'd go months without seeing anyone. Suddenly, what mattered was the direction of the wind, the animal prints around me. I felt an awakening of something that's probably in all of our ancestry — a connection to my environment. I learned the old way of travelling isn't doing it without a motor, it's with reverence for the land. For all the fear people have of nature, it's our home. What was it like travelling solo as a woman? There's no bravado here — I was afraid of being a woman camping alone at night, that I couldn't lock my door. But over the course of my journey, I was helped by hundreds of strangers. When I left home, I thought the world was run by psychopaths, but it turns out it's full of kind people. What was it like travelling with your partner for some of the way? I've been out since my 20s, and I began a relationship on the trail with another woman, which turned out to be one of the greatest gifts of the whole journey. She paddled up to the Arctic Ocean for a few months with me, then lived in a van to meet me on the trail whenever I needed to resupply. We'd have fires on the beach, watching the sky dancing with the Northern Lights. That was the beginning of our relationship — the five-month first date, we call it. We never saw another canoe in that time, but we heard that there was a man behind us kayaking and a couple in a canoe ahead of us. It's interesting how news spreads on the trails. The man eventually drowned five miles behind us, and Julien from the couple was eaten by a bear. Not only did my partner and I have the beauty of the experience, but we also had to confront the adversity of storms, forest fires and the sheer psychological terror of someone being eaten by a bear. We went through a lot together, and now we can handle anything — we are still together. How did it feel to cross the finish line? It was a real lowlight actually — having to reconnect to this other way of living after having been unburdened of needing to make money for bills for so long. Luckily, having 800 hours of film footage to sift through gave me something to focus on. National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click Published in the Jan/Feb 2025 issue of(UK).To subscribe to(UK) magazine click here . (Available in select countries only).
